Pick The One... (COMPLETED)

Chapter 23 - Her

Chapter 23 – Her

Rosie’s P.O.V.

I sat in my new room, surrounded by luggage and things I’d thrown in search for a specific object. The reason I changed my place, and my hotel, a few days before was because, one way or another, fans had discovered where we’re staying and mobbed the building. That’s why the management decided it would be a good idea to put me and the boys in different places, on different sides of the city.

I had been moved in a sky loft penthouse in a hotel-like building, somewhere in Tribeca. It didn’t bother me at all because my dream was to live someday in a penthouse in NYC and it came true!  This one was very futuristic, with modern furniture I got to choose and an amazing view. To be honest, it was pretty big, maybe a little bit too big for my necessities, considering the four huge bedrooms and the large bathrooms, living-room and kitchen, plus an outdoor terrace on the 14th floor. It was insane and sometimes it felt strange as I was only one person in such a big house, but it had his perks, too. For example, to substitute the newly lack of the boys, I could make them stay at mine’ anytime I wanted. Of course, I hadn’t done that yet because, one, I was just moved in there and two, knowing us, there would be left a monstrous mess behind and I was already sorry for the maids that were responsible with the cleaning in the house. In a way, it felt just like my home in LA, excepting the fact that this was an apartment and there’s no Mike who could destroy it in a second. 

So now I was standing in my now home, trying to figure out what to do. I could unpack (since I hadn’t in the past week and a half since I was there), but I was sure the maids were more than keen on doing my job for a noticeable tip instead. I could stuff everything in a bedroom and throw a monster party, just to ‘christen’ the place, but I wouldn’t want my guests get lost in a house even I can’t find the way out too easy. I could do everything, call anyone and enjoy my celebrity status, but there was a reason that made me do nothing in the past two weeks or so apart from staring at the walls and overthinking.

Zayn’s piece of advice made me analyze the things a bit and he knew it. He sensed the distance between my mind and the real world and my concerns. He even claimed that he was expecting for this reaction after he’d told me what I’d never thought he would’ve. But both of us knew that this was the best thing to do. And, honestly, I couldn’t understand what took me so long to grab the damn phone, dial the number marked in my mind and do what I got to do. I was a bit ashamed and guilty to complete this task due to my behavior in the past. I had acted like an ungrateful, rude girl who deserved nothing but what she’d given, ignorance. How could I, after all this time of saying nothing but ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” to the list of contacts my manager made for me, go back and ask for love and advice and pretend that nothing’s happened?

But then again, a golden soul is made of forgiveness, too, and she’s a golden person herself, so why waste time? I quickly reached over the sofa for the phone that was casually resting on the glass table and swiped the unlock bottom across the screen in order to open it quicker. I pressed the keypad option and my fingers started shaking as I typed the familiar number. Before I could press the last button, ‘8’, I remembered how I forced myself to learn this number when I was little in case I got lost on the not-so-familiar streets of the town. I proceeded to finish and dial her, still unsure of what I was about to do. I wanted to put the phone at my ear, but instead I pressed the ‘speaker’ button to hear her voice louder and clearer, ringing cheerfully through my new home. After two rings that lasted longer than usual, she finally picked up.

“Hello?” the voice asked. I froze in a moment; her voice was the same, sweet and kind, always welcoming you to start a conversation only to hear it. There was a note reflecting the once rebel person she had used to be, who had smoked cheap weed in the corners and yelled the lyrics to every song on the radio while her best friend was laughing and carried on driving the old Chevy. There was something that reminded of the serious tone she had to adopt when needed, showing a more mature person, with more responsibilities and worried than I’d ever imagine she could keep inside. Despite the annoying crowd noise in the background, I could hear her voice loud and clear, just like I’d wished, just like I wanted. I could hear the confusion, the tension and the stress put aside when she spoke that apparently normal ‘Hello?’ “Is somebody there?” she asked again, this time more pressed by the time, probably. I wanted to say hello, to introduce myself and ask her what was wrong. I wanted to scream numerous apologizes until I would deserve her response. I wanted to tell her every memory we shared in hope of making her remember me. But I couldn’t. As much as I tried, the only thing that came from me was tears and silent words. A masculine voice came from somewhere on the other line. She asked again, but in the lack of a reply, she assumed it was a wrong number and ended the call. Little did she know it was the perfect number. I put my phone down slowly, letting the tears roll down my tired face and fell on my left sine on the couch, my body instantly curled into a ball and I had nothing else to do but cry my guts out.

I had one chance and I screwed it. I had one chance to talk to her, to apologize, to ask, to laugh and to recall the good times and I let it fly away. Maybe my voice knew I was too guilty to talk to her and refused to come out. I didn’t had the nerve to call again, as I knew that was going to happen again and I could bother the poor woman the whole day.

A knock in my door made me sober up, smack my cheeks a few times in order to get some color to my pale face and straightened my back. I was a bit mad, knowing that the maid had a key and wasn’t supposed to disturb me, but I shrugged it off and walked to the front door. To my surprise, I opened it to find a happy Zayn ready to knock on my door again if needed.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, confused. There was no meeting I had to attend, wasn’t it?

“Come on, you need to come with me right now!” he said, pulling at my arm.

“What’s wrong? Are the boys alright? Let me get my keys!” I said quickly as I gathered my necessities and ran down the hallway. Zayn refused to answer any of my questions and kept running while pulling me after him. After an elevator ride while I’d interrogated him about his surprise appearance, I gave up at the lack of explanations. As soon as we got to the ground floor, Zayn continued running for his life with me behind. The doorman was clearly expecting this as he held the door wide open for us and smiled at Zayn. Just imagine my confusion growing. I was brutally pushed in a small alley surrounding the building I lived in and then shoved through the opened entrance in bakery, something unusual for this part of Manhattan as there was nothing futuristic about the building, but more fairytale-like. It was a nice bakery and I was sort of glad, despite the rough way, that Zayn had showed me this amazing place near my house. It was decorated nicely, with pictures of cupcakes and colorful cakes on display. In the back, there were a few tables and some chairs. The room was empty, not even staff, which was weird, except a person on the furthest seat. When we walked in, the person stood up and I saw it. It was her.