Neon Red [Order The eBook] [Zayn]

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(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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Take away my trouble, take away my grief

Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

Van Morrison | Crazy Love

Rio de Janeiro

May 2014

It was night when I awoke, plopping over onto my back and blinking at the ceiling. Beside me the bed was empty—the room unnervingly hushed. I ran a hand over the sheet where he should have been, struggling to stay awake long enough to determine where he'd gone. All the while, the calm grew more disconcerting. When the murmur of the sea filtered into the room, I glanced at the balcony and there he was. My purpose. Heart of my heart. Bathed in the stillness of the moonlight, completely nude.

He was perched on the railing and facing away from the room; legs hanging over the arrant drop below. My panic was delayed. He was frightfully pale. I peered through the shadows to see his spine snake down his back, as though it were a parasite writhing independent of its host. I tried to jump up, but some obscene force weighed me down, locking me into place where I lay. I called to him, but my throat wouldn't form words. My jaw moved too sluggishly to articulate speech.

Straining and screaming mutedly, I sunk into the mattress; the sheets burying me. That's when he noticed I was awake and looked back. Eyes as big as saucers. Two whirling black holes plunging away into his skull. A petrifying vision, vomited right out of some cursed, nocturne painting. When our eyes locked, a flicker of anguish surfaced in his. Then he leapt from the building, dropping instantly out of sight.

I choked awake and it was morning. The aircon was off so the room was stifling. Clambering up, I searched the place for any trace of the nightmare, but all was as it should be. And it looked as though a nuke had leveled the room. Glass was strewn everywhere, both from the shattered lamp and the obliterated vase. The telly was done for. The scent of flowers lay heavy on the air, cooked by the humidity.

Haz was sat on the opposite edge of the bed facing away from me, mirroring my dream. Except this time he was still wearing his dingy t-shirt and briefs. That meant he was alright, thank fuck. I crawled to his side of the bed and hugged him from behind. A warm body welcomed me, pulling at my reedy arms to draw me closer. After a few squeezes, during which he lay his cheek against me with a gratifying purr, I slung my legs on either side of his and consumed him.

"Hey..." he uttered, dazed and visibly hung-over.

"Hi sweetheart..." I exhaled. 

Unsatisfied with my hold, I pulled his shirt up over his head, then removed mine as well. Now we were skin to skin, sticky and serene. Static cling. My fingers stroked his chest and arms, generating oxytocin-drenched shivers for us both.

"I can feel your heartbeat..." I grinned stupidly against his shoulder blade. "Even from behind. No way..."

"It's been pounding all night..."

"I bet..."

"It's so early..." was his hoarse groan. "Why are we awake?"

"Youh feel okay?"