Storms {z.m.}

Chapter 26

Chapter 26 - Christine

How long could it possibly take to shower?

I tried to distract myself by checking Twitter and Facebook but pictures of One Direction kep popping up and I curse myself for having joined a fandom that happens to worship the love of my life.

Stop that, I tell myself. I need to forget about how I feel about him and help him get over Perrie's betrayal. I look over at the Little Mix poster next to my door and wonder if Zayn saw it when we were talking a few minutes ago. I shudder at the thought and rip it off the wall.

All of the bravado that I possessed earlier during our trans-window conversation has quickly evaporated and left nothing but nervous sweat in its wake. I should have never agreed to "catch up" with him. I know exactly what he's done every day since he left. It's my own fault for being a lovesick masochist.

This conversation would be all about me and I should have never agreed to it when I haven't figure out what happened to me in the first place. Actually, I knew what had happened to me, I just didn't know what story I was going to give Zayn. Telling him that he was my best mate whom I was in love with but broke my heart when he suddenly left and became the heartthrob of England while I stayed in this hellhole of a town and cried myself to sleep the nights I didn't drink myself to sleep certainly wasn't an option.

I'm broken from my thoughts as I see Zayn exit his house wearing a blue and black short sleeve checkered button-up and black skinny jeans, he's holding a grey hoodie in his hand. All of the black garments accentuated the black ink of his tattooed arms. My heart started beating faster against my own will to be there for him in the capacity of a friend only.

He throws a leg after the other over the fence and I cant help but admire his thin frame as he makes his way to the front of my house. I run down the staircase as fast as I can and peek through the peephole as he stands on the top step in front of my door. I back away in expectance of his fist knocking on the door, but it doesn't. I press my hands back to the entrance of the peephole and look through it. He's just standing there. He can't be nervous, can he? Why would he be nervous? He's an international superstar and I'm just the girl next door. 

I turn around and look in the mirror and realize that maybe I'm not the girl next door anymore. I'm no Perrie Edwards, but I'm no typical Bradford bird. With a sudden air of confidence I unlock the door and swing it open before I chicken out.

"Hey," I say confidently. By this point I'm just feigning confidence because my heart is pounding in my chest, but I have to do it or else I'll make a complete fool out of myself. If he's nervous, that means that, for tonight at least, I have the upper hand. I can pretend like my life is a big party and he'll eat it up because I look great. At least that's what I tell myself.

"Hi, you ready?" he says looking at his reflection in the mirror behind me. Some things never change.

I grab a thin leather jacket and my purse from the coat rack next to the door and walk past him onto the walkway leading to the street. I hear him walk quickly to catch up.

To be perfectly honest, I'm a bit taken aback by Zayn not making a comment about my appearance. No "you look great" or "wow" or anything! I have to remind myself he's not like any of the guys I normally go out with before it makes a permanent dent in my ego.

"So, where do you wanna go?" I ask nonchalantly.

"Starbucks?" he responds. 

"Their tea is rubbish," I say shooting down his idea. The dismay in his face is slowly breaking down my phoney façade.

"But their coffee is excellent," he responds, but he doesn't sound too convinced. His heart isn't in it.

I want nothing more than to ask him what's wrong, to make him relax and talk to me about whatever it is that is making him upset, but I remind myself that he needs to see that I am doing just fine without him. I don't need him to pity me.

"Fine," I agree curtly when in reality I want to say "Great idea, I bet their coffee will be great!"

We slowly walk down the street into the center of town and the warm breeze blows through my hair making me wish I would have left my jacket at home. It's one of those strange English days: the sky is pink and the sun is nowhere to be seen but it's still slightly warm. I let the breeze course through my arms and soothe my nerves. As we turn onto a more trafficked street I look over to see Zayn pull his hoodie over his head.

"It's bloody well hot, take that thing off," I say more menacingly than I intended. I was trying to make a joke, but acting this cool and collected in front of Zayn makes me come off more cold than cool.

"I can't risk being seen, there will paparazzi here by the time it gets dark," he says pulling the hood over his perfectly styled hair. For some reason the thought of his precisely sculpted mane being squished by the hood makes me extremely sad.

It makes me upset that after being heartbroken over his fiancee having an affair with another guy, he has to come hide out in this hellhole and on top of that he has to hide so the press won't find out where he is. And yet through all this he decided to go out with me to catch up, and I have the nerve to be a cow? The sober look on his face chips away at the last remaining piece of my cold demeanor and I let myself say what I want to say.

"I missed you," I say almost in a whisper.

I hear him suck in a sharp breath and I look over to see his mouth forming a perfect "o" and his eyes are wide as saucers. His long eyelashes all point away from his eyes but once I see those caramel-colored eyes I can't look away. 

"Zen!" I scream and he shushes me as I notice people around us looking our way. I try my best to contain my excitement that he's actually here standing next to me, but I can't. After holding it in for so long and pretending to be calm and collected I finally let myself do what I want to do. 

I wrap my arms around him in a quick gesture that pushes him into the window of a bank building. His body tenses in shock, but begins to soften after a few seconds. I much as I know I should let go, I just can't. In this small town of Bradford that felt like a jail for the least few years, I have my arms around my best mate and I suddenly don't care that he left without so much as looking back.

I feel his arms wrap around me and my pulse quickens. I had been too lost in my thoughts to realize that he wasn't hugging me back. I wasn't expecting him to, but when I feel his arms come around me and squeeze, this jail cell suddenly feels like home.

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