Secrets (Zayn Malik)

Chapter 61

Im pretty bad at picking a certain person to be my character and I know I've mentioned to different girls as Ella, so you just pick who you think is best. But these are the two I think portray her the best In my imagination. Before the haircut of course lol anyway...

Denial.

Failure to acknowledge an unacceptable truth or emotion or to admit it into consciousness, commonly used as a defense mechanism.

When my mother died, I don't remember ever being in such a state. Probably because I witnessed her life coming to an end in front of my very eyes, which sped up the process. Skipped the first step anyway. But still, where was the shock? All I felt was anger, built up inside me while I loathed the man who took away the one person who kept my head above water in this drowning world. All I knew was that Id hate him until the day I died, never thinking twice about giving him a chance to be in my life.

Once the anger subsided, I can't think of a time where I faced the stage of bargaining. The depression certainly overwhelmed my every thought and dream late at night when all I could was think, but bargaining?

Not so much.

Although, now that I've lost my mother and my best friend, all I can do is think of ways I can bargain. Trade my life, in order for them to live again. All because I can't seem to get over this heavy feeling of guilt plunging in my chest. As if somehow, their deaths are completely my fault.

"Ella?" Zayn pops his head in the room from behind the door, partially hidden in the dim lighting.

"Hm?" I groan, and cover my face with one of his display pillows.

"I made hot chocolate."

"You hate hot chocolate." My voice cracks slightly, and I wince at the pain of my dry throat.

Throughout the night, it seemed as if the tears ,and pain in my heart, wouldn't stop. If anything, they would only get worse as the hours passed and minutes dragged on, while I thought of my best friend lying on the concrete in front of me. Which only left me with a parched throat in the morning, and an excruciating headache from my sobs.

"I do. That's why I made it just for you." He sits in front of me on the edge of the bed, and leaves over to place the steaming white mug on the nightstand.

The cloudy gray skies outside make it hard to see him, but I see enough to admire his messy black hair brushed across his forehead, and tatted skin illuminated from the dim light of the windows.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome love." He reaches over and tucks a strand of stubborn short hair behind my ear, and a wave of emotions wash over me instantly. "No, what's wrong? What'd I do?!"

"Nothing, it-it's just, Ash-." I choke on her name and cover my ugly cry with my hands, as I let out a painful, heartbroken, cry. "She cut my hair, just last night."

"Babe, look at me." He scoots closer, now sitting right in front of my face, looking down. Quickly, he moves to the floor and kneels down in front of the bed but doesn't take his hands off my cheeks. "I love your hair. Can we focus on that instead? I love your hair, and I love you."

"Why are we-"

"Because we can't talk about anything else. Anything else will bring us back to exactly what we're trying to avoid. And I can't have that. So let m-"

"Zayn I-"

"Still interrupting?" He pouts, trying to be serious yet somehow managing to look irresistibly cute. "Let me tell you how much I love your hair."