faded

67. continuity

The rest of the reception seemed to go extremely well, but there was no reason for it not to. Despite Zayn's sudden reemergence, nothing went wrong. Every last detail was executed to perfection. It was quite literally a fairytale wedding.

Exactly what Cara and Kristen deserved. After everything that had happened in the last few months, I think we all deserved this beautiful day.

The ride home was extremely quiet. Zayn had a lot to drink but he didn't appear too intoxicated. After his disappearing act at the wedding, I found him by the entrance making phone calls. Not surprising. I imagined that it had something to do with whatever he did for work and didn't want to question him, as I knew I would get no answers. Not truthful ones, at least.

Something had changed at the reception, but I don't know what it was. At first he seemed happy to see me but now I wasn't so sure.

I hadn't really been around him in the last couple of months to truly know what was going on. At first I wanted to chalk it up to the many drinks he had and perhaps being tired of socializing, but it was just so hard to figure him out. It seemed like the more I went in circles about it, the further I got from figuring it out.

A part of me thought, I should give him a chance. We haven't really been married long, technically. Who knows, maybe in the time he was gone he changed and came back because he wants things to be better. There wasnt anything I hadn't already lost, so what was another chance? There wasn't a reason I couldn't try to be better as well. I can't imagine why he would come back if he didn't have intentions of being with me, much less why he would just abandon me so abruptly after we got married. Besides, I could do it. If I truly wanted, we could make it work.

There he was, sitting nonchalantly on the couch, engrossed in his phone. His eyes flickered up for a moment, registering my presence, before returning to the screen. Every so often, he would divert his attention to the bedroom. I felt embarrassed at the state of the room. A part of me hoped he would see how his absence affected me, but his disdain was hard to hide. He looked so sharp in his suit, but so intimidating in a way that just made you feel small. He reminded me so much of my father at that moment, his indifference so unbearable.

"Is there no one to clean this room up for you?" He asked in an odd, almost accusatory tone, "I pay the employees of the house enough.. so you would think..."

"I don't really let anyone in here," I confessed, embarrassed, not wanting him to accuse anyone of not doing their job. That's where the conversation was headed.

"They could come in and clean up when you're not in here, I mean... come on?" He scrunched his nose, not happy with the amount of dishes, clothes, and things in the room.

Zayn shook his head and glanced out the window. He sighed deeply, disappointed. Not at all surprising and yet, still so hurtful.

"I'm always in here," I gulped, "I don't really leave the room or house much."

He looked at me with a raised brow, no disgust on his face. Almost as if he didn't believe me. No, this was a very different expression. It wasn't necessarily upset, it was almost challenging. There was no real way to describe the change in atmosphere. It felt tight, I was having trouble really looking at him in the eye in fear of what would be looking back. I held my knees to my chest, trying to find warmth, but coming up as short as I had in the last few months. It was cold in my room, colder now more than ever perhaps, and with each passing second I felt as if I was shrinking into my clothes.

"Why?" He simply asked after a few more seconds of careful examination.

I sighed, "let's talk about it tomorrow. I'm really tired and it's really cold in here."