[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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
➳ ARIELLE'S POV
Zayn spent a long time out on the deck. I continually peeked in on him—ensuring to give him some privacy—but he didn't move from that chair even after eight cigarettes and three hours passed. I could tell that he'd been crying out there and I wasn't sure if that was possibly the reason he was out there by himself for such a long time. Maybe he just didn't want me to know that he'd been crying?
I've spent the last hour in the living room, cuddling with Sky. It's much harder for her to sleep in my lap now because she's gotten so much bigger than when Zayn first adopted her. She's still technically a puppy, but she's probably double, if not triple, the size compared to just a couple months ago.
Ultimately, I'd gotten bored of watching nothing on TV—since there wasn't anything interesting on—and with the warmth that Sky was providing, I nearly fell asleep on the couch. It wasn't until I saw a commercial that I had an idea of how to distract Zayn.
If it doesn't help distract him, it'll at least possibly help him to relax a little bit.
Finally, I get up from the sofa and head to the washroom. I prepare by lighting some scented candles and setting some fresh towels on the bathroom vanity. I fill the tub with lukewarm water and some bubbles until it looks adequate. When I come out from down the hallway, I notice that Zayn's come inside and is standing in the kitchen having some water.
"Are you alright?" I ask, unsure of whether he needs a hug or anything.
He sighs as he turns to face me, slowly licking his lips. He looks sad—sullen and lost—as he shrugs his shoulders lightly. "I honestly don't know." He seems a million miles away right now and I want nothing more than to hold him closely.
"I—"
"I heard water running," he takes a step towards me. "Are you having a bath?" I observe that his face is swollen from the cry he had out on the deck and I'm sure he's feeling very tired by the way his eyes seem heavy—then again, he might just be heartbroken.
"Actually, I ran it for you." I respond, taking his hands in mine. "I figured it'd help you relax, maybe get your mind off things."
He gently squeezes my hands. "That actually sounds really nice right about now," he admits as he bites down on his lip. "Would you like to come with?"
"Would you like me to?" Rubbing my hands up and down his arms, my eyes are transfixed on the pattern dancing across the front of his shirt. I can't say I've ever seen him wear this particular one and it has me wondering if it's new or if he's just never worn it. It looks good on him.
He intertwines our fingers. "Come," he mumbles quietly. With our fingers interlaced, he leads me down the hallway and into his bedroom. He lets go of my hand when he steps inside the bathroom and pulls his shirt off his torso.
