Dazed. Entranced. Distant.
Regrettably, I find it impossible to not disregard Liam's jargon, undoubtedly, I don't mean to do so, but Seraphina refuses to leave my mind. I am now infatuated with her; the idea of her; the idea that she...is a threat. To my relationship with Harry, the boys, and ultimately, myself.
I sit cross legged amongst the velvet lined sofa, my hands caressing the border. I notice how fair my skin is; a consequence of the lack of nutrition in my adolescence. I admire the mosaic to which my veins fabricate; the cool tone of my skin contrasting with the blue-green hue. I create faint patterns in the fabric with my fingernail; squiggles and lines; all meaningless. I chuckle to myself, it's quite satirical that the designs I illustrate, mirror the current regard I hold myself to.
Liam sits across from me, murmuring about his newest fixations; music, the arts, certain movie genres, the lot. In an attempt to listen intently, I rock back and forth slightly, widening my ocean blue eyes in hopes it'll allow me to intake his meaningless conversation. It seems as though my attempts however, proved meaningless as the only thing my mind would refer back to was the disparities between me and Harry's infamous ex.
Seraphina...
Seraphina. Seraphina. Seraphina.
The name played in my mind, the thought of her transmitting to even the deepest figments of my imagination. I stare idly back at my hands, comparing every minuscule detail to hers. Her slender hands, framed nail-beds, and pattern of her veins became embedded into my mind.
Seraphina. Seraphina. Seraphina.
It seemed as though she was now intangible to me. I once again, stared back at my own hands, picking at my skin, striving to free myself from the torment that is her dominant, yet condescending presence. I was fighting against myself.
Just then, a sweet, tender, feminine laugh swept through the halls, followed by a deep, rough, masculine chuckle.
I continued picking at my skin. My eyebrows furrowed, and my skin began to feel hot. It incited nothing in me but rage; it was familiar. I begged it not to be Harry and his devil sworn ex.
Seraphina.
Turning the corner, a man walked in, a woman at his side. Zayn and Seraphina. A look of glee on her face. It felt as though she knew my thoughts, and was torturing me for them. She gave me a quick, playful smile. My heart burned, yet, I couldn't help but simultaneously feel relieved; at least it wasn't him.
"Oh come on Liam! You're boring the poor girl!" Zayn exclaimed, breaking the deafening silence that enveloped the room. Just then, I was broken from my trance. My sanity began to return ever so slightly. Realising my anger was reflected upon my face, I attempted to calm myself down, still picking at my skin however.
My ears continued to ring and burn, my skin remained hot, and my hands swelled. I took a deep breath before apologising to Liam.
"i- i- I'm sorry Liam. I just have a lot o-on my mind." I explained. Liam gave me a small smile as if to say 'I understand, don't worry' and rose from his seat, leaving the room.
I refused to look Seraphina in the eyes, and so, I turned to Zayn. Zayn, who's arm was still interlocked with Seraphina's, quickly broke free from her grasp, bringing a hand up to my cheek, gently.
Then, the back of his hand grazed my cheek. He looked worried. "Y/n" he whispered. "You're flushed! Are you okay?" He questioned sweetly.
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Forbidden Love | A One Direction Fanfiction
Hayran KurguCURRENTLY EDITING Y/N is a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. When her parents, dogs, cats and mailman die, she is left in the care of her evil grandma who has nothing but hatred and jealousy for her, who then sells her to a dangerous (but h...