resolution♔ z.m

15%

Because I actually fell in love with you. Not for the way you looked but for the way you made my skin tingle.

         

           “I wish it could end,” my hand strains over my chest—shit, it really hurts, it really burns. “I miss you, Zayn. The way it ended-it wasn’t right. Can I make it up to you? Maybe invite you to my show?”  I keep playing her voicemail over, over and over again. She sounds happy. Her voice didn’t trip, but it hinted pity (unfortunately the only thing I’ve been getting from everyone for the past few days) and like, she doesn’t really understand how it feels like to be in place, wait—“I completely understand how it feels to be in your place but you’re a guy, you’ll move on. You’ll meet that rightful girl.” It sounds so much like a line she’d usually say on TV with a flawless smile etched on her lips.

          “We know.”

          “He told you?” my heart twists further.

          “She did.” A sympathetic smile shows on Louis’ face. “Why didn’t you tell me—us?”

“I didn’t need your pity.”

“We are your best friends!”

“I can handle shit on my own, yeah? And, you have your girl to shag so why don’t you fuck off?”

That’s the look I never liked. Basically it was the only look I could understand and the only look everyone gave me.

“Don’t give me that look, Vera.”

“What look is that?”

“Disappointment.”

            “When you’re done being a prick, let me know.” He looks at me long enough, with a hard jaw and pressed lips, before standing up and hissing away to where the other lads sat while I spend my time staring out the window, cloud upon cloud, pain upon pain, and mostly sorrow upon sorrow. They’re all disappointed with me, with the person I’ve become or the person who has been inside the whole time. Everyone’s beginning to notice that my life is shattering as they speak. I really did try to keep it a secret and handle it as if it’s just a part of life I have to get over. Maybe if we both fell out love, it could have been sensible, but to watch the person you love, love someone else, is something I don’t think I can get over. Not in this lifetime and not in the next.

        It was a warm, slightly windy night in Toronto when we arrived, tiresome eyes and scattered hair boys skidding out of the plane, bags hung over our arms, while my heart rested on my sleeves. We check into our hotel, and at least I get a single room for myself. I expected a colder weather, but this suited me because I wasn’t going to get out of my room anyway. When I stand in the balcony, wondering if I was the only one who’d not want to sleep at such a time, a sleepless girl wanders out next door, or let me say, balcony.