The Catch | Zayn Malik

The Catch ; Chapter 40.

40.

Blythe stuffed her inspirational posters and various glass cleaners into a large shoulder-bag. Already, her insides were screaming with excitement. She could feel her leg muscles contracting with enough electricity running inside her body. Having her own studio, was something beyonce her dreams, and now they were coming true.

Not bothering to lock the door behind her, she wheeled her suitcase down the hallway and entered the end stairwell. Elevators were always too busy, and the awkward silence between one and another was too unbearable for Blythe. So instead, she hauled her heavy suitcase down the flight of steps. The building only having seventy flights of steps made Blythe dizzy in the head. Yet, she held the key to her studio, so there wasn't any time going to waste.

*

Zayn began rocking nervously in the backseat of the cab. It was as if his mind were running a marathon of emotions. At the moment, nerve-wracking and anxious were winning, but less than a minute ago rage and anger were in the lead. As the large apartment building of Blythe's came into view, Zayn broke out in a frenzy.

"That one! That one!" Zayn shouted, gripping the corner of the driver's seat and pointing out the windshield. The driver made a mad swerve to the left and shifted into park. The cab screeched to a halt, driving Zayn forward. Hastily, he threw a twenty pound bill in the passenger seat and jumped out from the car. Fast-paced leaps he made up the concrete steps and burst in through the front doors. The receptionist looked up from her fancy wooden desk. Her alarmed eyes followed the tall man as he ran towards the left wing of the staircase. Opening the heavy grey door, she could hear his stomps following even after the door closed.

The receptionist's head bounced towards the direction of the other side, where she could see a short girl pulling on a suitcase. Her eyes closely followed the girl, until she got distracted by the resident clacking his fingertips on the counter.

*

"Blythe!" Zayn shouted in a deep voice. He continued knocking his heavy fist on the door, not caring if he broke the door or not. Five, six, seven times he knocked. No answer. Zayn laid his head against the door and sighed loudly.

"For fuck sakes; Blythe open the damn door!" He screamed. Yet he knew that Blythe wasn't in there, he just needed something to get angry about. Zayn Malik was officially going mad.

His hand rested on the knob of the door as his fingers began to wrap their way around the handle. Slowly, he pushed down the handle and with full force pushed his body mass into the door. The door opened instantly as a stumbling Zayn came in. Quickly retrieving himself, he looked at the door astoundingly. A little squeal of joy came from his throat, in which he'd never admit.

The first thing he did was run to the living room. Standing there, he called out Blythe's name again. Zayn ran his fingers through his very messy hair. He hadn't even plucked up the decency to wash himself or fix his hair that morning. His mind was set on Blythe, and only Blythe.

Jumping over the couch, he landed in front of the glass door that led to the balcony. Unlocking the door, he jumped out, his large hands clutching the iron rail.

"Blythe, please." Zayn mumbled, burying his olive-skinned face in his hands. His feet twirled about the concrete balcony, banging his back against the side of the balcony. Realizing his pain, he grabbed the iron rail and steadied himself. Looking out below him, he stared at a loving figure for seconds.

Staring at Blythe's curly chestnut hair blowing in the hot sun, and her amazingly long tanned legs sent Zayn in a flurry. She was holding a suitcase handle in her petite hand while her other hand held the sleek, black door of the cab. Gazing at her some more, reality sudden kicked in. Zayn's thick eyebrows furrowed deeply, a loud sound coming from his throat.