How Long Can This Go On?(one direction fanfic) ~Editing~

Chapter 18 - Can Family Really Help?

Chapter 18:

The next few days at school were awkward. People didn't really recognize me. I was pretty different. I was different and confusing, because I knew everything I wanted, and exactly what I wanted to be. I was being nicer than usual, and some of my friends didn't like me for that. I didn't care, as that was irrelivent to how I wanted to live. And how I was.

But the worst thing, Zayn didn't show up for two weeks.

"Where's Zayn?" I asked Niall. He turned to me, thought for a while, then told me what he thought about it, which I assumed he was wrong.

"He probably moved. Couldn't stand here anymore? I'm not positive. Sorry, Ems." I felt Niall was lying, which he wasn't very good at.

"Ok, thanks then." I had said. I didn't want to make an argument or anything.

Niall was different sense I came back. He seemed more confident and more...open. Like he had nothing to hide anymore, or nothing to worry about. And I was worried. I had no idea if there was anything wrong, or anything exciting happening that didn't include me. I was to afraid.

But I really wanted to know. Maybe Harry had said something to him...

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Later that day, I called Zayn multiple times. Twenty two, in fact. He never answered. I left messages saying, "Hey, where have you been? I'm ok, are you?" and "Why aren't you picking up? Zayn, I'm worried." But he never called back.

So on Saturday, I drove my cycle to his house, and knocked on the door. I waited for about five minutes. No one answered. I was beginning to think that Niall was right. Zayn may have moved. That he couldn't bare being there any longer with his love gone that he just had to move on and couldn't do anything else.

But then the door opened, just as I was about to leave. It wasn't Zayn, though. It was his mother.

"Ember! You're ok!" She skipped out and hugged me. Which actually kind of hurt, sense I was still healing, and I let out a small squeak. She laughed and let go. She stepped back and examined me. I looked much different, and she probably noticed. Instead of my usual daring clothing, and not giving a care in the world to what people thought of me, I was wearing a sweater, not like a big bulky sweatshirt, but a sweater, the kind that little innocent second years wear, and I was much less confident.

"Where's Zayn?" I got uncomfortable with her looking at me and judging what I had become for so long, and I just wanted to get inside, away from his mother, who was scaring me, and talk to him.

She smiled at me, and said, "He's at the gym nearby, sweetie. Tell him I said hi, and that dinner will be ready at eight." She smiled again, then went back into the house. I sighed and went back to my cycle. This just couldn't get more embarrassing.

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I didn't see Zayn working out, or lifting weights, or anything that you would normally see. He was just in a little corner, beating the living crap out of a punching bag. He was very sweaty, and he seemed really angry. His eyes were red, like he was crying, and he didn't have a shirt on. He was wearing shorts, like you normally would to a gym, and his hair was messed up, like he hadn't showered for days.

"Zayn." I said, softly, once I was close enough I was sure he could hear me. He shook his head and kept punching. I got a little closer, to make sure he could REALLY hear me.

"Zayn." I said once more. He did the same. Shook his head, like he was ignoring me, and kept punching.

Then I decided I had to step closer. And I did. But instead of just saying his name, for some reason, I looked at his head, put my hand on his shoulder and said, "Zayn." He turned around and looked at me. At first, he was confused. He didn't recognize me, or he didn't believe that it was me. Then there was this look on his face. A look that I was so happy to see. It was the look of absolute recognition. Like he knew 100% that it was me.