faded

1.0 - dream

"I missed you so much today."

I smoke a cigarette, hearing his soft voice. I had my head on his chest, a glass ashtray strategically placed on his torso. Every couple of seconds I would hear the faint burn of his cigarette, the tv on so low I could detect him taking a drag.

Everything was perfect in this moment. His white tee was big on me but I was comfortable. Zayn's sweatpants were warm against my bare legs, which were intertwined with his. We were just laying together in the guest room, pretending the outside world wasn't real.

Zayn had gotten home from work at around 5:30pm and as soon as he opened the door, he hugged me so tight. We decided to just lay together, watch tv, and relax.

"Yeah?" I reply happily.

"I really did. I don't know. I was feeling sort of sad, babe, the thought of you leaving me made me realize that I can't let you go. I won't let you go. I wanna do whatever it takes for us to work out."

"I hope so," I replied, lifting my head to look at his face, "I missed you, too."

Zayn grinned like a child. "Every time you'd text me, I had the dumbest, most lovesick look on my face."

I shake my head, giggling at his choice of words. I'm happy. It's been only a few weeks since I started seeing him, but I just... I don't know what's wrong with me. Being with Zayn is the best thing that could have happened to --

I immediately wake up, disoriented. I take a good look at my surroundings and realize I fell asleep in the study. The bottle of Jack in my hand is half empty and my stomach feels so heavy. Did I black out? Or fall into some weird lucid dream?

Seeing him was so real. His touch was so fucking real. The gleam of his eyes and soft skin was so vivid, I could almost feel it against my fingertips if I closed my eyes. Was I losing it?

I took a quick drink of the bottle, the burning, torturous trace only alive for a few seconds.

It had been 3 months and I was still going to bed drunk and waking up drunk.

My house had become a grave for me. It was empty often. The maids were so quiet and Melinda was always too busy managing everything, I rarely got a chance to speak to her when I was sober. I knew they were awkward around me, but now more, because I could imagine I was not pleasant to be around.

I carefully stood, holding onto the desk for support. It was hard enough to keep my balance when it felt like everything around me had formed a vendetta and spun, even the walls closed in on me, their target.

I made my way out, walking slowly like a baby deer.

"Melinda! Where are you?" I called from the top of the stairs.

She appeared almost immediately, from somewhere in the living room, I assumed.

"Yes, Stasia?"

I cringed. "Where is my phone?"

"Last I saw, it was in your father's room on the charger."

Nodding, I reclined against the wall. "Have I gotten any calls on the house phone? I know I haven't asked but..."

She sighed sadly. "You know you have. That man calls every day. You need to talk to him, you know? If you're through with him, talk to him and tell him to stop calling. Though I know that's not the case."

Her words make me embarrassed. I realize how immature I've been, ignoring Zayn and the entire world. But I needed time, time to myself.

But what good have I done for myself in these last few months? Drink until I black out and pop Xanax until I'm so out of it, I can't even function?

"Yeah? How do you know?"

"I just thought that man was different from the others you've brought over."

I bite my lip. "He is, but I don't know how to fix it."

"Give him a call."

Melinda walks off into the kitchen, leaving me deep in thought.

Maybe it was time for me to make a real change. Maybe Zayn and I could work out our differences. I knew that I needed him back, despite what happened, I still love him. All I could hope for is that he loved me, too.