Forever Intertwined (A Zayn Malik Fan Fiction)

Chapter 29

A/N: Let me just say that I love you guys. Writing this story has been so fun, but I must warn you that it is about to get a little sad. I actually cried writing this chapter, and it’s kind of a filler chapter, but it was important for you all to know why Jayd doesn’t want to be called Skylar, and why it was so hard for her to tell Zayn about the other part of her life. Enjoy! And tell me what you think about it please :)

 

Three days later, Monday

 

“Call him.”

“I’m sure he’ll call you.”

“You two can still work it out.”

“It’ll get better.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Should I try calling him?”

For the past three days these have been the only things Liz have said to me, due to the fact I stayed in all three days with her. We watched movies and ate takeout non-stop. Every time Liz would change the movie I would check my phone, though nothing ever changed.

No new messages

Yay. Best weekend ever.

Not.

Now it’s Monday and I decided to use up a vacation day. Liz called in sick for me on Friday, and I know it seems like I’m being a big baby, missing work over a fight with my boyfriend. But honestly, it is so much more than that. The things of my past have finally caught up with me. All the things I’ve tried so hard to forget have risen back up from where I’ve buried them and are starting to eat me up inside again. This time, I doubt I’ll be able to suppress any of the memories.

Growing up, I never had a shortage of money. I didn’t have to face the same struggles other people had to. I lived in a neighborhood full of mansions, directly across the street from my best friend. Though she didn’t start out that way. Elizabeth Vergara was merely the daughter of my dad’s business partner. Our fathers were already the most coveted lawyers in all of Los Angeles, not that I really knew what that meant. That was just what my nanny said when I asked her why my daddy was never home. I saw my mom more often, but that isn’t saying much. For every one day I’d see my dad, I’d see my mom two days. So if I saw my dad three times a year, I’d see my mom six times that year (approximately). She always had to leave to check up on her restaurants. But she was home more often than Liz’s mom, an international supermodel at the time, so Liz would normally come to my house. We didn’t actually consider each other best friends until about age four.  We started doing every single thing together; not because we had to, but because we wanted to. We were inseparable, and it stayed that way through our childhood, private school, and boarding school days.

Life was good for us. We had ambitions, sure, but they involved us having fun as opposed to surviving in this ‘hard, cold world.’ We weren’t complete spoiled brats though; we helped out with charities and did community service in our (admittedly expansive) free time. You know: raising money, donating clothes, working in soup kitchens and community gardens, picking up trash off the street, holding fundraisers, reading to the elderly and kids in hospitals, toy drives, and volunteering at other events. But we were far from perfect.

We did what we wanted when we wanted, whether it was right or wrong. We would ditch school and disappear for days on end (usually to stay with our friends in other boarding schools), we’d question authority (as if we were superior to the teachers, headmasters, deans, and the cops; though honestly, they pretty much left us alone because of our high status), and other things that make my stomach hurt just thinking about it. But there was that one night that continues to haunt my dreams to this day.