Wearing Thin.

6. "Do I Wanna Know?"

It's a lot harder than I anticipated to come up with a way to get Niall out of my flat. I have a throbbing headache and that does nothing to help the cause. Niall wrapped his arms around me tighter, almost suffocating me. But I think that's because I feel so guilty. He's sitting on my couch as happy as he can be, and I have someone else waiting for me in the bedroom. It's almost funny, I could tell him the truth, divulge every secret I've kept from him, and he still wouldn't believe it. That scares me more than I'd like to admit. That someone can give me their heart so blindly, completely. And I'm more than willing to tear it to shreds because of my own selfish desires. Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath and slowly pull away from Niall. He just chuckles and pulls me back into his chest. His grip is stronger than before. It almost makes me cry. 

A commercial for some new product from McDonald's is on TV and my stomach growls loudly. I perked up, covering my face with my hands out of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I forgot to eat lunch today." Niall looks at me, disbelief written all over his face. He knows my past, he's suspicious. It's the truth though. I'd been stressing a lot lately, and food was the last thing on my mind. His body shifted underneath mine, fingers caressing the inside of my arm before he pressed a gentle kiss to the hollow of my cheek. "I can get us something to eat." He grinned widely, and it almost blinded my senses. "Matter of fact, I will." He groaned as he got up, stretching his arms above his head. 

"Chicken nuggets?" He asked, and his voice echoed throughout the room.

I threw a hand over my heart, and batted my eyelashes at him. "You know me so well."

HIs grin is back, and it's bigger than before. I look away and blow a kiss at him. 

I was glued to the couch until I knew for a fact that he was gone, or at least on his way to leaving. All of this was judging from the sound of his car engine. Even then I couldn't move for a few more minutes, anxiety building up in the pit of my stomach at the mere thought of seeing Zayn again after the event that just took place. I cringed internally, running my fingers through my currently shaggy hair. Taking a deep breath, I stood up quickly, only to sit back down on the couch. I had no idea what I was so nervous about. Maybe it was the fact that I had to tell Zayn he had to leave because there was no way Niall was going to without questioning me to the point of no return. 

"Stop being a pussy." I hissed to no one but myself. Getting up I walked the way to my bedroom, pushing the door open to reveal nothing but eerie darkness. "Zayn?" I called out. Seven heartbeats later and there was still no response. I sucked my bottom lip in between my teeth and bit down hard enough to draw blood. It was almost pathetic in a way when I started to search around the room for him. I started at my closet and gave up once I checked under my bed. It wasn't until I was standing at the center of my bedroom that I felt a slight chill drift in through the winter. My heart skipped a beat at the sheer realization that Zayn had escaped when he got the chance. I couldn't keep myself together. 

In the pale moonlight I could spot a piece of paper, no doubt a note from Zayn he scribbled on something he found before leaving me behind. I could keep chanting in my head over and over again that I knew better than to read the note. 

I knew better.

I knew better.

But I couldn't will myself not to pick it up. 

Trembling my fingers held the note up high, eyes squinting to read the almost illegible script. 

'I couldn't wait for you any longer. I love you. But I can't be pushed to the side like this. It's best if we move on. I would say we can stay friends, but it's best if we don't.'

Anger was  all I could feel in that moment, undeniable anger. The type that makes you see red, the type that causes mistakes. I didn't do anything rash, I just fell to my knees and held my face and cried. I didn't know what else to do, or rather there wasn't anything else to do. He made up his mind, and maybe, just maybe - it wasn't a decisions worth changing. I couldn't say that I didn't see this coming. It was always either him or Niall, and after that stunt he pulled at their party I knew that this was a clock that was ticking away. It was only when my throat started closing that I stopped making obnoxious sounds of pain. But the tears were never ending. I wanted to stop crying, I really did. But I couldn't. 

I was so swept up in my self-pity party that I didn't hear Niall come into the room. He was at my side instantly, arms wrapped tightly around my frame, kissing my head and telling me that 'everything's fine.' But he doesn't know, and I convince myself it's better that way. So I let him take me back to the living room where he tried to soothe me, it works. At least long enough to get some food in my system before the tears are back, maybe even worse this time. Niall just watched me this time, and I could read the pain on his face. He could feel each and every tear of flesh from my bones that was taking place in my body. I stopped after seeing the look on his face, I don't know why but I did. 

He tells me a few knock-knock jokes and I laugh, almost choking on my food. It's a good change of pace. I know he's trying his hardest to take my mind off of what's making me sad, it works in the meanwhile but I know that once sleep comes I'll go back to self-loathing. When we're finished eating Niall gets up and throws everything away. He's almost running back into the room with a lop-sided smile on his face, grabbing my hand to pick me off of the floor. "C'mere." He whispers into my hair, plopping down onto my couch where he stretched out, almost taking up all the space. Niall pulled me down, pressing me against his chest. He sang some song to me, I think I might've heard it on the radio but I wasn't sure. He kissed my face, and didn't give me a second to dwell on anything that was this. And for the first time I felt guilty because I could imagine myself getting used to this.