Fire Starter

Chapter Seventeen

It's March 16th. And that means it's my birthday ! Omg.

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Except for the addition of longer hair and a face full of facial hair, it was the same exact face from my dreams. The same eyes. If you tried to tell me any different, I'd burn you, because just as much as the truth scared me, I was right and I hated to be anything but.

Things pieced themselves together slowly...

When Zayn had gasped last night at the nightmare that I told him about. When he had asked who else I saw in the car. He was clearly looking for the confirmation that he was in the car too because it wasn't just a dream. This was apart of his memories as it were in my head. That horrid car accident.

My mind filled itself with unanswered questions. But the question that mattered most, was: Why am I dreaming about Zayn when he was a child? I've only known the guy for but a month or so!

Maybe, I'm psychic, I mused in my head. A new ability that I might have developed.

But maybe, Zayn instead has the ability to enforce and make me see what's in his mind. And maybe he comes from this place full of people with different supernatural abilities like in X-men, and they told him about me, and his objective is to collect me so we all can come together and take over the world.

Immediately, I shook the absurd thought away. This was reality, and that just wasn't the case. But when you actually give it deep thought, you realize that reality is one twisted thing when it's mixed up with fairytales.

After a moment, I knew for certain... I could not read minds, and I also knew that Zayn didn't have some sort of supernatural ability, whatsoever.

I utter the first words that I could think of, as I stared into Zayn's eyes with a good amount of distance between us.

"Who are you?" These were my words, but I couldn't quite recognize my own voice.

"Nicole," Zayn says slowly with a hand up, as though to say, I can explain.

"Dammit, just fucking tell me. I'm tired of these little secrets..." I can imagine myself in a movie, holding a knife out, trembling, and crying. "Just tell me," I plead, an octave lower.

What are the odds of Zayn showing up at my door step, to help me? One in one trillion... You don't just help anyone with massive baggage and weight. It's probably the reason he paints me, or at least girl that looks like me.

I came up with a temporary conclusion why we met, at least until the truth would come out: Zayn had been searching for a mystery girl that he had been dreaming about for months. He couldn't find her, but I was as similar to her as it would get. So he followed me, watched me, and after a while, decided he would talk to me and help me.

But nothing could quite pop up into my head why I would be dreaming about a child Zayn.

Zayn opened his mouth to speak, tears brimming my eyes from confusion. It was bad enough that I hadn't my glasses, the last thing I needed was a clouded vision, and to look so vulnerable.

He looked towards his friend, who had already been on his feet to give us privacy.

"Nicole," Zayn stands. Why all of a sudden had my name sounded so foreign on his tongue? "Let me take you out right now, and we can talk about it then," he simply says.

The real idea of "taking out" was far from Zayn's idea of it, because he was casually dressed, whereas I was dressed like I was somnambulating, it was the middle of the day, and he was really referring to taking me out into the public eye just incase I had some kind of physical and mental break down.