rough draft || z.m

35.0

ROSIE.

“Rosie—stop! Please, god, please just stop and let me explain!” I continued grabbing my things, not caring if I forgot anything. “Rosie—fücking listen to me!” I wouldn’t. I refused to hear him out. “Don’t go like this! I want—please, just let me explain, Rosie!?” I swiftly pulled my coat on and moved towards the front door. “Rosie…”

“Get out. Get out of my apartment.”

“Rosie, don’t…please…”

“I want you gone. Go back to yours, go back to England…just go. I don’t care where—” He grabbed my waist as I opened the door. 

“Don’t do this. Hear me out.” For the first time since I found out, my eyes flooded with tears as his hands held me in place, back flat against the cool metal of my front door.

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you out because there isn’t anything you can say that will make this better!” Within seconds, I forced the tears away and composed myself. “I’m going to be late, let me go.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Let. Go.”

“Rosie—”

“Fücking let me go!” His caramel eyes were dark and sad and for a second—a split second—I felt bad. Guilty. But the pity vanished in an instant. Finally, he dropped his hands to his sides, a look of defeat clear on his face. I left without another word. Leaving him behind…it was hard, god was it hard. But I had to. I was hurting. I had to get out. 

•••••••

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Jack and I had been going over rough draft articles all morning. It was a good way to get my mind off of everything, but the man was smart. 

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look like you’re fine.”

“Well, I am.” He shrugged, returning his eyes to the stack of papers in front of him before standing up and stretching.

“Do you want coffee?”

“You know you’re not that kind of assistant, right?”

“I do, yes. But I want coffee so I’m going to go grab some coffee and I would like to get you a cup, so do you want coffee or don’t you?” I sighed, putting my pen down and finally looking up, meeting his gaze. 

“That would be nice, thank you.” He nodded triumphantly and walked out of my office. 

Zayn: please talk to me.

Tears. I deleted his message and locked my phone, my eyes trained back on the crappy article in front of me. I began scribbling notes with my red pen all over. Fix it. Fix it. Fix it. Shitty sentence structure. Run-on’s. Grammatical errors. How had Vulture hired these people? “Whoa, whoa…slow down, killer.” I looked up to see Jack standing above me, two coffee mugs in hand. I looked back down and saw Sean Mathis’s article in front of me. Red ink all over the paper. 

“Just—it’s a mess…mistakes everywhere.” He put the coffees down without a word, then picked up my desk phone.

“May I?” I nodded and leaned back, massaging my temples. “Mathis, yeah, hey bud. Think you could print me another copy of your article?…Yeah, bring it to Rosie’s office…Yep…Okay, thanks.” He hung it up and leaned down, eyes boring into mine. “Sean is going to bring another copy in and I’m going to look it over. You…are going to take a break.”

“I don’t need a break.” 

“Yes, you do. You’re giving off some crazy lady vibes, Rosie.” He managed to get me to crack a smile.

“Am I?”

“You are.” A warm hand was placed on my shoulder. “Go. Get some fresh air, take a walk. I’ll go through the rest of these and I won’t make the writers piss themselves.” I slipped on my coat and stood up, his height towering over me. Just as I got to my door, he stopped me. “You know…if you need to talk, about anything…I’m here.”

“I know. Thank you, Jack.” My heels clacked loudly as I exited the building. The second the brisk February air hit my face, I exhaled. Willing it. Seven times. Hours and hours spent with her. Talking with her. Sitting with her. And not once…not once did he tell me about it. He kept that from me. I had to find out through E! News. His entire break was spent with her. Tears. Wet tears that seemed to freeze up directly after they hit the cold skin of my cheeks.

Zayn: come home rosie. please. after work…please come home to me.

Delete. I wanted to chuck my phone. Throw it into the busy traffic lined streets. Instead, I shoved it into my coat pocket and began to walk. I walked a few blocks around in a circle and when I was once again standing in front of Vulture’s building, I couldn’t feel my face. I couldn’t breathe. My tears had silently cascaded down my face throughout the entirety of my walk. I was sure my eyes were rimmed red, my lips a chilled, chapped crimson. I kept my head down as made my way back to my office and when I stepped inside, Jack looked up, eyes widening only slightly. He opened his mouth to say something when I stopped him. “I think…I could really use a non-journalist friend right now…” He smiled warmly. 

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a journalist then.”