(A/N) This is for Emily,Thanks for your request-if anyone want one message me x
The days were long, but the nights were longer without him there. I often found myself staring at the ceiling, counting the bumps and ridges while the crickets chirped outside my window. I left it open a crack, despite the fact that he hated it when I opened the windows while the air conditioning ran. I knew it would piss him off, maybe that’s why I did it. Because somehow any emotion he evoked would fuel my fire.
His schedule was busy. He toured and did interviews and photoshoots and magazine covers, while I stayed in the city going to school and using his phone calls as my only excuse for ditching my friends. It became routine enough that I noticed myself not even acknowledging my friends’ requests for dinner or a movie. I just ignored them, turning the read receipts off on my phone.
It all sounded dull but I swear, in my mind it was romantic. Zayn warned me that night we decided to be together. He warned me of the rumors that I’d see on TV or on Twitter. He warned me that once the media found out about me, I wouldn’t be able to handle the press. But I proved him wrong, disguising myself when I went out, and simply not allowing the negativity to boil my blood but instead radiate off me.
I finally cracked one night while at home working on an essay. My mind struggled to recite quotes and research when all I could think about was the cheating allegations I’d see on TV about Zayn. I knew in my heart they weren’t true, but TMZ had a clever way of spinning it. They knew where I lived and often broadcasted how little Zayn came to see me. While we both knew this was because of his busy lifestyle, and even the general public should’ve been aware of that, the media blamed it on our “rocky relationship” and Zayn’s many “midnight mistress’.”
The TV remote flung from my hand after I pressed the POWER button, and landed delicately on the couch despite how hard I’d thrown it. It was the only way I knew how to release all this energy I’d been harnessing. It had been four weeks since Zayn last came to me. Maybe I was having withdrawals, even though I had trained myself for this.
But it was only while I was in the kitchen scrubbing some old sauce off of the dishes when I heard the front door handle wiggling with struggle. Someone was trying to get in, and for some reason I thought I was being robbed. Albeit not very cleverly.
My naked feet padded over to the door and I unlocked it, swinging it open just a crack to see Zayn’s big brown eyes staring back at me. I pull the door open and embraced him quickly, not giving my eyes a chance to scan over him. He was warm despite the cold dampness outside, and I squeezed him tighter.
“Emily,” he muttered, his breath a harsh warmth on my neck. I let go, smiling widely until I noticed his disheveled appearance.
“Zayn are you…” my word trailed off as I stared him down. His frail body was somehow drenched and he stunk like smoke. His quiff was not its usual proper self, instead it flopped on his forehead, where I noticed bruises on his cheekbones.
His lip was bleeding and beginning to swell. “Jesus Christ,” I gasped, pulling him inside. “What the hell happened to you?”
He could only shake his head and stare at the ground. I pulled his jean jacket off, throwing it on the floor. “Zayn?” My palms grasped his cheeks.
Zayn shook me away, walking towards the kitchen and slumping onto the bar stool. His his fists are bruised and I took in the dry blood on his knuckles. My heart and mind raced simultaneously while I followed him.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying. I could barely hear it at first until he kept mumbling it over and over again. His eyes were watering, and he thrust his face into his hands. “I’m so sorry, Emily. I’m such a prick. I’m such a fucking prick-”
