Murphy's Law ✔️

Chapter Ten.

"Well, for fuck's sake, Murph- I didn't expect you to just go out and snog the guy! I mean- are you fucking kidding me?!"

Zayn's voice bellowed across the small living space of their apartment, one hand stretched out in front of him. His face grew redder with every harsh word he spat at the timid blonde standing in the opposite corner of the room, his jugular vein straining under the skin of his neck.

She hadn't expected this reaction, in all honesty. I mean, after all the meaningful conversations they shared since she finally expressed her feelings towards the situation, she assumed he would've been more accepting of the joy she was feeling about Harry. The thing was that Sober Zayn would've probably given her a grin and a 'congrats!', but Fucked Up Zayn had the tendency of putting his fist through walls and allowing his possessiveness to take control. She rubbed at her face with her palms and sighed.

"Zayn, it's not like this was planned!" She exclaimed, meeting his gaze, "I thought you'd be happy for me!"

"Happy for you?! I thought you didn't like the idea of being a slag, and now look at you! Done with one, onto the next!" He sneered, red eyes squinting in disgust towards her. She blinked.

It was the morning after The Kiss, and Murphy awoke feeling absolutely elated. She should've noticed the extra roach of a spliff in the ashtray on the windowsill and the lack of Jameson on their kitchen counter before she sauntered into the living room with a grin, practically tugging on Zayn's sleeve to share the good news with him. She didn't realize he was fucked up until she smelt the whiskey on his breath and noticed the redness in his eyes.

And that was her mistake. Murphy knew better than to flaunt herself around Zayn when he was under the influence, but her judgement was clouded over by her feelings towards the events the night prior.

"You don't have to be so-"

"So what, Murphy?!" He spat, inching his way across the living room towards her, "so right?! God, you always have to have your hand held throughout life, don't you?! First your deadbeat, alcoholic Pops, then me, now this poor lad you don't know from a hole in the wall?!"

He was then standing directly in front of her- she could smell the whiskey on his breath and feel the anger radiating off of his skin in waves. With her back to the wall, she had nowhere to go. 

Murphy did something she didn't think she'd ever do- but now his anger had completely soaked into her and she was feeling it. The moment he mentioned her Pops, something snapped in her, and her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Fuck you," she spat, her index finger coming up to press into his chest, "fuck you, Zayn! You're just pissed that I'm not going to be your little pet anymore! You're pissed that someone else is making me happy, right?! Am I fucking right?!"

Both of their chests heaved with labored breaths, their gazes locked on each other. Without even thinking, Zayn's arm pulled back only to punch his fist through the picture frame beside her head, shattering the glass with a high pitched yelp from Murphy.

She stumbled out of the way as Zayn hissed through his teeth and backed off, shaking his already bleeding hand in front of him. Murphy stood, wide eyed, looking at the only thing she had left to remember her Pops by.

In the frame sat a faded, crinkled photograph of a twelve year old Murphy alongside Lieutenant Smalls. Murphy's frizzy hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and a grin that reached her eyes practically took over her entire face as small hands gripped the shirt of her Pops. He stood beside her with an arm wrapped tightly around her, pretty blue eyes squinting in the sun and face beaming with pride. He held a pink acoustic guitar in his hand- her guitar- her very first one that he got her on her tenth birthday. The photo was snapped the first time Murphy stepped on a small stage to sing her very own rendition of Joni Mitchell's Big Yellow Taxi. There was only about thirty people in the audience, but it didn't matter; it was the best day of Murphy's life.