Two weeks with Mr.Selfish

Part 19

 Part 19

The feeling of claustrophobia was relatively foreign to me up until this moment, within the somewhat roomy box of the quiet elevator. My chest felt considerably tight as I struggled to maintain composed breathing and not even the continuous drone of the awful music chiming through the ceiling and reverberating around me could not block out the sound of the blood pounding in my ears and skull. I shifted from one foot to the other, my eyes flitting every once in awhile to the slate of glowing numbers and my stiff body jolting only slightly with each dinging noise of the passing floors. I was nervous. I didn’t want to be here, in this elevator going up to his floor to his apartment – to him.

He was angry with me, and I knew this. The cold, single worded message I’d received half an hour after waking earlier in the morning was indicative of this. Rather than a smartass remark or a snarky little witty comeback or obscene insult, my phone screen had only one word printed across it.

Ten

It bothered me. It was simple enough, really – very straight-forward and to the point. But it wasn’t how we communicated, it wasn’t how he talked to me. It wasn’t us.  Because under other circumstances – where my ex boyfriend wouldn’t have been in the picture again or sitting at home nursing his broken nose – Zayn would have messaged me something dry and sarcastic and even if it was infuriating I know I’d close it and roll my eyes with a smile. Because there was always some form of personal connection within his messages – crude or not. His single-worded message was a reminder of the unfortunate series of events that had played out the night prior with Duke, and I was absolutely dreading our upcoming encounter.

Ding

I jumped at the sound that echoed within my eardrums and glanced quickly at the slate of softly glowing numbers. His floor.  Fucking wonderful. With a deep inhale, I awaited the doors to slide open, and oh my God could they take any longer? After what seemed to be an eternity, my vision was set on the dim hallway of his floor; the elaborate carpeted floors and deep crimson paint of the walls. Subtle reminders of the extreme differences in our social classes.

With a shaky exhale of warm breath, I stepped off and attempted to stand up straighter. I couldn’t let him see that I was internally  - emotionally, mainly – a mess. That  I was absolutely terrified of seeing him. But why? I did nothing wrong. How the hell did he have the right to be angry with me? Because my ex decided to spontaneously pay me a visit and stir up conflict? He had no right. I did nothing wrong…

“Breathe,” I reminded myself in a whisper, swallowing against the painful lump in my throat with each step. “Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.”

As I approached his door, it was already slightly opened and a slight frown tugged at my lips. Before I could comprehend why his door was cracked open, the hinges creaked and I heard a soft laugh echo from behind it. A female laugh.