Where Have You Been

Chapter 10

Zoë's POV

I thought, oh yes I thought. My mindless mental meditating kept me up half the night.

He was just saving you from the rapist. Any decent person would have done it.

But he hugged me! Hugged me. And he sort of asked for my number. Did it really count?

And did Taylor really think that lowly of me? Maybe she had a reason to. She was probably right. Curse me for being such a non-responsive idiot.

The hooded man showed up in my nightmares tonight. He was everywhere; in the hustling arena crowd, staring at me through a foggy window; hovering over my bed… the last one jolted me awake, and the faint outline of Taylors face in front of mine caused me to jump 3 feet back, and hit my forehead on the headboard. I guess my subconscious could feel her.

“Jesus, Taylor!” I rubbed my forehead, and she laughed at my surprised face.

“Up, up, up! We’ve got a plane to catch!” Taylor bounded on top of my bed. I flung myself back on to the undemanding covers, burying my face under my satiny pillow. “Niall is waiting for you outside…” Taylor sang, bolting me upright. When I saw her slightly smiling face, I realized what was going on.  Taylor chuckled at her mean joke, and I glared at her. I dragged myself towards our single bathroom, decorated with complimentary rose-smelling soaps and lotions. The kind my mother loved to stuff in her handbag whenever she had the chance. When I stole a glance at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized my own face. I thought I looked distressed last night… It was nothing compared to my current facial horror. The bags under my eyes had deepened, forming shallow, purple dents in my skin. My hair was deformed and tangled, barely reaching past my shoulders. My skin was cracked and dehydrated, white lines snaking like rivers down my pale, freckled skin. No amount of makeup could revive it, so I resided to putting my hair in a loose bun, and hoping my look would pass for “messy-chic”.

My go-to plane outfit was usually jeggings and a V-neck, but I think stylish New York deserved a special outfit. I went for a yellow, crocheted mini-dress, one that a recent shopping excursion had rewarded me with. This somewhat made up for my fatigued face, so I happily went with it.

“Wow. Are you hoping to run into anyone? Namely… Niall?” Taylor teased me, eyeing my somewhat fancy dress. Were they ever going to let this go? I think not… Although upon closer inspection, Taylors heavily made up face made me think that she was hoping the same thing. Even my mom was slightly dressy in her white skirt, lavender cowl neck sweater, and sable-colored leather boots. I decided not to point this out them, so as not to ruin their enthusiastic mood.  Even the cab driver noticed our dressiness, commenting on it.

“Off to anywhere special, ladies?”

“Just Newark airport” my mom answered, bubbly and jubilant. But as the city slowly shrank behind me, I felt my happy mood sinking. The skyscrapers slowly became obscured from our view, and with it, all the memories that seemed to have piled up within 2 days. The blinking tip of the empire state building was the last to vanish, and I felt a pang of sadness in my chest. I heaved a deep sigh, and managed a slight smile to assure Taylor and my mom. They seemed to be occupied elsewhere, lost in their kindles, (and, for my technology un-savvy mom, her battered copy of “Gone With the Wind”). I was leaving my temporary world, back to my humid Florida one. It seemed like the memories of this trip may never haunt me again, and I couldn’t tell whether that made me happy, or unexplainably distraught.

Before I could finish my contemplation, the buzz of my phone awakened me. I felt a bubble of hope rise in my chest, but I pushed it back down.

Of course Niall wouldn’t be texting me. Why would he?

I took a deep breath, and snuck a glance at the scratched screen.

Unknown number

The screen flashed. I decided to ignore it, not wanting to build up false hope. After a few minutes, curiosity got the best of me, and I viewed the text.

‘Hey, it’s Niall here. Just checking in on you. Hope you’re Ok!’

I tried unsuccessfully to conceal my mile-wide smile.

Niall just texted me! He remembered my number!

I no longer felt like I was leaving behind all traces of this trip, rather, I was walking into a new beginning.

Niall’s POV

I sighed heavily, taking deep “yoga breaths” as Louis liked to call them.

“I’m gonna do it!” I announced, “This is the one” I waved the phone in the air, showing the guys.

“Yeaaa” Harry chanted, pumping his fist triumphantly. After 3 hours of erasing, and rewriting texts, I finally found what I thought was the perfect one. My fingers shook from over exertion, and I hoped I could commit to this one.

“Imma press send!” I shouted. “It’s time!”

“Wait!” They protested at once. “We need to see it first! Inspect it…”  they crowded around the phone, and I stood awkwardly to the side, hoping they approved of it.

“Mhmm, mhmm” they mumbled noncommittally.  My pulse was racing. I could feel sweat beading on my temples, wetting my hairline. Was it weird for me to be texting Zoe? Did it seem overly attached? A friend can text a friend, right? The anxieties raced through my head, giving me a burning migraine.

“Per-fect!” Liam gave me the ‘A-OK’ sign with his fingers, and winked. He was the only one who really understood my troubles, I think. He didn’t diss Adrienne like the others, but I could still tell that he disapproved of her. His support of my text meant more than any of the others combined.

I took a deep breath, and shakily pressed the send button, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t trip out. My sweaty finger slid off the button, and I opened my eyes to review my text. It seemed stupid to freak out so much over 12 words, but to me, it was the building of a friendship.

Oh god. I sounded so 2nd grade. Did I really think this random girl would want to befriend me? I just saved her from a rapist. Any decent person would have done it. I twiddled my thumbs, waiting for her to respond. If she decided to respond at all.

Zayn seemed to sense my worries.

“Niall, you are one fifth of One Direction. What girl wouldn’t want to respond to your text?” This seemed to build my confidence a little, but I couldn’t help thinking how cocky it sounded. Maybe she thought I was like that. She definitely wouldn’t text me back if I told her I was “1/5th of One Direction” Even after I had sent the text, I practically killed myself wondering whether I had said the right thing.

My worries were interrupted by iPhones famous “ping” texting notification. I took a deep breath, and opened her response.