Pain 2: Him (H.S)

Chapter 69

The anxiety is filling me up like an empty cup under a running faucet, and even with Harry thousands of feet above me, I feel like he's right beside me. I feel his eyes on me, his hands, his words latching onto the small veins of my heart tugging and forcing me at his feet, and I can already hear the bitter declaration of his love for me that succeeds in tipping me over in his arms, recite through my ear drums.

"You're really doing this?" Zayn is just as nervous as I am, probably because the fear of Harry showing up is in his mind just as it is in mine, but it's as if he knows the consequence to my cowardice escape is putting my more in danger.

"Yes, I'm really doing this." And I have no intent on turning back. He pulls up in the parking lot and I sit up grabbing the box of trash bags and say a quick silent prayer to myself. I need God's help more than anything right now, and I need Him to stay with me through this. "You're coming inside with me, okay?"

"Okay." He halfheartedly agrees and parks the car. The second he shuts the ignition, the heavy rain pouring over the roof grows louder and louder, and the fast pulsations of my heart joins in. I look to Zayn while he throws his hoodie on and I can see the worry through his features. He knows how Harry is, probably more than I do, and he's well aware of exactly what he's capable of. He's been with this crowd for far too long.

"He's not here. You can calm down." It's ironic how I'm the one trying to calm him when I'm the one going through this.

He doesn't say anything but unlock the doors and take a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly and we quickly step out. Side by side we run to the front doors of the building where cool air blankets our damp clothes and he follows me down the hall and to the elevator.

I'm not going to tell him what happened to me last night because the last thing I need is a pity party. I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself and not doing anything about it, and to some people doing this after such a traumatizing incident might be idiotic, but it's time I grow a pair and take control of my own life.

"When is coming back?" Zayn quietly asks while the elevator lifts.

"Tonight."

"What time?"

"He said by eight. We've got an hour or two, don't worry." I slide through the opening of the doors and bolt down the corridor to the apartment, and take the key out of my pocket. My fingers are shaking from the cold and apprehension and Zayn is blowing warm breath into his hands to warm them.

"Got it?" He asks and I push the door open.

It smells just like him and nothing else. The intense, strong, and permanent scent of his cologne is painted on the walls and polished on the floors of our house, and Zayn can't seem to find the words to speak.

"Whoa..." He gasps looking around in amazement, and his big brown eyes light up with fascination just like mine did.

"Yeah, I know." This place is just a reminder of how stupid I am. "Come and help me." I guide him to the clean, large bedroom and tear open the box of bags. I take one and toss him the rest and begin to empty out the drawers. "Everything on the right is mine." I grab all of my folded clothes and shove them in the bag while Zayn opens his, and I can't help but to feel a little guilty. Maybe because he bought this place for us, or because we've had such great memories in here, or probably because I keep picturing the look on his face when he sees that all of my things are gone. What I'm doing is cowardly, I get that, but I won't be able to do it with him here. He won't let me leave.

"Okay, these are empty." He pants pulling the red plastic ties and knotting them together. "What else?"

"Everything in the left night stand is mine. And check his on the right and see if anything there is mine. Any hairbands, clips, jewelry--take them all." I frantically grab another bag and run into the bathroom where the ghosts of Harry and I replay our moments in the shower.