Another Fan

ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

Do I knock? Do I enter the room with no permission? Or do I leave the room and just try to fall asleep again?

Go help him. Of course, you’ll still help him. You idolize him, dimwit. And there goes my subconscious kicking again. Not the right time!

Ugh, what the heck? I know that I’m gonna help him in the end, even if he doesn’t want my help. I’m just that nice for the people I idolize. I’m prepared to take bullets for everyone I love. Ugh, I’m being dramatic again. I have to stop.

Breathe. One. Two. Three. You can do it and it’s just Zayn, it’s not like he’s going to eat me or something.

I knocked softly on the door, hoping it was loud enough for Zayn to hear. I don’t want to knock the door down at 11:30 PM. I should be asleep, ugh!

I slapped my face to try to stay awake and actually knock some sense into me. I’m too sleepy and tired to even remember why I came here. But the scene unveiled when the door opened was enough to wake me up. It made me freeze in my spot and actually made me so speechless.

He looks so broken that I just want to run up to him, hug him like I could take away the pain, and whisper soothing comforting words like everything will be okay and all that nice shit. But this man standing in front of me hates my guts to death, and that makes me hold back from doing the stupid things I actually wanted to do.

His eyes were bloodshot, obviously from all the crying done. His hair was messy like he pulled it on purpose from all the frustration and pain he probably felt. His shirt looked soaked, probably from all the tears that left his eyes that he didn’t wipe. He really looked like a mess. He looked so vulnerable and helpless that I felt guilty for even putting up a fight with him a while ago.

His room probably looked so messy from all the anger he just let out and all the dirty clothes he didn’t laundry. Who even washes their clothes? Natalie, get a grip!

“Are you just gonna stand there or is there something you actually need?” he managed to spit out with his voice a bit different from all the crying.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” I replied carefully, afraid that I might hit some nerve and make him angry, that’s the least thing I wanted to happen at the moment—not when he’s obviously broken.

“Do I look like I’m okay?” he asked, his voice rising. Geez, dude! I don’t want to fight.

“I just wanted to help. You know you don’t have to hate me. If it makes you feel better, then I’ll leave and you’ll never have to see me again,” I rambled on, not actually feeling all the rage that built up as I spoke.

“Then, leave!” he shouted, obviously pissed.

“May I remind you that everyone carries their own weight of problems and just because I work for you, doesn’t mean I would be nice all the time. I was just trying to help! I didn’t actually do anything to you to hate me that much. Zayn, you’re a fucking coward. Man up!” I replied, trying not burst in anger. He’s just a stupid boy, Natalie. Don’t let him get to you.

“I never asked you to help me. Mind your own business, for all I know, you could be one of the paps who keeps selling stories about another person and keeps destroying that person,” he bitterly replied, prepared to close the door but I stopped him with my foot, which I know is going to hurt like hell later on.

“You know what? You always assume that publicists will ruin your life. Just because we try to keep you in a nice image, it doesn’t mean your life is bound to be ruined. We are actually trying to help you guys inspire more people and actually keep the sales coming. If you weren’t interesting, then you’d be nothing,” I spitted out bitterly, making sure he understands each word I say. He pushed me into this! He deserves this.

“And how many times will I have to remind you that I’m different from your last publicist? You should know I actually went up here to see what was wrong and help but you, you just can’t be helped. I’ve tried being nice with you, and you know, you don’t deserve anything nice with your bitter and cold heart,” I added. I actually made eye contact with him as I spoke, just so he could feel that I mean every word that I just said.

“Just do everyone a favour and leave,” Zayn muttered, looking at the ground.

“Don’t say things you’ll regret. You’ve already lost Perrie; you wouldn’t want to deal with another shitty publicist if I quit,” I said with fake amusement before walking away from him.

“Oh, before that. Don’t worry, you won’t see me again,” I said with a fake smile, obviously hiding the pain I just felt. It’s just really hard to pretend anymore.

But before I left, I swore I heard Zayn whisper my name hopelessly. It was as if he wanted me to stay but we all know that my mind is just playing games with me. Maybe, I really need that break. Or maybe, I should just quit.

I constantly slapped my face as I walked down the streets, hoping it would make me remember why I wanted to be a publicist in the first place. Maybe, it was just a phase and if it was phase, then I just wasted 8 years of my life following the wrong route. Well, that just sucks.

I didn’t know where I was going. It was as if my feet knew the directions but my brain was too busy to even register anything.

And somehow, I ended up where I started, where London welcomed me: The LA Confidential during 12PM-4AM and Club De Fromage during 6PM-11PM.

~’~’~

I have five things to say:

1) Yes, those two clubs exist and I do not own them. They’re two different clubs that I joined because it’s necessary to the plot. Again, I do NOT own them.

2) Sorry for not updating for almost 3 months. I was busy and I had this writer’s block since I was trying to finish up my other story, 50 Ways to Say Goodbye and the plots are just different so it was hard. It’s almost ending so don’t worry, I’ll try to update this more often.

3) I would really appreciate it if every person who reads this actually votes and/or comments. Don’t be a silent reader! I give dedications to people who appreciate the story.

4) Do you like the new cover? Tell me what you think!

5) Stay amazing!