Life With Mr. Malik (ON HOLD)

Chapter 15: Happy To Heartbroken

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing that came to my mind was Why's my pillow harder than rocket science? With my eyes still shut, I lifted my head a bit, catching a whiff of the perfume I knew all too well. My arm instinctively wrapped around the waist of whoever served as my human pillow, making him mumble in his sleep. His voice was deep and rough, and I realized only then who was sleeping next to me.

Zayn.

Aww, he spent the night and I was resting my head on his chest . . .

Cutest thing ever! 

Our relationship was basically the kind of relationship people in High School would sell their souls to have. Then, my eyes shot open and at the same time, my body sat bolt upright.

Zayn. Spent the night.

HERE.

HEAD.

ON

CHEST.

Don't panic, Miles. Don't panic, Miles! 

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MILDRED, JUST TAKE IN AS MANY HUGE GULPS OF AIR AS YOU CAN SO YOU DON'T PASS OUT!

In a frenzy, I quickly felt my entire body and breathing a sigh of relief, thanked god I was fully clothed. Running my fingers through my hair, I turned my gaze to Zayn who, to an even greater relief, had all his clothes on as well and was merely sleeping soundly on the couch with one hand behind his head while the other was planted firmly on his stomach. I tried to recall the events that took place last night. 

So, here we go.

FLASHBACK.

"Miles, are you crying?" Zayn asked me, looking concerned. Well, of course, I'd been crying! Did he not hear himself? He was sweeter than the pies down Missy Anne's bakery which was about a pint of sugar away from changing its name to Thanks For The Diabetes! I swear, at this rate, I'd be lucky to make it into seventy-five. Dang it! I better start writing my last will and testament now. Oh, who am I kidding?! I don't even have anything to bequeath. The most valuable thing in my possession is the jar which contained a strand of Brad Pitt's hair. Don't ask how I got it. It involved a lot of lying and . . . scratching and . . . bribing. Well, let's just say two people had to go home in ambulances and I wasn't one of them. 

"No," I wiped my eye on my sleeve. "I just have something in my eye, you know. Like, a twig." I said as I picked on my left eye and rubbed my index and thumb together. "Or a branch, perhaps."

Zayn laughed and hugged me tightly and I could remember wanting to stay like that forever.

Oh . . . So that's how our silly argument started!

"Stay here tonight please please please with a cherry bigger than Kim K's bum on top!" I had pleaded with my hands folded together. 

"No, Miles, I have to go home!" Zayn said, shaking his head.

I cried out, "But I said please."

"And I said no."

"ZAYN JAWAAD MALIK!" I said, using the ever-so-famous technique of parents. If you want to toss in a stern effect, use someone's full name. Simple yet effective.

"MILDRED ALEXA EVERLEY!"

"How dare you use my full name!" 

"Well, how dare you!" He shot back.

And I could vividly remember Zayn struggling to reach the door while I hung onto him, clinging to his leg. And I could also remember screaming so loud for Zayn to stop that two police officers rang the doorbell and said they had received a phone call saying someone was burglared. Fortunately, I had Zayn with me and the two officers were both females so you could say they let us off easy. Thank you, Zayn's perfect genes! Remind me to thank his parents later on for deciding to procreate.