[COMPLETED]
❝Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth.❞
Arielle is a studious young woman striving to be a chef. Her life is full of going to class, reading textbooks, and hanging out with her friends, until she meets Zayn. Zayn's an...
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➳ ARIELLE'S POV
I wake on my stomach, outstretching an arm to blindly pat around for the warmth of Zayn's body. Much to my dismay, I'm forced to open my eyes only to find that he's not in the room. When I sit up in the bed, I forget where I am for a moment, eventually realizing that I'm at my mother's house with her supposed new boyfriend—my ex-professor that's basically become my new, I don't know, stalker? Isn't that what Zayn called him yesterday? He isn't my stalker, is he?
I reach for the bottle of water which was placed on the nightstand by Zayn, but it's empty. I vaguely remember waking up in the middle of the night, parched, which caused me to drink the entire thing, but the lack of headache I feel has made me thankful that I decided to drink so much liquid.
Flipping the sheet off my body, I notice that I'm still in my clothing from yesterday. I remember Zayn taking some clothes off but I'm unsure why he didn't help me change into some pyjamas.
I run my fingers through my hair, recalling exactly what went down last night. Embarrassingly, I remember every stark detail—especially the part where I told Zayn about my stepfather, Ezra. Other than my mother, Ezra, and myself, it's a secret that absolutely no one else knows.
It wasn't that I didn't want to tell Zayn, because for a long time it's been weighing heavily on my mind. I know he can see the internal struggle I'm having. Somehow, he knows. I don't know how, but he did even before I told him. I don't regret telling him, there's a very large part of me that's glad the weight is gone from my shoulders.
The only part that has me uncomfortable is the pity. I don't want him to look at me differently. Just because of this sudden revelation, I pray he doesn't look at me as if I'm damaged or broken. I'm the exact same person now as I was when we first met.
When Zayn comes out from the bathroom, he's wearing nothing but boxer-briefs and I find myself staring at the outlines of his abs. It takes him a moment before he notices that I'm awake and when he makes eye contact with me, he smiles, "Morning, Babygirl."
"Morning," I yawn, instinctively rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
"You feelin' alright?"
"I wasn't that drunk," I lie, fiddling with my hands to avoid eye contact because I'm terrified to look at him. I don't want to see the pity, the worry, the concern.
"Really now? You seemed pretty snockered to me," he crosses his arms, leaning up against the door frame.
"There's that word again," I giggle, blushing when Zayn smiles at me.
"Hm?"
"Snockered."
"You like that one, yeah?" As he asks the question, he grabs his cell phone off the dresser and starts mindlessly looking at something.
