Hurt

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Zayn was snoring a tad when I woke up at 8:30. "Zayn," I whispered in his ear, slightly pushing him. "It's time to go." Zayn's eyes fluttered open as he turned on his side. "No! Get up!" I said. I tried pulling the covers off of him, but they wouldn't budge. "Stop, Bella," he groaned. I let go of the covers and got out of bed, slipping on a thin burgundy sweater and some jeans. I got on some boots and looked back over at the bed where Zayn was still sleeping. I knew what would wake him up. "Fine, then," I started, making Zayn move a little. "Guess I'm going all by myself then..."

I paused. He still didn't move. I picked up a pillow that was on the floor and thre it at him. "You ass!" I yelled, running over and pushing him off the bed. "Bella! What the hell?" he asked, slowly getting up off the ground. I lay down in his spot so he wouldn't be tempted to get back on the bed. But he just laid on me, anyways. "Zayn! Get off!"

He slid off of me and onto the floor again, struggling to fall back asleep. "Bella, it's only 8:45. I should be sleeping by now," he mumbled. "But we have to go! Remember last week when you promised me you'd take me to that new art museum down the street?" I said. "Well, today's the day!"

I heard Zayn slowly get up and slip on a shirt and jacket. He was already wearing jeans and a belt, surprisingly, but he took them off and put on a new pair of jeans without a belt. He would wear a belt to bed, but not out in public? Oh well. His loss.

The car ride was fast. Zayn pulled into the small parking lot in front of a big white two-story building. We walked in and realized it was almost completely empty- only a short man with a long gray beard strolled the halls and a lively-looking woman in her mid-forties wearing black pants and a red vest. The vest had a name tag on it that read "Velma."

"Hi there!" she said as soon as she saw us. She was smiling and had a certain sparkle in her eye. I stood behind Zayn, grasping his arm. "How many?"

"How many what?" Zayn asked the lady in a raspy tone. "Zayn, be nice," I scolded. He tightened up and mumbled a sharp "two" and he handed Velma a ten-dollar bill. By the time we were situated and ready to look at some artwork, the man with the beard had left and we were the only ones in the place.

It had started to get a little awkward, so I had broken the silence by clearing my throat. We were trying to study a picture that was suppossed to be a bowl of grapes, but ended up looking like a nest full of bird eggs. It was all different colors, consisting of blues, yellows, and reds, all the primary colors. It didn't look like real art to me. Come to think of it, none of the art in this place looked like it was drawn by someone over seven years old.

"Come," Zayn said, pulling me over to the next picture. This one looked as if someone had just taken a huge sip of pink and green paint and spit it out all over the canvas. "This doesn't look like art to me," I said, looking at one of the sculptures farther down the hall. "That's because you're seeing with your eyes, not your heart," Zayn said, putting his strong arm around me. 

"That's probably the cheesiest thing I've ever heard you say," I said to him, looking up at his long eyelashes and chiseled facial features. "Do you know me otherwise?" he asked, lightly stroking my cheek. "Look," he said. He pointed at two specific dots in the middle of the canvas. "What do you see?"

"Dots," I said miserably. I was planning on having a better time than Zayn was, and it looked like it was turning out to be the other way around. "I don't. I see two beautiful eyes that belong to a very beautiful person."

"If you see that, you must be on crack or something," I laughed. Zayn gave me a playful look, and I shook my head. "You know it, baby," he said into my ear. "You better not be, or you'd be in big trouble!" I said. I knew Zayn was a smoker and everything, but he couldn't be on drugs. I don't know if I'd still be his girlfriend if he admitted to me that he did drugs...

"I'm just joking!" he said, pushing me a little. I smiled and thought that I was taking him a bit too seriously.

"And you know that the beautiful eyes I was talking about were yours," he said after a moment of silence. We were still looking at the "masterpiece" of dots. "Thanks,"  I said. Then I felt foolish- Zayn was obviously giving me a nice compliment and all I had to say was "thanks." He smiled and kissed my head anyways and we walked to the next painting.

When we got home, Niall was in front of the apartment building. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a white t-shirt. He had on white Supras and faded blue jeans. "Bella, I need to talk to you," he said. I wasn't sure if he was looking at me or not because the sunglasses were covering his bright blue eyes. "Why?" I asked, grasping onto Zayn's cold hand. He squeezed it, signaling me to stay with him. "It's important," Niall said, taking off his sunglasses. He was definitely looking at me now, it was obvious. "Sure," I said. I tried to escape Zayn's grasp but he held onto me as long as he could. I didn't really know why I agreed to talk to Niall, but I needed to know what he was going to say. Maybe he was going to apologize to me for lying about his name. But after Zayn told me Niall's story, he really didn't have to apologize because I realize now that he was just trying to protect us. "Zayn, just let me go," I said with clenched teeth. Zayn gave me a stare and let go after five seconds. 

Niall and I walked over to the alley where Zayn and I had our fight. "Let me just start off by saying I know why you lied to me," I said. "I wouldn't call it lying..." Niall said in his heavy Irish accent, making "lying" sound more like "line." 

"Then what would you call it?" I said. "Truthing?" I giggled a little bit in my head. Truthing made no sense, but if someone asked you what the opposite of lying was, what would you say?

"No, but lying is a bit intense," he said. I rolled my eyes. "Just tell me what you wanted to tell me," I said abruptly. "Okay..." he said. "I needed to explain to you about that night that we broke up..."

He told me that Giana walked away from him after he just defended me by saying that I wasn't a hoe, which Giana inconsiderately called me. "Wait," he called after her, slowly getting up. He was really drunk now, his words slurred and vision imparied. "Don't go."

She turned back, her hair still perfectly curled and her burnt orange party dress fit around all her curves. It sounded like she was much prettier than me, with a pronounced thigh gap and flat stomach. "Don't you want to be with your girlfriend?" she asked. She started to walk back towards Niall. "Or, should I say, ex?"

Niall gulped. He wasn't ready to announce that I was his ex just yet. "No," he said without thinking. He was drunk, after all. "I want to stay with you for a bit. Is that okay? Can we go to my place?"

Giana managed a cat-like smile onto her face. "Sure," she said, putting her arms around Niall. "Let's go."

At Niall's apartment, Giana fell onto the bed and motioned Niall to go over to her. But all Niall wanted was some food. "But baby," she said making a pouty face. "I'm tired." Niall smiled, walking over to the kitchen. "Maybe some sugar will liven you up, huh, mate?" Giana made a disgusted face and walked over to Niall, who was pulling a tub of ice cream out of the freezer. "How many scoops do you want, one or two... or more?" Niall asked. "As many as you'd like to give me," Giana said, putting her arms around Niall's waist. She kissed his cheek and massaged his back. Niall melted into her hands, closing his eyes and a low moan escaped from his lips.

"I got her pregnant, Bella," Niall said, tears coming down his face. "I just being with her reminded me of being with you."

I gasped. I didn't want to cry, nor was I going to. I wasn't necessarily mad at Niall, but I couldn't believe he moved on so fast. "Oh Niall," I said, watching a tear come down his face and onto the cement. I walked over and hugged him, his arms going around my small figure. "It's going to be okay... it'll be alright..." I kept whispering to him. "No, it's not," he said. "It's not..."