Lights flickered before my eyes as if a million fireflies were swarming the darkened streets and alleys of London that I had already left far behind, my only comfort the steady chugging of the train as it followed a path that ended in a place I was yet to discover.
Quarter past one the clock read, as I peered out of the steamy windows trying to look past my tired reflection and instead into the black winters night that was allowing no one to view it's depths or secrets.
He was already late, not that he was ever on time, or infact likely to turn up at all, but it seemed that each time I was summoned by him to a darkened bridge, abandoned pub, or desolate field, my brain never quite had the strength to resist his call, despite any feeble attempts to reason with myself. A strange desire to get out of this nauseous compartment with its yellow lighting and uncomfortable warmth became overwhelming despite the bitterly cold outdoors and so I crept along the narrow isle and out onto the train platform. I had had enough, and now it seemed I would return home to my boringly average life, where the most excitement came from watching hours of soaps and tv dramas. Not that I was disappointed, of course.
Or maybe I would not be catching a train home tonight.
The sound of shuffling feet along with a wave of cologne hitting my wind chapped face, alerted me that I was no longer alone . A large, warm hand wrapped around my exposed forearm that was covered in goose pimples and another briefly skimmed my side, resulting in an involuntary shiver erupting down my spine. A low growl was emitted from his throat with the same annoyance that a babysitter acquires when dealing with a child who is afraid of the dark.
'Where is your jacket?, his voice not only deeper than when I last saw him but also harsher, colder.
Finally he had come.
___________________________________________________________________
Everything seemed cold and uncomfortable as I carefully descended into the last carriage which Zayn had insisted on using despite being the only people on the whole train, excluding one very old women who perhaps wasn't there on purpose. It was at this moment when it occurred to me how at ease Zayn was in this ghostly setting as the faint sound of him whistling through his teeth met my ears. I, on the other hand, was forever nervous and intimidated, whilst in a constant attempt to look as in control of the situation as he did, and always failing miserably. The fact that he rarely showed, whilst I had never once bailed on him , was also a concern -as despite his worthy excuses, I once again appeared the eager, desperate one.
I stared down at the coffee I had been given, the milky swirls and deep earthy tones captivating me momentarily, untill I suddenly saw the eerie likeness that they held with the depths of his almond eyes. The feeling that I was being watched intently, struck me quite suddenly and I sharply inhaled, not used to being the focus of someone's interest, even if it was momentarily. Quickly regaining my composure, with slow circular movements I stirred my coffee, pretending to look at the fading spirals of colour whilst actually studying the pink scar that had appeared on his left wrist. I thought about asking how it had been acquired but quickly decided against it, realising that even if he did tell me, I would probably regret finding out.
'Look at me' he spoke heavily, a command to which I automatically obeyed, although I could not help noticing the tiredness in his voice that surprised me at once. He was eyeing me extremely closely, which was highly uncomfortable to say the least, untill I realised I was doing exactly the same thing back to him. A few strands of raven black hair flopped over his tanned forehead and his long dark eyelashes revealed eyes that I knew could switch from golden to black in the space of a minute. A dark shadow fell across his sharp jaw line, making him appear older and more gaunt than when I saw him last. Despite these minor changes however, he looked largely the same, as did I, I supposed.
'You've had your hair cut.' He stated and I was reminded that my hair was probably marginally shorter than a year ago, before my mother had dragged me to the hair dressers in despair at the sight of my tangled dark locks. His startling gift for observation however, would always catch me off guard.
'I have' I replied simply, quickly stopping myself in order to prevent a million questions rolling of my tongue. Proud of my careless reply, I enjoyed not being the one to have to make an effort for once and seeing him struggle at what I knew was his only weakness- the art of conversation.
Silence. Not the kind we usually shared when we would sit at ease enjoying the others company , but the kind that makes you realise how very little you have to say or do. It seemed that all those months apart had finally come between us, and it occurred to me that in reality we had very little in common. My mind raced for a safe topic of conversation, realising the journey could be painfully long sat in silence.
'How was your...prom?'
He stared at me blankly and shot me look of pure confusion.
I begin to ask again assuming he'd misheard me, my cheeks glowing with embarrassment, when a low rumbling noise startled me.
----------------- Author's Note----------------
Never written a wattopad story before so here goes, hope you enjoy! Please comment if you like it so far and want me to continue
Ps. Long holidays- more time to write xx
-S
YOU ARE READING
Wait For Me
Romance---------- EXTRACT----------- A large, warm hand wrapped around my exposed forearm that was covered in goose pimples from the arctic wind whilst another briefly skimmed my side, resulting in an involuntary shiver erupting down my spine. A low growl...
