Caught | 1D AU

2.

My Happy Ending - Avril Lavigne

The last text Zayn had sent was meet me at Lucky's, and a minute after that message I sent Okay see you soon. Thirty minutes later like a desperate fool I had texted him Where are you? But I had found him before he checked his phone again.

Usually he would have been up on stage singing his heart out, but the stage was empty, so I guessed he was on break. I found him standing at the bar, his head tipped back and his hand went up as he took another shot. His black hair was coiffed up, and he had the biggest smile I'd seen on his face in a while. He was flirting with another girl again, and I tried to suck in the jealousy, but it stung deep every time. We'd been over it, that of course he flirted with other women. It was part of his job just like it was a part of mine. If he wanted to make it as a singer, he had to play the part, build up the sex appeal. And so what if he flirted with them, it was only flirting--a light touch on her shoulder, a whisper in her ear, longingly staring at her ass in too tight jeans as she hung on the counter to ask the bartender for extra cherries.

But it didn't matter. He came back home to me every night. I went up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. "Hey babe," I called to him over the noise of the bar.

He twisted in my arms, draping one arm over my shoulders, smiling down at me--hesitant. "Oh, Finley," he said. He leaned away from me, leaning against the bar. "How's it going?"

"I'm good, how are you? Is it a good crowd tonight?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's brilliant tonight, quite lively."

"Wanna buy me a drink?" I asked, "I'm sorry I haven't been coming out to see you play in a while, but Susie's filling in for me tonight, so I'm all yours."

"Yeah yeah, about that... I actually wanted to talk to you 'cause I've been thinking..." I stared at him bewildered, waiting for him to go on. He turned to the bar, "Hey, can I get two shots?" The bar tender poured them, and he turned around, handing one shot to me. "Cheers," he said, clinking his glass to mine. I dreaded what he needed to talk about, and why he couldn't wait until we were home. I took my shot. The hard liquor burned its way down my throat. "Look, okay, I've been thinking," he went on. "I've been meaning to do this for a while, but you're really hot babe, and I just, I stop thinking when it's just you and me, and, and it's not you in particular, I love you, I really do, I'll always love you--"

"—But? What are you getting at? We're happy, aren't we? It's been hard the last couple weeks, but we can make it through it."

"I just signed a contract with a really big record label, and they don't want me to be strapped down..."

"Since when have I strapped you down?" I asked, taking my hand off his back.

"Look, I think I made it, okay? I think I really made it--finally. I'm going to be famous. Like really famous. And I don't want you to get hurt when that happens. Because the tabloids really look into every part of your life, they don't hold back."

"Your label doesn't like that I'm a stripper, does it?"

"Babe..." he reached out, then stopped himself. "It's not about the label—I don't want you to get hurt."

"Sure," I said, pulling away completely so there was a foot of space between us. "We'll talk about this when you get home tonight." I folded my arms.

"Actually, I think maybe, it would be better if I don't come home tonight, and then you'll have all day tomorrow to pack your things up and find somewhere else to stay?"

I stared blankly at him. "You're dumping me. And you're kicking me out of my home?"

"...It's my apartment."

"I've been paying your rent with my stripper money for the last five months!" I yelled at him.

"And I appreciate you so much, without your help I wouldn't have been able to put so much time into my music. You mean the world to me, but look, I just think it will be easier on both of us if we just cut it off as soon as possible. And I know, I know I'm being an asshole, but I need you to hate me right now so that you'll want to leave because I really do love you, I do. But we can't be together." My hand was hitting his face before I knew it. He held his cheek. I took a breath, then leaned past him to the bar. The girl he was flirting with earlier was still right then next to me. She heard the whole thing.

"Can I get another shot?" I asked. The bartender nodded, filled up a glass and I knocked it back. I pushed off the bar, and away from Zayn so that he had space again. "Thanks for the drink," I said, "and for wasting three years of my life."

"Exactly, hate me. Please," he said, "tell me I'm an asshole."

"F.uck you," I said, turning around, making my way through the crowd, and out the door. One last look at him, and that girl was already hanging off his arm. I got my phone out to get a Lyft as I pushed through the door into the cool night air. I waited on the sidewalk, starting to feel the alcohol hit my head, making the world a little bit tipsy. I couldn't stop the tears from leaking out of my eyes.

NOTE—

I don't really know why I write notes to you. I don't even know who you are. It's almost like I'm expecting someone to respond? But no worries, honestly, I never respond to other writers who write posts at the end of their chapters, it's kind of weird, isn't it? Just a bunch of writers writing conversational updates to themselves? Like how youtubers talk to a camera instead of you. But I'll keep doing it. If I'm going to be even more honest about my opinion about authors notes, I have to reference a story called Dead in Bed, because one of my favorite parts of dead in bed was the authors notes because it was like a whole separate story, it didn't even sound real, with mentions of slight abuse at home, and a best friend boy who went way out of his way to help her, and a teacher who encouraged her to keep writing a story about a whole town of people lustfully fornicating to death. But it might have been real... Either way, it was a good story, I recommend it.