Their doll 2

45- In the open

( Zayn P.O.V. )

How long does an ink stay on paper?

I wished it disappeared the second the letter or the paper was read so that the reacher didn't have to endure the pain of re-reading it overtime.

I had never felt so lifeless. I went to work every day and my job based solely on me giving a new life to my patient, but lately, I hadn't been able to. I took a break. I stopped performing surgery because I lost my focus very easily and zoned out all the time. That's not good. Nothing is good. My expertise was going to waste and how pathetic was it, that a heartbreak was the only cause.

I could feel the same rage Rafael must have been feeling rushed through my vein every time I saw this sheet of paper. I gripped it tightly in my left hand while driving with the other.

Do I miss her?

Yes, I do.

But do I hate her?

Yes. That, I also do.

I hated her for leaving us. Probably just as much as she did want to leave us. How long had she been planning this? Who knows? But my best guess would be a very, very long time. Her plan was precise. She knew we could track her in any system, so she did nothing through the system. I didn't know how could she get so far without a car, a bus or a plane ticket. Nobody knew exactly. Nobody thought it was possible. She was only seventeen years old when she left and now, two weeks ago our girl had just turned eighteen. I wanted to say I wished nothing but happiness for her. But I, for shame, did wish none of that. I wanted her back with us. But I highly doubted she wanted to be back with us.

She had ran far. Stay hidden so well that no matter how much we had tried, we couldn't catch up with her. Where is she? In which part of this world she was hiding in? Does she still exist? Or is she an angel like her parents now?

I pulled up in front of the parking lot. Letting out a sigh, I reached for my briefcase, stuck my hand in there, attempting to find my employee card. Usually, I wouldn't have to. There should be a security at the portal to authorize my entrance. He would recognize me, my car and had learnt to memorize my plate number by heart. He wasn't there today. Maybe a bathroom break. A quick run for lunch. Who knows.

A groan rumbled and died in my throat when the briefcase slid off the seat and papers went flying everywhere. In an attempt to retrieve everything, I freed myself from the seatbelt and bent down to pick up the stuff.

Among many other medical documents I kept in my— or more like stuffed in my briefcase, what a fabulous happy accident for her paper to make it there.

My heart clenched in my chest, examining the old assignments I used to pick up from school for Aurora and turn them in the next day once she finished them. It was her chemistry paper. I remembered teaching her chemistry and we— well, I wouldn't say make love. But fuck would be too inconsiderate. I wanted to ignore the ache. I wanted to feel nothing. Yet, seeing her handwriting on that paper, it hit different.

I was trying to snap out of it. Key word. Trying. But then recalling another letter she wrote, with her own handwriting and almost the same color pen I had left sitting on the console, my hand reached blindly for that one. My curiosity flared to wakefulness. I was holding two sheets of paper next two each other. Wrote by the same person, yet had the completely different way of writing. Yes. Both had clear meaning and made total sense on its occasion but it was simply not written by the same handwriting.

The A gave it away. The I too. And, the O. The H. The T. E. M. N...you know what? Basically, every letter.