Gone in an Instant. (Demi Lovato/Zayn Malik)

Chapter 3

"Demi, let's go!" I scowl when I hear Amy's voice shouting from the other side of my door. I debate sitting here and procrastinating for another 10 minutes while ignoring her pleas, but that would get me nowhere.

"I know you're ready-" She stops shouting as I angrily open my door, slamming it behind me. The bang echoes across the halls and part of me feels guilty for slamming it so hard. An uncomfortable silence casts over the air between us while we start our walk down the hallway.

Amy is one of the staff members that watches over me the most. She isn't overly bossy and doesn't purposefully try to push me out of my comfort zone unlike some of the others, and for that I'm grateful. I know I could be stuck with someone a lot worse.

"Where are we going?" I finally ask once I realize that I don't recognize any of the rooms around us. The nerves are slowly returning, washing away any remains of the bitterness that overtook me moments earlier.

"You're schedule got switched." Amy replies casually. "Instead of another therapy session, I thought it would be better if you had more interaction with the other patients." My stomach clenches at the thought of being surrounded by more people.

"And here we are!" We abruptly stop walking to be met with a colorful painted door. I discreetly gaze through the small window on the door, taking note of all the tables and crafts inside. Nevermind the large group of people filling the room. I shake my head.

"Don't tell me that you signed me up for some stupid art class. I'm not going in there." I bitterly refuse while crossing my arms. Amy stops herself from rolling her eyes.

"Demi, it won't be that bad. Just try one class and if you still hate it, I will sign you up for another therapy session." My stomach twists even more at the thought of therapy. Neither choices appeal to me, but I'd much rather waste my time trying to paint a crappy picture than talk to some stranger.

"Whatever." I mumble and pull the door open. The aroma of oil-based paints instantly fills my nose. I stand in the corner, looking lost as ever, while I observe everyone. Some people are sitting alone drawing at a table, others are talking with friends in a group. It looks more like a free-for-all than an actual class. I have a feeling I'm not going to last much longer in here.

I take one last look around the room and breathe a sigh of relief when I see that familiar black quiff and those tattooed arms. I know somewhere in the back of my mind I was hoping he would be here.

I take long strides towards the other side of the room next to the windows. I find Zayn looking over several different colors of spray paints.

"Hey." I gather the courage to greet from where I stand beside him. He turns to face me and smiles.

"Hello love. Good to see you here." I watch as he takes a can of blue spray paint and continues over to where a sheet of white cardboard lays on top of multiple pieces of newspaper to protect the floor. There's various pencils, permanent markers, and other colors of paint scattered around him. It's obvious he claims this small corner of the room his and it's also obvious he's been doing this for quite some time.

"So you like this kind of stuff?" I ask as he starts sketching a design with one of the black sharpies. He nods.

"Love it." I find it kind of interesting, because I never would have taken Zayn for the kind of guy that likes or even appreciates art. I remain quiet for the next few seconds, not wanting to interrupt his work.

"You don't?" He questions as he puts the cap on the marker.

"I'm more into music, I guess." I answer honestly.

"That's cool too." He agrees.

"So how long have you been into art?" I wonder, trying to spark up conversation.

"Well, I've always loved drawing. I never actually did anything with it though because I thought I was shit at it. Back home I used to spray paint the walls in the basement..." He smiles at the memory. "Now I kind of just come here to take my mind off of things. It's one of the few places of treatment that doesn't seem like treatment to me, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it." I reply. I watch as Zayn starts spraying the cardboard with paint. He's very careful about what he's doing, but at the same time it looks effortless. I stand there silently until he's done and by that time the class is pronounced over.

He rises to his feet and backs up against the window to admire his work. The array of colors overlapped together look like irregular shapes and simple patterns, but somehow it's uniquely beautiful.

"Wow, that's really neat." I compliment and start helping him pick up some of the supplies.

"You think?" He looks to me smiling.

"Definitely. I wish I could do that." I confess, blushing as our eyes meet.

"I could show you tomorrow if you'd like. You can keep this one, too."

"Thanks Zayn." I smile. "See you at lunch?" I ask, my smile faltering when he frowns.

"Unfortunately no. My therapist wanted to see me again, damn it. I'm sorry Demi." I could tell he actually meant it. "I promise I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" I nod, forcing a smile onto my face because I didn't want him to feel guilty.

The rest of the day is going to be tough.