[COMPLETED]
❝Of all the races I've started, loving him is the one I never want to finish.❞
In this re-imagination of my most popular story, Arielle Hawthorne is an illegal street racer, just like Zayn Malik. Zayn's egotistical, flirty, and a major p...
"The best relationships in our lives are the best not because they are the happiest ones, they are that way because they have stayed strong through the most torrential of storms." — Pandora Poikilos
A/N: make a guess as to what you think will happen in this chapter according to the name of it!!
this ended up being a long chapter actually 🤔 didn't expect it nor did I expect the outcome. I was writing and it just became what it is (although in a way it's planned). Interesting chapter ahead!
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Z A Y N
Rolling over, I reach for Arielle and sigh when I realize she's not tucked into my body like she was when we fell asleep together. I glance at the clock, noting that it's nearly noon. I sigh, feeling well-rested for the first time since I broke things off with Arielle. Music echoes lowly through the hallway and I smile to myself, moving to get out of bed. I slip a pair of sweats on, brush my teeth, use the bathroom and scurry towards the noise.
I lean myself against the drywall, admiring Arielle as she dances around the kitchen and sings to The Weeknd while cooking pancakes. My shirt hangs on her small frame, swaying as she moves her body. The woman I love looks relaxed and effortlessly happy as she moves about the space and I can't hide the smile on my face.
This is everything I've wanted for weeks now. Everything that has caused my insomnia, my depression, my exploration into things that help me crush unwanted feelings—the weed, the video games, and the utter isolation. Even though Arielle and myself can't be together like we want to be right now, at least I know that she loves me.
At least she knows that I will do whatever it takes to be with her again.
We literally don't have jackshit figured out when it comes to Sullivan, but at this particular moment as Arielle smiles carefree in my kitchen, I don't really care.
Approaching her, my hands find home on either side of her waist and I rock my body with hers and sing loudly as she giggles, leaning into my bare chest. "Good morning, my love." I greet, pressing my lips to her neck over the lovebite I left yesterday. She hums, reaching a hand behind herself to hold the back of my head. "When I woke up alone I thought you left me."
"Never," she whispers and even though it's a soft teasing tone, I don't think she realizes how much weight the word holds. I don't want her to ever leave me again. Through hell and high water, nothing is going to separate us a second time.
