My Beautiful King

Chapter Twenty One

I began to run.

There was no way I could face being at school anymore. Zayn had practically chucked my keys at me and told me to leave. And I was loyal enough to him to do just that.

I had never been so mortified in my life.

The second I slammed my front door shut, I made my way into my elegantly furnished dining room. I opened one of the mahogany cabinets and took out a bottle of Jack Daniels. I needed to drown the last three hours of life my life out, even if was only momentarily.

I marched into my room, not even bothering to wipe off the mascara smears that marked the area around my eyes. My face was used to it. I'd shed enough tears since that first day I'd met Zayn in September. In fact, I don't think my tear ducts had ever been utilised that frequently before.

Positioning myself on the floor, I twisted the lid of the whisky bottle and stared into the dark golden liquid. Fuck it. Fuck it all. I was gonna drink this entire bottle of whisky and not regret a single thing.

I brought the bottle to my lips and took a brave large gulp. Eurgh! I coughed and spluttered as I wiped the alcohol off my lips. It was way too strong on its own, I concluded. I was probably going to have to go up the road and buy myself some Coke to mix it with.

Or maybe not. It'd be too much effort.

Taking a second swig of whisky, I heard the turning of a key in the downstairs lock. Shit... Who was home already? Dad should still be in the office...

"Hello?" A feminine voice called out. "Simon... Oh... Um, Ashley, you home?"

So of course it would be good housewife Mother Dearest that would have to come and spoil my fun. That's if you could call deluging the fact that your boyfriend has just admitted that he was only with you for his own personal experiment of sex and is now the actual boyfriend of your arch-enemy, fun.

I listened intently to her footsteps patting on the carpet covered stairs. "Ashley, are you home? Your shoes are downstairs; I know you're home... Ashley?" She pushed open my bedroom door and stumbled in to my pink girlish hideout.

Her blonde hair was pulled up into a low ponytail and she was wearing a green t-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked vaguely like mine. I wouldn't be surprised if they were mine. As short as I was, I was still only an inch taller than my mum. People used to say that the only real differences between the appearance of my mother and I was that she looked older and I had my father's eyes.

Recently, differences between us were apparent. She was blonde, I was brunette; she dressed classy, I dressed like a whore; the male she had feelings for loved her back, the male I had feelings for couldn't care less about me if he tried. But there was one prominent similarity that I had been noticing for weeks.

Neither of us was ever happy in each other's presence anymore.

"Ashley..." She sighed. Her eyes analysed my current position; curled up on the floor, eyes red and watery, black make-up trailing down my face, bottle of whisky in one hand.

I looked up at my mother. Her disappointed face was too much for me to cope with. I tried to shrug my shoulders and appear indifferent, but I burst into a bout of noisy tears and sobs. She instantly ran towards me and wrapped me up in her arms. I breathed in her sweet perfume motherly smell and found myself crying harder. Her body was a warm contrast to the harsh weather outside.

"Mum, I'm so sorry!" I sobbed as I nestled into her warm chest. "I'm so sorry; I messed up so bad..."

"Oh, sweetheart," she comforted as she kissed my forehead. "I'm sorry too. We both messed up. I just wish I knew what was going through your head!"