Calamity [Zarry Stylik AU]©️

Chapter 36: I LOST HIM

G,

The door slammed shut and I was left in complete silence. Nothing but my heartbeat hammering inside my ears and the feeling of despair growing within me.

Was this the end?

A cold shower came over me, leaving me empty and terrified of an uncertain future. He had left. This time for good, I could tell.

I love you, I wanted to scream.

Please, don't go. I wanted to beg.

I knew none of this would matter. Zayn was determined. Convicted. I was no longer a part of his journey. My hands clutched the fabric of my pants as I fight the tears swelling in my eyes and the burning sensation in my throat.

I want you. I wanted to declare.

I need you. I wanted him to know.

Nothing came out of me, except the painful reminder that he was no longer mine. He had never been mine. No matter how big the ring on my finger was or how wide we smiled or the kisses we shared in public...his heart was never mine. His heart was always with someone else, somewhere else.

My "husband" had painted my eyes on his chest. It was a sign of devotion, I thought in my naïve mind. He loved me. He had to love me!

No. It wasn't. I was just a part of the collage of images on his body which included a tiger, flowers and 'bus one on his arm. His body told a story, and I was a part of that story. Just another chapter. A paragraph. A fucking comma, in his life. Not the entirety of the book.

When I asked him why my eyes were on him, my husband replied, "Your eyes belong on a painting somewhere" And they did. Right on his chest. "Then, I'll always have you with me," I exploded with happiness knowing this.

And yet, his heart was not mine.

How does one deal with a long-lasting, side, kind of love? How does one explain this?

I couldn't.

I had loved him the moment I saw him, I just didn't know the depth of it.

It had been at one of these ridiculous New York parties. Exclusive. The kind one had to give their soul and a kidney to get it. I was just getting started in this industry and my manager scored an invitation. It was perfect. I would be mingling the top dogs of entertainment, creative directors and designers from fashion brands, artists, actors, and film directors.

An A+ event. It was held at this incredibly famous museum in New York and I went fully glammed up from head to toe in my two-year-old Dolce & Gabanna dress. My job was to mingle, make them notice me, ask about me and get an opportunity from someone. I was hoping to become a muse to an artist or an inspiration for a creative director. I dressed the part: slick black dress, no sleeves, a slide to my thigh with open-toe golden sandals.

My hair was parted to the side in a beautiful wave, my make-up made my eyes pop and my earrings finished the look. I wanted to be noticed. I was navigating my way around the gallery, smiling here, and waving there at the people I didn't know all that well. I was nervous. Unsure. I wanted to leave.

That's when I saw him. He was standing by a huge painting on the wall, talking with another man. He wore a dark suit, with the shirt opened two buttons down showing a necklace with a cross on it. The beard was immaculate, the buzzcut perfectly shaped. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand, and I noticed the tattoos on his fingers, back of hands, and wrists, peeking from under the shirt, on his neck and behind his ears. My world shook like an earthquake. A beautiful face. Shredded in mystery. I was glued to him.