Hurt

Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

The covers were pulled up over my face and Young the Giant's "Cough Syrup" was playing on the radio in my living room. I could hear it because it was blasted loud from the last time Zayn used it. I could smell his smoke and his cologne in the depths of my bed. I usually didn't like laying in bed with the covers over my face because I couldn't breathe, but it's what Zayn did when he slept. He would always ask me to sleep with him like that, but I refused, sleeping on top of the covers and closing my eyes.

I got up and replayed the song. I listened to it at least five times today. It was a favorite song of mine about a year ago, and I had it played at least a hundred times on my iPod. It reminded me of the better times I had, where life wasn't as complicated as it was now. I had been in my Freshman year of college, and I hadn't even met Zayn yet. Niall and I were going out at the time, and I had a solid group of friends.

Now it felt like I had no one. No one wanted to talk to me because I had been in such a bad mood the past couple of weeks. The only person I talked to was that freak Darla, the one I met after class. We talked for about ten minutes on the bench and then I lied and told her I had somewhere to be because she was asking so many questions I wasn't comfortable asking. She asked questions like "Did you guys 'do it?'" and "How come you broke up with him? Did he like someone else?" and the worst one of all, "What was his name?"

Of course I didn't answer any of her questions. She gave me her number and I threw it away when I got home. But I started to think- maybe I don't have any friends because I don't want any. I haven't been making an effort whatsoever to befriend anyone, and I guess they felt the same way towards me.

I walked on my white rug and sat on the couch. I looked at the end table beside me. There lay a lighter and a single cigarette. The Marlboro pack it came in was in the wastebasket next to the kitchen counter. I picked up the lighter and cigarette. I put the lighter on my lap and ran my hand up and down the cigarette. It was light. I picked up the lighter again and lit it, and just as I was about to put it to my mouth, something told me not to do it.

"Bella, don't," I heard Zayn say in the other room. I was too drunk to function. "Don't do it." He ran in and took something out of my hand. I was laughing hysterically, and my hands threw back over my head and I collapsed on my bed. I had something in my left hand, but I wasn't exactly sure what it was. "No!" Zayn said, diving onto the bed, reaching for the thing in my hand. He took both of the things and threw them in the trash.

"Don't make the same mistake I made," Zayn said, taking my face in his hands. "You really don't want to."

I threw the cigarette and lighter on the ground. I didn't know my memory would allow me to remember that. I picked the cigarette and lighter up again and put it farther away from me. 

I walked over to the stereo and picked up my iPod, changing the song to Frank Ocean's "Miss You So." This had been Zayn's favorite song. I remember when he would used to hold me and sing this song in my ear, hitting all the high notes perfectly. Zayn had had a gift. He sang all the time, and whenever I would try to compliment him, he would always say "You're lying, Bella," and smile and put his hand in mine.

I heard a heavy knock on the door. "It's meeeeee!" I heard a high voice say on the other side of the door. "D!"

"I know who it is," I said, opening the door and watching Darla skip in and sit on my couch. I had asked her to come over and help me get rid of Zayn's stuff. I had been thinking about him too much, and I decided that now was the time to bring his stuff someplace else.

"Where's the boxes?" Darla asked, walking aorund my apartment.

"I'd rather you not look in there," I said to Darla as she motioned towards the bedroom. "The boxes are in there. I'll get them."

I didn't want Darla to see my messy bedroom, because I knew that she would obviously want to clean it. I had never cleaned my bedroom once in my life, and I thought it was for the best, since I was sort of a mess myself. There were boxes of Zayn's clothes and books, one had a pair of his glasses, I had a couple of his shoes, and I also had his sketch book. I picked it up and sat on my bed, flipping through it. I all of a sudden stumbled across a picture of me, my hair straightened and long, and a blanket was the only thing covering my body. I was wearing my favorite dangling earrings, and my eyebrows were on-the-spot and so were the rest of my facial features.

The bottom of the page caught my eye, though. "To my favorite girl. To the best girl I've ever met. To the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. To Bella."

I didn't want to cry, so I closed to sketch book and threw it in the box. I picked up all five boxes at a time and had Darla take two. "Are you sure you only want me to take two?" she asked.

"I'm sure," I said, walking towards my car and placing the boxes in the trunk.

The car ride was long and silent for a change. Darla was sitting in the passenger seat, playing with the frayed pieces on her purse. I stared at the road, watching all of the cars drive ahead of me or past me. There were lonely people in the cars. Lonely just like me, I thought. Everyone in those cars had a different story. Each story varied from the other. What if, just by my facial expression, they knew my story?

"Wait, we're going to his house?" Darla asked. "So I get to actually meet this guy and tell him how big of a jerk he is?"

"You're not getting out of the car," I said, pulling up to Zayn's flat. His car was pulled in. He was home. "And of course we're going to his house. Where else would we go?"

I rang his doorbell and looked back and saw Darla give me a thumbs-up. I smiled a little bit but looked back just in time to see Zayn. He looked tired, but at the same time, he looked really hot. He wore a Rolling Stones tank top and baggy jeans that made his extremely skinny legs look normal. His hair was out of order and he didn't smell like smoke for once. Actually, his house on the inside didn't smell like smoke, either, unlike it usually did. He was barefoot, and it looked like he hadn't shaven in a couple of days.

"Hello," Zayn said, leaning against the door frame. "What do you want?"

I had lost my words and almost couldn't speak. "Um, well, I, uh, have your stuff to give back to you."

Zayn nodded. "A little late, don't you think?" he asked me, staring me straight in the eyes. What he didn't know was that I would've come earlier, but I hadn't mussed up the courage to come here.

I brought the boxes to his front door. He was sitting on his couch watching a game or something. "You can come in, you know," Zayn said.

"I'd rather not," I answered. His flat looked surprisingly clean. "When did you come back to Bradford?" I asked him. 

"Yesterday," he said. 

I sighed. That's why the house hadn't smelled of smoke yet. "Have you still been smoking?"

"No," he told me. I smiled to myself. That's all I wanted to hear. "But I've been drinking more than usual. I'm getting over a hangover right now."

I looked back at the car and closed the door before I could say goodbye. I drove out of the driveway before I could fall in love with him again.