Estranged • h.s.

22

CECILY

My hands rub my eyes, and I yawn as I shuffle my way into the club. It's barely 11:00 in the morning, and I'm too used to sleeping until noon. Working in a club that closes at 4:00 in the morning, with me getting home and in bed by 5:00, has me upset that Zayn blew my phone up to get me in here this early.

All he said, when I finally answered his incessant calls, was to get to the club as soon as possible.

On my way over, I was nervous that this was about Harry.

The same Harry who I haven't spoken to in almost 48 hours because I'm a mess. I'm confused and sad and everything I don't want to be.

I avoided him like the plague as soon as I was done blowing him, and I did the same last night at work. Now, on my day off, I'm having literal heart palpitations at the possibility of having to explain myself.

He has me so incredibly fucked in the head. And I can't even blame him for that anymore. I've slipped into a brand new mindset, with no warning.

All of a sudden I'm spending most of my time thinking about how much I just want him, instead of reminding myself to distance myself from him.

And I can't even pretend to wonder how it happened.

I gave in, because I can't help myself. But I still don't know if it's the right thing to do.

How do you know that someone is your soulmate? How do you know when to forgive someone, and that it's okay? How do you know when someone is truly sorry, that they would never hurt you again?

Is what I feel with him worth that chance?

It's dead silent, save for the hum of various machines and lights, as I walk through the main room toward Zayn's open office.

My skin crawls and I wish I could turn into a bat and fly away. He would never bother me like this if it weren't serious.

I step inside, and he nods his head at the door, silently telling me to shut it behind me. As if anyone is here to hear us anyway.

"What the hell is going on?" I ask, clicking the door shut and heading for a chair to rest. I'm so fucking tired.

I stayed up later than I should have journaling. Fucking journaling. I haven't in so long that it felt so unnatural at first. Especially when all the things I wrote had to with a certain feeling I have tried to forget.

"I have news that you need to hear, and I need you to take the time to process before we make our next move."

Oh, fuck.

A year ago, when I was finally just coming out of the shell of myself Jackson had molded me into, Zayn promised me that when the time came that we would finally have plans to take care of Jackson, we'd meet no matter what to discuss it.

And now all of the stress of Harry is out the window.

I clear my throat, hands clasped in my lap as I lean forward in the chair. Staring at nothing, scared.

"What news?" I croak out, swallowing the urge to vomit all over his nice floors.

"Are you up for this right now? Or do I wait?"