Check, Please?

Chapter 29

Betrayed. 

Betrayed by the one person that I ever fully learned to trust.  The only person I thought that I could trust.  After I left the apartment, I felt sick to my stomach.  I couldn’t believe it.  I wanted to take my eyes out of my head and try to wipe them clean of everything that I had just seen.  It was one of my worst nightmares come true.  I gagged when I saw a small pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs from where Therese had been.  For as much as I hated her, I could have killed her and I was glad that I didn’t.  I was almost horrified at my own rage and what had resulted because of it and I was surprised that I didn’t hit Harry more too.  Maybe it was because a part of me knew it wasn’t his fault.  But was it?  It just didn’t add up.  How the hell could he just leave me like that?  If he was so worried, why didn’t he go outside and walk around the streets a little bit?  He could have at least stayed at the studio and waited for me.   Why would he think I would walk all the way back to the apartment?  I just didn’t get it.

I shivered in the darkness as I walked down the street to Zayn’s, my head pounding and my heart still nauseous .  I never really realized just how close he lived to us.  I rarely ever went to Zayn’s, but I guess I felt like out of everyone that I could turn to for this instance, he would be the least dramatic about it all.  He would probably actually listen to me like I knew Louis wouldn’t.  He wouldn’t want to drink like Niall would.  He wouldn’t want to ask a million questions about it like Liam would.  If I wanted my space, I knew Zayn would give it to me, no questions asked.

“I was just looking to see if I could maybe hang here for the night?” I asked as he stood in the doorway, his plain white tank covered in paint.

“Or course, Love.” He stepped aside and let me into the dark apartment.  Just like I said, no questions asked.  The smell of fresh spray-paint filled my nostrils.  There were large, white cloths over most of the furniture and a canvas as tall as I was stood in the middle of the room, half painted.  I dropped my bag and kicked off my shoes, admiring the scene in the process. 

“I’ve been painting,” Zayn said.  “A guy on the street saw my work a few days ago and offered me quite a bit for it.”  He rubbed his bare shoulder shyly as I observed the canvas so far.  I could make out somewhat of a tiger or a cat, but a little more abstract than realistic, of course.  The colors were all different but blended together amazingly.  "I was really surprised but I thought it would be a harmless way to make more money when I could." 

“That’s amazing, Zayn!  I'm excited for you,” I said, lifting my hand to drag my fingers over the cloth canvas.  That’s when I saw my hand, still bloody and split open from punching the wall.  It was numb, swollen, and discolored in addition to being bloody.  I was so mentally wrapped up in the past situation that I had completely forgotten about my hand.

“That looks bad, Scotlan.”

I nodded and pulled at the bottom of my shirt uneasily.

“Can I help you clean it?  Wouldn’t want to have to amputate an infected hand.”

I laughed and turned to face Zayn.  “That would be helpful.”

Zayn forced me (although it didn’t take much persuading) to get a little high before he cleaned my hand for me.  When he said “clean”, I didn’t also know that he would be stitching it shut too.  He numbed my hand with ice, cleaned it out with hydrogen peroxide, and before I could come down from my high, actually stitched my skin closed on my knuckles and bandaged me up.  It was an uncomfortable process but I was grateful to say the least.  

“I never ever knew you could do things like that, Zayn, that’s actually quite impressive,” I said, lifting the bandage to see the black stitches sewn through my skin.