Therapy :: ZAYN [fdc]

i

I'm on some kind of drug

Can't explain all the ways you get me high

I'm on some kind of drug

Can't explain, don't keep me waiting all night...

Some Kind of Drug by G-Easy

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Zayn trudged into the club after two weeks away, like clockwork. Spending every other Friday at Zenith had become part of his routine the same way one would remember to go for runs or lift at the gym. The club had become a home away from home, a solace of sorts, whenever he needed to get away - which was becoming more and more often as the wedding got closer. Andra, the bartender with the ever-changing hair, slid a finger of whisky across the glossy bar top before he'd even managed to grab a seat. The glass cradled in his large, tattooed hands, Zayn turned to face the stage.

High above the crowd, purple lights cascaded over Eden's skin as she strutted out onto stage. Her back against the pole, she began to sway her hips as the opening to Rihanna's "Sex With Me" played through the speakers. When the lyrics started, she swung her body up onto the pole in an inverted split and really began her dance. Her full lips moved apart and her teeth glowed beneath the stage lights as she smiled and mouthed the words to the song as she let loose. She worked the stage and the pole flawlessly, bumping and grinding in time to the music and twirling her body around the pole with ease. As the song ended, she slid gracefully to the floor accompanied by the sound of a raucous crowd of men and women, her knees splayed, her bare chest heaving as her hair clung to her sweaty skin. Grabbing her discarded clothing, she made her way backstage to get dressed as one of the bouncers swept up her tips for her.

When Eden was once again dressed in her caged bra top, knee socks, and her sky high heels, she made her way to the back room where Zayn was waiting for her.

"Hey, love." He greeted when she walked through the door. Soft music from her playlist filled the dimly lit room. Eden hugged him and joined him on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. The club had rules about touching the dancers while they were working the floor but the VIP rooms were different. But Zayn never took advantage, he only wanted one thing: to talk.

It had all started a few months prior, when Zayn had been dragged to Zenith by his boys. It had been a mess of a week for him, filled with arguments, and ultimately a heated fight that had ended with Perrie screaming and calling off the engagement and Zayn walking out of their shared apartment. He'd spent the night on Caroline's couch for a week before she called in reinforcements that Friday night. His buddies had whisked him off to spend the night on the town and they had ended up at a strip club of all places.

The dancers were different shapes and sizes, all gorgeous - but only in the most objective way possible. They were like art in that way: abstractly beautiful - nice colors, pristine brush work - but they weren't the kind of paintings that made him feel something. No emotion bubbled up in his stomach and exploded in his chest; nothing stirred in his pants. Zayn was just numb. His friends - Luke in particular who had bought three dances from a buxom redhead - were all enjoying themselves but he was stuck in his head, replaying the Big Fight with Perrie. He couldn't even remember what had started it, he just remembered the yelling, the shattering sound of things breaking against the loft floor, the thump he felt as Perrie's engagement ring bounced off his skull. He rubbed the still tender spot absent-mindedly before he huffed a sigh and pushed himself up from the plush couch. If he couldn't enjoy the dancers, he could at least get shit faced.

"Good evening, handsome. I'm Andra. What can I get you that'll turn that frown of yours upside down," greeted the bartender with the megawatt smile that shone brighter in contrast to her dark skin. She was rocking long, dark twists with one side of her head shaved, and a stud was shining in her nose. And she was really tall, Zayn realized, and he doubted she was wearing any heels.