[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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➳ ZAYN'S POV
When I wake in the morning, I'm a little disappointed to find that I'm alone in bed. I wish there was a naked, flustered, sexually satisfied woman beside me to boost my ego, but unfortunately, there isn't. The only thing in this bed right now is a half-naked, tired, sexually frustrated me, and a dog—frantically kicking its feet somewhere in a dream.
Annoyed, I rub sleepily at my eyes and push the blankets off my body. If I had it my way, I'd never leave this bed, but I have shit that I need to do, and staying in bed all day won't get any of it done.
I look around my room, taking in the many quotes and drawings on the painted surface. There are a few quotes that stand out among the others, since I don't remember writing them, but it doesn't seem all that unusual. They're just quotes, there's no hidden meaning behind them. Probably half of them were written by Kit, and the thought instantly makes me want to erase all four walls, and the ceiling.
I lazily stand from the bed and saunter over to the washroom. I run the shower and strip down, stepping underneath the rain head. As I'm reaching for the soap, I notice an unfamiliar bottle of strawberry-scented body wash. The thought occurs to me that it's probably Kit's, but out of curiosity, I end up popping the lid open and inhaling the scent.
Instantly, an old, long-forgotten memory appears.
In her small hands she holds a black marker. She steps back up onto the bed and moves to straddle me.
Her hands run over my torso. She carefully traces the tattoos littered all over my skin. "I like this one," she says so quietly I almost don't hear it. She taps lightly on my upper chest—directly between my collarbones. She lightly traces the wings before leaning forward and placing her lips upon the ones that've been inked there. The feeling is exquisite.
My hands reach forward and massage the soft skin of her hips. I hear a slight pop! sound as she pulls the lid off the marker and she looks to my chest, her free hand runs over my flesh again, eliciting goose-bumps in its path. I inhale the scent that lingers on her skin—a mix of strawberries with a slight hint of my own scent.
She touches the marker to my skin. After a few moments, she pulls away and I look at what she's written on the skin above my heart.
I place my hand over it, smiling at her as she places her hand to cover mine. "Kiss me," I demand, and she does. She tosses the marker onto the side table and crashes her lips to mine.
For a moment, I'm taken aback, standing motionless in the shower, with the water streaming down my body. What just happened? Did I actually remember something that I don't recall happening? Does this mean that I'm finally on the path towards remembering everything I've forgotten?
