London: The City Of Love// Zayn Malik Fan Fiction

Chapter Fourteen

I stared at myself in the mirror for a while, studying my face. My hair was a mess of tangled blonde locks, my skin was red and blotchy and my green eyes were emphasised by the redness that surrounded them, making them look like they were glowing with jealousy.

I was jealous. Zayn had had sex with another girl, and we hadn’t even kissed yet. 

"Maybe the baby’s not his." I told myself. That could have been the reason he broke up with her, because she cheated on him and management gave them the ultimatum of staying or going and they thought that leaving would look like he was running away from the baby and the girl, and obviously guilty man’s way out. "Why are you making up excuses for him? He didn’t tell you even though you laid all your cards on the table!" I shouted angrily at the reflection.

I couldn’t look at myself any more. I looked horrific and I felt just as bad. I walked over to my chocolate stash and took out three bars and threw them at the sofa, all of them completely missing the sofa and bouncing onto the floor. How could I ever have thought I had a chance with him? He was Zayn freaking Malik!

Angry with myself I ran to the bathroom and tied my hair into a tight pony tail, washed my face with cold water then changed into my running outfit. I didn’t exercise much, usually when I was bored or upset I would go out for a job around London. Everyone in London seemed to take up running. 

I knew it was cold outside so I wore thermals under my shorts and t-shirt ensuring that I wouldn’t freeze to death. Grabbing my iPod I ran towards the door and slammed it behind me in an attempt to get some of my anger out. 

I sprinted down the stairs and out the front door before slowing down to a gentle run after a few blocks of sprinting. I could hear all the noise of London, which usually soothed me, but now I just wanted to block everything out and forget the world and my worries. Zayn had betrayed me. How did he think he was going to sort all of this out? I scrambled around my pocket looking for my iPod but my hands were too cold to do much with it, so I felt up the headphones looking for the volume buttons and turned the music up so I could feel the base banging into my eardrums. 

It was nice to get out of the apartment after spending three whole days barely moving. The boys constantly tried to call but I refused to answer the phone. It was obvious they hadn’t realised what had been published until a two days ago. I knew that when I got home I would have a lot of messages on my phones of the boys trying to persuade me to call them back, but I wouldn’t lower my guard again. Being weak isn’t something I intended to ever be again. 

After running around London for an hour and a half I headed home, face, hands, arms frozen stiff, my head left just as confused as it was before I left. 

I hated him.