Modest Oblivion - Book 6 (Larry Stylinson AU)

Chapter 29 - And I said, I can make you feel it

 Home Video - I can make you feel it 

‘Can’t pretend’ - Tom O’Dell (Cover by Anna Straker)

‘Elastic Heart’ - Sia

And I said, I can make you feel it

The wind was thick with excitement, Zayn walked out of the elevator doors with a spring in his step. The sun disappeared beyond the skyline and buildings winked like glitter as far as the eye could see. Zayn sucked in a deep breath, immediately wanting a cigarette between his lips he fumbled in his pocket for his packet. His hand met with the soft material of a paper napkin. Not just any napkin, it had that crisp feel and the event planners number scrawled hastily, accompanied by none other then a cliche lipstick stain. He smirked down at the napkin in his hand, one number down, he thought slyly. 

Zayn wanted nothing more then to get through the night, ignore the aching loneliness that lingered in his chest like a dead weight. On the surface he was cool, calm and collected. Inside, he was broken and torn, split in every direction and it felt as if his heart were turning to dust. 

It was Jennifer and Liam’s big night, Zayn swore he would do no wrong. He wouldn’t touch a drop of alcohol and he’d try to keep it in his pants. Opening the doors at the top of the cement stairs he emerged into a fairytale. Zayn sucked in a breath, he was taken away by the beautiful, glittering garden that had transformed this normally unadorned rooftop. 

Ropes of twinkling fairy lights hung in rows from every pole, roof and possible raised surface. Zayn stood back, folding his arms and shaking his head in complete awe. Jennifer had outdone herself, with Harry’s help of course. It was like stepping into a fairytale, a stage at the back with instruments and speakers littered the surrounding. Crisp white chairs surrounded small, circular tables with beautiful white floral arrangements that sat in wide silver vases. Wine glasses, pristine white plates on sheer champagne coloured material draped atop cream tablecloths that grazed along the ground. 

The tiny glittering lights illuminated the dark, almost spotting the black clouds and through the middle of all the tables a cream walkway edged with white rose petals. At the end stood a man, holding a bible and tapping his feet to the sound of the band practising. Zayn knew if Liam didn’t fall apart at the romantic, beautiful surprise he most certainly would. 

Suddenly the cloud on his heart was lifted, he was filled with uncontainable excitement and pride that his friends had made it through the heartache, through the separation and found each other on the other side of it all. 

Standing, in the middle of the chaotic party planners and caterers passing in a blur Zayn noted the bar. He simply noted it, he held his ground and didn’t walk straight over demanding every drink they had but deep down he wanted to. 

As he looked around, he studied the name cards on the perfectly decorated tables and there was an immediate knot in his stomach. The one person missing, the one name that wouldn’t be gracing the table was Porter. He swallowed, a lump in his throat and felt the colour drain from his face. 

Every time something good happened, he wouldn’t be there and it broke Zayn to finally come to that realisation. He’s gone, our friend is gone forever. The thought woke him up, like cold water on his face and he fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes. He stepped back and nearly collided into a girl carrying a guitar. 

“Shit,” he mumbled as he found his footing. Zayn was looking down, the first thing he saw of the girl he nearly bowled over was her black, platform heels. Then her legs, her long, soft legs that seemed to go on forever. 

“Idiot,” she hissed back as she dropped the guitar and clutched onto a passing waiter as to not topple over. 

When he met her face, she was not what he expected with her pale skin and pastel pink hair. She had big green eyes, wide as she studied his face and her hair was pulled into a tight, high ponytail with thick pink curls that fell down her shoulder. A thick, satin bow sat atop her hair but Zayn’s eyes were drawn to her clothes, or lack of clothes. The stranger dressed in a tight, black dress that stopped just below her, well… ass. He could clearly see her white skin beneath black, sheer tights that connected to the garter he suddenly wished he could see beneath her skirt. 

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat and bent down to get the guitar. 

“Typical, prince Malik doesn’t even recognise me,” she snarled as she snatched the guitar from him. 

His jaw dropped, he couldn’t remember ever seeing her before but her voice seemed familiar. I think I’d remember if I slept with her, wouldn’t I? “I’m sorry, I should really look where I’m going.”

She laughed, “Yeah, you should.”

“Do I know you?” he began as he stepped forward and tried to find familiarity in her face. 

She stared at him, her green eyes piercing and they began to well. “I didn’t know what show we were playing before I got here. If I’d known you’d be here I would have told the planner to go fuck herself.” She turned almost slamming her guitar into him, she sauntered away her hips with a delightful sway in them. 

“Wait,” he said.

“I did,” she snarled over her shoulder. “But you left me in Belgium, remember.”

Her words, like a punch in the throat. Zayn was speechless, his unlit cigarette fell to the floor in silence. Oh God. His mind screamed, he wanted to forget but it flooded back like a nightmare revisited. 

“Zayn!” Harry bounded up behind him, “There you are!”

Zayn turned around, his face pale.

“Zayn, how amazing does the place look–“ Harry’s smile dropped. “What’s wrong?” 

Louis was next to Harry with his hands in his pockets but he noted Zayn’s face, “Zayn?” He asked. 

Zayn lifted a shaky hand to the stage, the pink haired girl sung quietly into the microphone. “Saskia,” he whispered raggedly. 

“Fuck off,” Louis laughed genuinely thinking Zayn was joking. 

“Lou,” Harry hissed, “He isn’t kidding.”

“There’s no way,” Louis held up his hands. “No fucking way, Saskia is in London after everything–“

“But she is,” Zayn gasped. He turned away. “The place looks amazing boys,” He added as an after thought, a sad attempt at finding normality.

Harry stared at Saskia, eyes wide and his hair swarmed around his face in the breeze, “This isn’t good.”

“Liam’s on his way,” someone shouted and chaos ensued.

“Zayn,” Harry looked at him with worry, “hold it together, just until Jennifer–“

“I will,” Zayn lied, unable to tear his eyes off Saskia. She’s here, Saskia is here after all this time. She… his thoughts were a tangled mess. Shit, shit, shit. He thought being single was the least of his worries. 

Louis glanced uneasily at Harry and then his eyes rested on Zayn, he stepped closer in his crisp suit and his hand clutched Zayn’s. “Hang on, we’re here, okay?”

“He’s getting out of the car!” Someone shouted, their voice muffled amid Zayn’s thoughts.

“Shit!” Harry glanced once more at Zayn and then took off for the stairs, “Someone find me that fucking blindfold.”

“He;s like bridezilla,” Louis mumbled to Zayn. 

Zayn said nothing, Saskia was staring at him with disgust on her face and bitter disappointment in her eyes. 

He wanted to be happy for Liam and Jennifer, excited that a new chapter was beginning but how could he? After all the old chapters of his life were suddenly being re-written right before his eyes. It was like staring at a ghost, Saskia was a dark memory, a broken memory riddled with regrets. 

I can do this, he thought as his hands trembled, I can make it through the night. But he didn’t believe it, he could feel himself turning to dust as each second ticked by. If they thought Dakota losing her memory was the worst it was going to get, they were all very, very wrong.