Blue Flame

-Clubbing-

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Try- P!nk

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"Zayn?" "Yeah?" "Do you wanna go to that bar downtown tonight?" "Which one?" "I can't remember what it's called but I remember passing on the way from the airport." "Yeah that's fine." I smile a little. "Zayn?" "Hmm?" "I love you." "I love you too." He smiles, pressing a kiss to my lips.

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"I'm going get some drinks." "Okay baby." He presses a kiss to my lips and he's gone. I look around at the crowd. Everybody seemed to be having an amazing time. Soon, an arm snaked around my waist. "Your drink, m'lady." "Thanks Z." I turn and kiss him again. We both gulp down the shot. "Let's go dance." I smile and nod, going with him towards the dance floor. He grabs my hips, holding me against him. "You look sexy tonight babe." He whispered in my ear. I blushed, continuing to 'dance.' In my opinion, this doesn't count as dancing, but he seemed to like it, so we did. "I'm going to get some more to drink. You want anything?" I shake my head. "Okay. I'll be back."

When he returned he had three shots of vodka and downed them all in seconds. "Babe are you sure-" "Yes. I'm fine." "Okay..." I said unsurely. He kissed me roughly, tasting of alcohol. "I need more." "Zayn you've had enough." "Just a couple more." I rolled my eyes and shoved him away.

This was supposed to be our night. Not him drinking the whole time.

He never returned. It's been an hour. An hour of me sitting at an empty booth while the nearby strangers made out. An hour of the booming bass. An hour without my boyfriend in a foreign country.

I try calling him but he doesn't answer. I sigh, take off my heels and go outside. Typical of him to ruin this.

I walk outside and hail a cab. I ramble off the directions and sit back in the seat, staring at my phone. That lousy, no good, son-of-a-bit-My phone is ringing. I looked at the caller ID:

Zayn<3

I sigh and answer. "Zayn where the hell are you?" "At the hotel." He sounds like he's crying. "Why are you at the hotel? Why are you crying? Why'd you leave me??" "I-I'm sorry." Was all he choked out before he hung up. What the hell? I thank the cab driver and hand him a ten dollar bill, telling him to keep the change. I walk inside the hotel and make a beeline for the elevator.

I knock on the door, seeing as I don't have a room key.

The door opens and Zayn stands there, shoulders slumped, eyes red. "What the hell did you do?" I ask, concerned, my hands coming up to caress his face. "I don't deserve your sympathy." "What are you talking about?" "I'm so sorry." "Zayn, what did you do?"