Storms {z.m.}

Chapter 52

(i apoloize again for the typos, I dont have wifi at home so if I don't post now, i won't post for a few days and I didnt wanna leave you guys hanging. Im going to go see The 1975 on Wednesday I'm soooo hype, do any of you like them? Enjoy the chapter please comment!)

Chapter 52 – Christine

I have always been one to admire a beautiful sight, and today is no exception. With my blinds slightly pointed downward, I stand by my bedroom window and peek at our next door neighbors as they carry bulky items and furniture into a moving van parked in front of their house. I'm particularly interested in the skinny one with the tattoos as he carries black trash bags full of unidentified objects. He has to hoist the bags up by their red drawstrings to avoid them dragging on the grass, so his elbows are at a 90-degree angle as his biceps flex under the weight of whatever the hell it is that's inside that bag. Zayn doesn't have a lot of muscle, but he's certainly toned up since he left all those years ago, and his muscles popping out from carrying heavy objects around all day are giving me chills up and down my back. Even from up here I can see that Zayn has worked up a thin layer of sweat all over his arms which makes the ink of his tattoos almost glow with darkness.

“Christine, did you hear me?” Harry asks, breaking me out of my sexually frustrated daydream. I snap my head back at him and rummage my brain to see if I could remember what he had been saying while I stared out the window, but the only words going through my head are “arms” and “tattoos.”

“Sorry, I zoned out there for a bit. What were you saying?” I ask him as I force myself to step away from the window. I'd spent the whole afternoon undressing Zayn with my eyes from up here, and apparently the force of my burning glare had an effect on him because after an hour or so he took of his jacket, then his t-shirt followed, leaving him only in a black singlet and grey jeans. I have a feeling that if I keep staring with enough intensity his shirt will be next to go, but I decide to stop torturing myself y unwrapping candy I can't eat.

“I said I'm going back to London tonight,” Harry said, looking at me intently.

“What? Why? We're not even anywhere near done with our plan. The wedding is in five days and we have nothing,” I say animatedly. Harry's words snapped me back to reality, a reality where just staring at something won't make it do anything. Just staring at Perrie with my laserbeam stare won't expose her as the liar she is, that's up to us to do.

I haven't talked to Zayn since the other night when he told he was moving his family out to London with him, mostly because he's spent most of his time catering to a bed-ridden Perrie. And when I say catering, I mean catering. From my bedroom I have a 24/7 stream of Zayn running back and forth from his bedroom to the kitchen to fix Perrie a sandwich, or make her tea, or fetch her medications. Whatever time he doesn't spend with Perrie, he spends with Liya and his mum packing up their clothes and deciding what things they were going to take to London with them, and which things they would sell or give away. Judging by the moving van parked outside, Trish had made a strong argument in favor of taking her furniture with her, and Zayn had buckled to it.

We haven't seen a whole lot of Liya, either; Trish has her working day and night on packing up the house since she has to squeeze in as much work as she can before her last day. Harry has been spending a lot of time with me, which keeps my mind occupied and away from the oncoming disaster that will be Zayn's wedding if we don't dig up or come up with something on Perrie very soon now. I felt like the damsel in distress that was tied to the trunk of a tree on it's way into the chipper, my demise growing ever-closer by the second if something didn't change any second now. The thing about that scenario, though, is that if me getting cut up inside the wood chipper represented me living through, or dying during, Zayn and Perrie's wedding, that makes Zayn the bad guy driving the log into the machine, and Harry the hero trying to untie me from the log. I guess that would make Perrie the devil. Ironically enough, in any scenario you look at it, Perrie is the devil.