Room 301 [Zarry]

mirrors and self-reflection

My life is a whirlwind of emotions. I'm happily signed with Columbia, spend my days caught between the tug of the studio and Kit's glamorous bungalow. Zayn becomes less clingy, slightly less protective and I'm thankful he doesn't ask questions when I come bursting in late or don't return at all, moving out of 301 has given me space and a sense of newfound freedom. I like the ambience of the new hotel, the pink paint and the secluded swimming pool.

The days are long. It's the midst of summer and the smell of sunblock is permanently stuck to my skin. I deliver Kit daises and sunflowers and stunning bouquets while I'm away and she draws me back in each night with those beautiful aquamarine eyes, tells me childhood stories and reminisces on the numbered years she had with her mother.

Days are spent picking up a tan by the pool and cooling off in our room, me playing my guitar and slathering on after-sun lotion or aloe when I get too burnt. It's more than I ever dreamed of and the apprehension I first felt when I arrived in Hollywood has all but disappeared. It's barely there, just lingering dark thoughts and what-ifs when I'm alone in my head and Kit is sound asleep beside me. I don't worry her with my silly, nagging concerns.

It's only a matter of time before things come tumbling down, creative disputes with my team, verbal fights with my overly opinionated manager, me drinking too much and listening to Kit scold me. We start bickering over small things and I stay out late with Lana, bar hopping all over town and coming back home wasted. Drinking is a good way to chase away your problems, the easiest temporary crutch.

It breaks me to see Kit cry, I confess my love repeatedly. We kiss and make up, this unhealthy cycle but I can't stay away. I start to hate the person I'm becoming, curse myself for changing a chorus or two, for altering lyrics to fit my label. I'm slowly slipping, drifting away from the artist I wanted to be. I struggle to find my own voice, my personal syle in the songs I record.

Zayn warned me.

Today has some semblance of normality, I stay completely sober and take Kit out for lunch. We munch on authentic street tacos and fresh spicy salsa, browse some store windows as I let her shop to her heart's desire. I miss doing things like this, feel so guilty about my behavior, I'm stuck carrying a bunch of shopping bags. "Kit, I'm really sorry. I never thought I'd resort to this."

"To what," she asks imminently. "It's okay Harry. We all have our ups and downs. I love you so much, I know exactly who you are."

"We've been together two months," I swallow. "How can you be so sure? I don't like that side of me at all, it frightens me and I never want to hurt you. Am I buying your affection right now? Because we swore we would never do that and I haven't earned it Kit. I'm not worthy," my voice breaks. "I don't deserve you."

"You don't mean that," she frowns. "This process is just hard. You're being pulled in a million different directions, you're lost, your team is being pushy. It's okay to be confused," she assures. "It doesn't mean you love me any less, okay? The onset of fame and learning how to deal is scary. If you don't learn how to balance fame, it can really cause a lot of damage."

Like Zayn. My stomach churns.

There's a long stretch of silence as we make our way back to the bungalow. I never dreamed I'd have a private pool, a fully stocked fridge, a presidental sized suite. I'm living a life of luxury alongside one of the most lusted after girls in Hollywood. She looks like a highly sought after cover model, an in demand film star. Her unassuming quiet and her humility can come as a surprise. She's so shy, her reluctance to accept compliments completely mind boggling. I quickly drop the bags, tuck her in my arms.

"I can take the clothes back," she whispers. "They don't matter to me."

"Kit," I say breathlessly, looking into her eyes. I've let myself fall so madly in love, I try to blink away my tears. I'm hopeless. I'd do anything and everything for her.

I gently cup her face, tilt her chin up. "I want you Harry and nothing else, no strings attached. I'm not asking for gifts or candlelight dinners, I'm just asking for trust. I'm asking for honesty."

"I know! I want the same things I swear. I've been so out of line lately. That's not me. I'm the same guy you met in Malbu, the one that dedicated a song to you, the one that realized summers will never be the same because they'll always remind me of us...of you. It's my favorite season because of you, because you somehow see the good in everything and you smell like flowers and we lose ourselves under the sun and we make beautiful love and its so enchanting. Everything about you. I love you more than anything. I'm sorry if you think I've changed."

She's a mess of tears. I rub the small of her back, shatter as she hiccups painfully. "I'd n-never think that," she trips over her words. "I won't ever think that unless you fall out of love with me." Her arms wrap around me tighter, almost desperately. "Please don't Harry."

"Never," I murmur, soft breath on her skin. "Not in a million years."

Kit asks my permissions to go out with some friends and I chuckle, surprised she still asks. We've bullt this wall of trust, one so strong I'd never dare break it. My heart fully trusts her but quivers as I kiss her goodbye. "Be safe. I love you so so much butterfly."

She giggles, rolls up the hem of my shirt, fingers peeling it up. I let her guide it up over my head, kick it to the side. Her lips find the butterfly inked on my chest and my heart won't settle down. There they go, a million tiny butterflies taking flight inside of me.

"I love you more."

🦋

I'm halfway asleep, dozing off as late afternoon sun filters through the blinds. I bask in the warmth, stretched lazily out on the bed. Fingers card through my hair, startling me. "Kit," I mumble, still drowsy as my eyelids flutter open. My mouth goes dry, heart dropping to the bottom of my ribcage. I don't know what to say, stupidly blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"I missed you "

"Harry, I think we should talk." His tone is so stern, so serious I get chills up my spine. I'm not used to this side of him.

"I know I messed up-"

"Shut up," he snaps, voice booming and echoing throughout the bungalow. "You're doing it," he softens up. "You're changing yourself to sell Harry, you're balancing on a very thin line. I'm trying to help you."

"Zayn, it's really hard when-"

"Fucking listen to me," he yells, gripping me by the shoulders. My body shakes terribly as he growls, nightstand rattling. This is the dark side of an entity, one that makes people fearful of ghosts, one that haunts their nightmares. His nails dig into my skin, I can sense his anger, the heat of his breath, a ball of fury. His wrath is overwhelming, the deeper his nails dig the more I panic, whimpering as he breaks skin.

"Zayn please," I beg. "Please Zayn, Zayn please, Zee please you're hurting me."

A calmness washes over the room, a wave of relief as he releases his vice-like grip. There are tears swimming in my eyes, blood and broken skin all down my back.

"W-why are you so angry," I sob, voice breaking. "I trusted you. You said you'd never hurt me, you said-"

I'm so exhausted, head falling onto his shoulder. "I kmow what I said," his voice breaks. "I really truly meant it, I was just so worried. It brought back these flashes...memories I thought I had forgotten. My darkest times Harry...I'm so sorry. I was just so scared for you-"

I cry onto his shirtsleeve, grapple around until I come into contact with warm skin. "Please forgive me," he whispers. "I love you." My heart picks up speed.

A surprised scream exits my mouth, my head nearly knocks against the headboard. I blink several times, wipe at my eyes. "Zayn I can see you! Holy shit," I panic, tremor in my heart, entire body shaking. I've never seen someone more beautiful in my life, everyone else just pales in comparison. "How can I see you? I swear, I swear. On my life Zayn."

I grab for his hand, eagerly pull him off the bed and tug him into the bathroom. "Zayn, Zayn, Zayn look!"

His reflection in the mirror is there for a moment, crystal clear before it wavers, completely fading out.