Believing in love...Again (A Zayn Malik story)

Chapter 13: Christmas

RASHEL:

‘God, dammit! Get the hell out of my room before I kill you, Zayn Malik.’ I groaned. I didn’t have classes, it was winter break. But, no, Zayn today was in a piss-Rashel-off mood. I seriously don’t know why I idolized the guy for three years. I removed the pillow from under my head and covered my ears with it to block out the sound of rapping blasting from god knows where. I love music, I really do. It’s my escape; I can’t imagine going a day without it. But I hate rapping; I can’t stand a second of it. And Zayn knows this. I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut.

‘Rashel, just get up and I’ll stop it.’ Zayn said in a calm voice. Well, if he doesn’t stop the godforsaken music, he won’t be staying calm for too long.

It’s been a month since Zayn came here. And in the one month, he had taken it as his job to wake me up. Zach was bad enough, but Zayn is worse. I could tolerate jumping first thing in the morning but I can’t handle rap music, which not to mention, was still blasting.

‘Rashel, get up. It’s Christmas eve.’ Zayn said. Do I look like I care that it’s Christmas eve? Do I look like I wanna celebrate? God, I just wanna curl up in my bed, cover myself with a blanket to block out the cold and sleep.

‘Zayn, leave me alone.’ I whined like a five year old and Zayn chuckled, which still was a really beautiful sound to my ears.

‘Rashel, it’s Christmas eve.’ He emphasized and I realized that he wasn’t implying Christmas. There was something else too. I racked my brain, trying to remember if it was a special occasion today, but came up blank. But then again, it was morning. I don’t function properly.

I groaned once again when Zayn started to tug at my blanket. I am going to kill this guy. Sorry to the directioners out there for killing the most beautiful person on the planet, but he deserves it.

‘Rashel, I am going to pour a bucket of water on you if you don’t get up.’ Zayn threatened and I knew he won’t a think a second before doing it. I am telling you, trust me, Zayn Malik is evil.

‘Fine, I’m up, I’m up.’ I said, finally lifting my head up and glancing at Zayn. I thought he was a heavy sleeper. Why the hell was he completely dressed in black jeans and a light blue button down shirt at-I turned to look at the clock- 10 in the morning?

‘See, that’s a good girl.’ Zayn said and grinned at me. He turned around and his eyes once again landed on my walls. In the last month, Zayn had been relentlessly trying to get me to paint again, or at least tell him the reason for not painting. But I hadn’t given in. I wasn’t going to. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust Zayn, I did. But it wasn’t a walk in the park for me. I used to paint when I used to feel. Ten months ago, when I stopped feeling and turned numb, I stopped painting too. I loved painting, I loved it even more than I loved riding my bike and that’s saying something. But now, it just reminds me of the memory I am trying to put behind me.

‘Rashel—‘ Zayn started but I cut him off.

‘Zayn, please?’ I begged, in a defeated voice. I didn’t want to think about it first thing in the morning.

‘Fine, you’ll tell me someday.’ He said, confidently. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t gonna happen. But I doubted it. In the past month, I had come really close to telling Zayn all about it. I wanted to talk to him, I knew he would understand. I had talked to Drew but it wasn’t the same. It was different with Zayn. He is a good listener, it’s just that I am not a talk-your-feelings-out kinda person. I prefer to keep it to myself and sort it out. That said, it was a shock that I wanted to talk to Zayn. I just didn’t know how.