Under Summer Sky • Zarry

8. Taste it

I got drunk on that entire bottle of red wine all by myself and ended up passing out on the floor in the guest house of the living room in the most pathetic way possible.

My head was pounding like a wicked bass drum as I opened my verdant eyes, straining to see the golden sun blaring through the window. I was still somehow shirtless, sweaty, laying in a small puddle of my own drool and every muscle in my back was aching. My vision clouded briefly as I forced myself to sit up, groaning in agony.

Rejection hangover; far worse than a regular hangover.

I didn't even know how to handle this particular feeling and nothing was making sense to me now. Why was Zayn like this? He was just so bewildering, so unpredictable in the worst way; my fear coming to life in this hapless truth.

And Adrienne had me dead convinced that she wasn't wrong about this, that Zayn was into me and she even hyped her theory up only for it to be erroneous, to end up this way instead.

I just wondered when the embarrassment would end.

And although I wanted answers to all my questions, my stubbornness and newfound bitterness was feeling slightly stronger and more superior in that particular moment, and I was already on my way to mentally deciding to dedicate the rest of the summer to completely ignoring Zayn if I had to.

After I finally pulled myself up off the floor with many more vicious groans and grunts, all annoyed and stomping around like a grumpy child, I showered and zoomed over to the house, creeping into their empty kitchen like a silent ninja only to sneak some eggs and two slices of rye bread with a slab of butter, just so that I could return back to the guest house and cook myself a hangover cure.

And hide.

I remained bare chested, foregoing a t-shirt and lounged lazily on the burgundy living room sofa after having eaten, now aimlessly scrolling through social media on my phone for over an hour, something I hardly ever did.

But I was desperately trying to search for something, anything, but I wasn't entirely sure what I was even looking for. I guess I just wanted to try and figure out the rest of my summer chess moves and I almost briefly contemplated downloading Grindr when Nick called me.

"So what happened then? Tell me everything. I'm waiting for a manicure and I'm bored so let me live vicariously through you," Nick greeted me on the other end of the phone.

I replied flatly. "I kissed him."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What the fuck do you mean and what? I need details, Harold!" Nick exclaimed.

But I wasn't really in the mood to talk about it all, so I tried to keep it as brief as possible.

"Look, it was fucking great. Amazing, actually. But then he stopped me, said he can't do this and left me outside to get wasted by myself so I ended up sleeping on the bloody floor like a pathetic mess."

I swore I heard Nick wincing after I told him.

"Bloody hell. He turned you down? Must be something seriously wrong with him. Who turns Harry Styles down? Of all people..." he remarked rhetorically.

"Oh come off it, don't bother with the confidence boost. It's already gone to shit," I muttered.

"What does that even mean? I can't do this...what the fuck? And he didn't even explain why?"

I responded gruffly. "I don't fucking know, Nick. And no, apparently he just wants to drive me insane on purpose by being frustrating and confusing."