[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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➳ ARIELLE'S POV
"I need a fuckin' drink," I announce, standing up from the sofa and beginning to make my way back to the party. How could I not? My head is absolutely spinning with the news that's just been shared with me!
Zayn's mother is a crooked cop. That means she's working with criminals and other dirty cops; she's abusing her sense of authority for her own personal gains. Whatever she's managed to get herself into has put herself at danger, as well as her son. Zayn was randomly beaten up—most likely by strangers he doesn't even know—all because his mother owed a debt of sorts, and those that were threatening her went to one of her weak points—Zayn.
But that's the thing, is Zayn even a weak point for her? I remember back to when I first approached her in the hopes of finding Zayn's attacker. She acted strange when I brought up the fact that he'd lost his memory. Actually, she acted a little strange about the entire thing, but how could I have ever possibly known? How could I have guessed that someone who's supposed to do everything in her power to protect her son, has managed to abuse her power which resulted in her son getting injured?
How can you be a decent cop if you can't think like a criminal?
It's all so fucked up.
I can't begin to imagine how Zayn's feeling, but I know he's feeling something because he's awfully quiet as I walk away from him. But I can't leave him, because when I turn back to look at him before exiting the room, I notice that his head is sunken into his hands. He takes a deep breath and begins fishing in his pockets for something. I watch as he pulls cigarettes out, along with a lighter and I take a step towards him to stop what's about to happen.
"You can't smoke in here," I tell him. My eyes dart down to his pink lips, and then to his nose piercing, which I admire.
"Does it look like I give a shit?" His voice is a harsh tone and I know he doesn't mean to snap at me—it's just because of the overwhelming emotions he's probably battling right now—but it still makes me scoff in annoyance at his tone.
"Zayn," I scold as I dart across the room to rip the toxic sticks from his hands.
"Arielle," he fires right back, glaring at me. He stands from the sofa, towering over me. "I need those."
I hold them behind my back as if that'll stop him, but he takes a step forward and reaches around my frame. "Zayn, no. You can't smoke in here."
"Babygirl," he sighs frustratedly. "I'm about to break something, yeah? If I don't have a fuckin' cigarette, I'm about to push this fuckin' table over." He says it just inches from my face, his cologne overpowering, and I breathe it in like I suddenly need it to breathe. I've missed everything about him and even though right now isn't the time to reminisce, I can't help it.
