Zayn's Point of View
Of course I want to tell her the truth. Of course I want to spill everything and let all of my secrets flow freely out of my mouth to this eternally scarred girl. Because I know it would help her, help her figure out who killed her family and why.
But I can't.
I can't tell her anything.
Chloe's head is in my lap now; her soft, dark hair is fanned out and I gently run my fingers through it as I watch the rain slowly sprinkle down onto the window.
She fell asleep a couple of hours ago and I can't help but feel something tug at the strings of my heart to the thought of her being totally comfortable in my presence while falling into the most vulnerable state a person could be in.
I miss talking with her, though. I already miss hearing her delicate voice talk on and on about her past.
It's quite bizarre how such a fucked up story could sound so beautiful.
I don't know how long it is that I'm sitting here, watching raindrops drip down the window, before the sun starts to slowly peak above the horizon. I squint my eyes at how bright it is before a cloud comes to my rescue and floats over it, saving my eyes from blindness.
Debating on whether or not I should wake Chloe up, I fidget when my left leg starts to fall asleep with her head laying on top of it.
Quickly, before the pain can increase, I swoop Chloe up into my arms and make my way into the bedroom.
Of course almost tripping and smashing my head into the bathroom counter due to my numb leg.
Good gosh.
I lay her petite body onto my bed and fling the covers over her.
I close the curtains so the sun won't shine in on her shielded eyes before making my way out of the room, making sure to shut the door quietly.
It's strange, how for once I don't want to leave my apartment straight away and go to the gang house. I actually want to stay, and it's weird.
I never want to stay here.
Until today.
But it's not just because my morning smoothie tastes better than it usually does, or that my morning hookah session is extra relaxing. Even though both of those things are very true.
It's because she's here.
Chloe's here. And finally I'm not alone in this small, cold apartment. I have an angel sound asleep in my bedroom.
Oh so, I thought.
As I'm taking my last inhale out of the glass, purple bong, the angel herself comes walking in out of the hall.
Her hair is slightly messy and she's rubbing her eyes tiredly as she makes her way into the kitchen.
Once those bright blue orbs pop open, they blink over to me almost instantly and widen for a brief moment before blinking furiously.
"Hookah in the morning?"
Her delicate, slightly strained morning voice adds to my current buzz and I flash her a lazy smile.
"Most things are the most fun either in the middle of the night or at the beginning of the day."
She ponders on my words for a moment, soaking them in, before nodding in agreement and padding her little feet over to where I'm seated on the couch.
