Sulk

Zayn was looking at me with increasing unease as I filled yet another shot glass with straight jack.

"Damn Deanna, cool it down a notch. Sooner or later I'll be carrying your drunk a.ss out of here," he harped.

"I'm just letting loose, get off my a.ss." I rolled my eyes and downed the small glass, the burning liquid warming my bloodstream. I sought to forget; to drown my liver in poison until I blacked the f.uck out. I couldn't sustain this feeling anymore, this feeling of emptiness. He had f.ucked me over; shattered my heart into a million pieces without means of repair. It had become abundantly clear to Zayn throughout the night that my intentions weren't just to hang out with him, but to escape the nagging thoughts of someone else.

His face broke into a wicked grin. "Get off your a.ss? Won't I have to get on it first?"

"Dude...are you hitting on me?" I scoffed, brow half-cocked.

There was indecipherable glint in his eyes as his entire persona went from overly cocky to shy in a matter of seconds. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You're hitting on me!" I erupted into childish laughter. "And it was awful! You need to work on your game!"

His smile visibly wavered as he sought to regain his confidence.

"Ha-ha, yeah laugh it up. At least I tried, gotta give me some credit for that." A bright crimson flush rushed to tint his cheeks in embarrassment.

And I did. Zayn was f.ucking sexy as hell. I mentally noted the way his chocolate eyes danced under the metallic light. His lips were full and I bet he could do so many things with them. His dark hair was gelled into smooth tufts. And that ink, g.oddamn! Black illustrations ran across the entire surface of his tan arm. I liked him, I always did. There was an air of wisdom about him that I admired. But he wasn't him. He lacked that passion; that dark side I was gravitated to. Zayn was funny, sweet, sexy, but dry. So dry.

"I am super duper flattered, though. If I didn't just get out of a relationship, I would definitely f.uck you," I purred, shooting him a wink as I grabbed the entire bottle and began downing it. His entire form went rigid as he pried it from my hands.

"Oh-hoh okay, easy there drunky. I'm going to take what you said into consideration, but you really need to lay off the juice," he cajoled, a wry smile on his face. He set the bottle down on the kitchen island. Even he was beginning to aggravate me.

"Why?! Stop being a damn buzz kill! You're just like him sometimes," I grumbled. I regrettably looked into his eyes, and they caught onto my sadness like I was wearing some translucent skin.

"Like who?...Is this about Harry?" He asked calmly. There it was again. That f.uck.ing name. I've been hearing that mantra over and over again like an overused record.

"Don't..." I croaked, my front immediately going into overdrive. "Don't say his name." The air grew thick around me. It was getting hot. So damn hot. I couldn't stare into the sympathetic expression on Zayn's face anymore. I was spiraling in panic. I acted quickly and barreled into the overcrowded dining room. Clouds of THC hovered above the room. The only friend I came with was scattered somewhere throughout the mass. Sandra, that dumb b.itch. Where the f.uck did she go?

"Deanna! Where are you going?" I heard Zayn call over my shoulder. I needed to have fun. I needed to forget. Anything to numb the pain; not even Jack Daniels would do the trick. And it usually did. I looked over at the dining room table and in one blind moment of bravery, I allowed myself to climb up onto the surface.

Eyes were penetrating me from all angles of the room and immediately, people from the rest of the house began to crowd around the ikea product to watch the scene. I had become so intoxicated, everyone's voices had morphed into an entirely different dialect.