My Beautiful King

Chapter Thirty Five Part 1

My eyelids quivered softly as I awoke to a surrounding of blinding natural light. "Fuck," I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut and stifling a yawn. "Morning already?" I peeked to the left under my eyelashes and the LED lights on my clock contradicted me.

It was 11:04.

Whoa! Why did I feel as if there was something I had to have done by now? Something important... Shit! I was supposed to have kicked Zayn out three hours ago!

Zayn. I grunted in an extremely un-ladylike fashion.

The sofa bed was so much more comfortable than I remembered it being...

I attempted to roll over on the soft surface, ready to tumble off the mattress, but I instantly collided into something solid. Baffled, I opened my eyes and found myself looking at a naked chest. A boy's naked chest.

Zayn's naked chest.

"Fuck!" I hissed, voice petrified. I suddenly sensed his muscular arm wrapped around my waist. Hurriedly, I peeled away from Zayn's embrace and scrambled out of my bed so viciously that I crashed to the floor, earning myself a sore knee. I roughly patted my body all over, checking that I was still wearing clothes. I was. Thank fuck!

Somehow, Zayn managed to sleep through all my profanities and turbulence, face angelic and clean. His skin looking soft and positively kissable...

But the pureness of his face was besides the point. Why had I woken up cuddled in bed with him?!

Horrified at myself, I grabbed a small pile of clothes and scampered to the bathroom. I was supposed to have slept on the sofa, ready to shake Zayn out of my house by morning. But then again, I didn't remember ever leaving my bed to go downstairs last night...

Crap, crap, crap.

I slammed the bathroom door shut and turned the hot water on for a shower. Turning around to face the mirror and remove my shorts, I glared at my reflection; a pink faced mess of tousled blonde hair and startled olive green eyes. God. How rough did I look?

Soon, the tiled room was misty with steam, condensation forming on the mirror hanging over the sink. As the steam grew thicker, it caused a hidden word scrawled on the reflective surface be unveiled. A distinct handwriting that made my heart plummet and soar.

ZAYN.

He was everywhere. He was in my bed, his name was on my mirror, his fingerprints were all over bedroom and bathroom and skin...

And I didn't know how to feel about it.

-x-x-x-x-

I stood at the cooker in the kitchen, wearily stirring my spatula into a pan full of semi-cooked eggs. I had prior taken a forty-five minute long shower, long enough to help me get some thoughts together on the boy upstairs. And I'd managed to come to a drastic conclusion.

A part of me still wished to be wrapped up in bed with Zayn.

While the other part wished that I had kicked him in the balls when he had first suggested we lay together.

A part of me never wanted to rub Zayn's name of my mirror.

While the other part of me wanted to run upstairs and sterilise the whole bathroom.

A part of me had accepted that I was still, somehow, in love with Zayn Malik, no matter what he said or did.

While the other part of me completely agreed. But wholly loathed it. And wanted to repeatedly whack myself over the head with my stainless steel pan.

Because all of me knew that I was going to have to put all these feelings behind me and pace with a heart of steel. No matter how much sympathy he evoked, I'd have to remain un-amorous, because there was no way in fuck I could take confessing my feelings and not have them reciprocated again. As well as there was no way I could take him messing me up.