The Me You Can't See (H.S)

59

Haven's POV:

I'm pissed. . . and hurt. 

I hate the way he keeps hiding things from me and refuses to give me answers to simple questions. Am I really asking for too much here? To know who it is he's always talking to and where he goes when he leaves our bed in the middle of the night.

I always noticed it. How he would kiss me on the cheek before he left, but not without writing a note letting me know he would be back. Notes that would be crumpled up and thrown away upon his return because who needs to no the truth when he thought he could get away with the lie.

For someone who grew up around secrets my whole life, you'd think I wouldn't have a problem with him keeping them. But I think it's because it's him that I'm finding it bothers me. 

I've given so much of myself to him in a short time. Told him things I thought I would take to the grave save for the obvious secret. It terrifies me that there's something I don't know about him, something that could hurt what we've built. But I guess that's what happens when you fall in love. . .you leave yourself readily open for constant worrying and numerous chances of being hurt. 

I believed him when he said there isn't anyone else, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about the other thousand scenarios I have turning my brain inside out. 

I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not all he thinks I am either. I am harbouring one massive secret and let me tell you it has taken its toll on me. 

It's almost noon and I sit on the floor of the kitchen, hidden behind Harry's massive island as I sketch away notes onto my sheet music, headphones clad over my ears. 

I hum with my lip held tightly between my bottom teeth in concentration, trying my hardest not to let my mind wander to thoughts of him. But alas I can't help it and soon I'm composing music that reminds me of what his eyes look like and the way it felt to dance with him around this very kitchen. For fucks sake Haven, you're mad at him, at least try to act like it. 

This was enough evidence to prove that I could never hate you more than I loved you. I could hate how you made me feel when this was all over. I could hate the way you ripped me into shreds. I could hate the way you fooled me into loving you. I could hate your actions with every fibre of my vengeful body. . .but I could never hate YOU.

Because I loved you even when I hated you. 

I continue writing, allowing myself to indulge in memories of him when my phone begins to buzz beside me. Having been so concentrated I didn't look down to see the number as I assumed it was one of my coworkers asking me if I wanted to take their shift. 

Thankfully just as I was getting ready for my second shift, Maya called me and told me to go home considering it was dead. Despite needing the money, the news sounded like music to my ears and I gladly obliged, happy to only have to work one shift for the day.

"Hey?" I speak as my hands continue writing and adjusting. 

The line is silent for several seconds, which isn't too odd but nonetheless, I drop my pencil onto my lap and pull back the screen to make sure I actually answered the call. "Hello?" I ask again. 

"Hi Cherry." His voice tugs at my heartstrings until I think it stops. 

I feel the pressure behind my eyes and it's not long after the tears start falling. "Hi Bubs." I chuckle in pure and utter joy. 

He chuckles as well in response and at this moment I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I know Zayn and I have gone longer than this without speaking especially in the earlier years, but I've had a horrible pit in my stomach that something bad had happened to him.