misfits // z.m

ch. 10 || petals

X. petals

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[Thalia's POV]

I realised that Zayn was right to leave me.
I pushed away everyone who could possibly care about me, and why was that? To avoid hurting myself.
I was selfish, deserting another person who had the capacity to care for me.

It killed me to think of how hard Zayn had been trying for me.
He was hurt enough already, trying to mask his pain by finding love again, and I threw it back in his face.
Thinking about it, I liked being in his company.
He wasn't like my ex, but I found that refreshing.

It was raining again today, and as I soaked my hands in warm water and began to wash the dishes, I enjoyed hearing the tap tap tap of rain against the glass, which was fogging up in the early Autumn weather.
There were days when I wondered how different my life would be if I hadn't met Dana, or if my parents hadn't passed away.
I could be happier, like I was all the moments before Smith took his life.

I, myself, was certainly out of the ordinary; I had a dusty box of vinyls beneath my bed and old hardback books, which were dog-eared and worn at the edges, falling apart after the countless times I'd read them.

Zayn came over the other night and met Dana formerly. By formerly, we all watched Saturday night television and gorged on pizza and chips.
Nevertheless, even with pizza stains round his mouth and his hair ruffled from the times his fingers had combed through it, I was still unable to form coherent sentences.
"You're happier when he's here...did you know that? You're you." Dana said once he'd gone.

And the strangest thing was, the slightest part in me agreed.

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I had skyped Zayn for the first time.
He sang me some silly songs and it reached the point where our conversation ran into the early morning hours.

I felt so angry with myself - I let go the one person who was offering his heart to me on a silver platter, and yet I didn't think it was enough.
Or perhaps I thought that I wasn't enough for him. It was hard to collect my thoughts when they were all running around.

As I pulled the plug from the sink, I realised I'd been staring out the window for a whole ten minutes, and my fingers were like raisins.
Sighing, I made a mental note to buy rubber gloves and dried my hands with a tea towel.

"Hey Dana, I'm just going out." I called some time later.
I heard her reply an uninterested 'okay' before I shut the front door.

In all honesty, I had no idea where I was going. It was pouring down, my car needed petrol and I couldn't visit Zayn.

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Contrary to my premonitions, I did end up driving to Zayn's mum's house, with an IOU: an apology,an old book of mine in my bag, and an armful of gizmos I'd conjured up in the last hour.
It was 3:56pm on the dot, and I still had no idea why I was here, how I would apologise or what I was going to do if he didn't forgive me. This plan was already on its way to disaster.

"He's just up in his room. Do you know which one it is? Are you hungry?" Shaking my head, I let his mum guide me to his room.
She left me outside his door, as if she was fully aware of why I was here. It was making me nervous.

Raising my hand to the cream bedroom door, an apprehensive chill enveloped my body and I thought of a few excuses I could tell Patricia.
Knocking on the door, I bit my lip and waited...and waited...until after 30 seconds the door swung open and I saw Zayn, Stella Artois in his hand. He'd been drinking. Maybe I should have given this a few days.

"Can I help you?" Came his snarky remark, his voice only slightly slurred.
"I...I brought you this." I seemed to have forgotten why I was here until I handed him the bundle of gifts I'd bought him. Chocolate and flowers included.
Zayn's tan, thick-veined hand pointed to the flowers. "You...b-rought me...fucking flowers?" He slurred and I blushed.

Willing myself in my mind that I needed this closure -that he was prepared to forgive me-, I spoke.
"This flower is a geranium. It represents stupidity." I focused my gaze on the flower, refusing to look at him or acknowledge the way even his drunken stare made me blush.
"This purple hyacinth is, simply, sorry. And I am. I'm a stupid, sorry mess. There aren't enough ways to say sorry in this world - it's been a day and I'm already going mad." I sniffled and then I realised Zayn was wiping my wet eyes with his thumb.
"You hurt me. I'm starting to think this deal was a bad idea."
A pain in my heart made me realise that maybe he was right. Perhaps the buzz I got whenever he stared at me so intensely was imaginary; perhaps the electricity which burned through my veins whenever we kissed was just in my mind.

I stooped to pick up two final flowers; a primrose and a petunia.
Touching his hand, I turned it over and pressed the petunia into his hand. "If you ever need reminding about us...this is a symbol of anger, but it also means 'your presence soothes me.'"
Zayn watched me carefully, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

After a long breath, he pointed to the primrose and asked, "What does that one mean?"
And so I answered, my anxiety riddling me with unease and reluctance.

"I can't live without you."