stars and terrain (zayn malik)

Chapter 2

Zayn

I go through the motions at sound check half-heartedly and not as if I'm about to play to a sold out stadium for the fourth time that week.

"Hey guys, I need Zayn for a minute."

My best mate places an arm around my shoulder and steers me down the long stage away from the band.

"The fuck is going on, mate?"

"Nothing," I lie, crossing one arm against my chest. I avoid eye contact, because Harry is fucking relentless and knows me too well.

"Well you're being a dick and you're wasting everyone's time right now, so can you snap out of it?"

I love him for being the only person who doesn't give a shit how famous I am. He still talks to me the same way he has since we were thirteen.

"What's Kansas City girl's name? I can call her. That cheer you up?"

I shrug and hand over my phone, which he takes backstage.

Kansas City. Kendall. She's nineteen and pretty and wants to be a model and makes me take her to breakfast and regularly asks me to let her visit in New York. Her voice is sort of annoying and I'll never really let her visit me, but there's something sort of sweet about her Midwestern naiveté.

I can't break it to her that she needs to be taller than five three to model, and that if someone like Charlotte can't make it in the modeling world there's no way she has a fucking chance

Charlotte. Blue eyes and brown hair and pink lips that love to turn me down in the morning fill my head.

That's the sixth time I've said her name in my brain in the last twenty minutes.

I make myself think about Kendall, but ultimately decide one night with her isn't worth the barrage of texts I inevitably get for at least a week after.

Kendall is clingy. Maybe the clingiest of the city bunch, which is actually saying a lot.

The city bunch is made up of the girls that I regularly call up when I'm in certain cities, not to be confused with the one-time girls I usually collect after shows. City girls know it's a one night thing every now and then. They are usually low maintenance, minus asking for tons of concert tickets or backstage passes, or blowing up my phone for a week after.

There's only one girl who never calls or texts or asks for anything. And I think she might be driving me crazy.

Without thinking, which I've been doing way too much of in the last few days, I head off stage to find Harry, leaving everyone on stage confused.

My poor band.

"Don't call Kendall."

"Okay, now I know something is wrong."

"No, she's just fucking clingy. Wanna lay low tonight."

"Fine," Harry shrugs.

Maybe he can sense my weird energy and is doing me a solid by not pressing, maybe he's going to try to get to the bottom of it himself. I don't really care as long as he doesn't call her and doesn't make it weird that I'd like to sleep alone tonight.

I grab my phone back.

"Should get back-" I gesture behind myself awkwardly and stumble back to the stage.

This isn't me. I'm not awkward. I don't stumble. I don't turn down a chance to bed a coed. I don't wonder what some girl states away is doing. I don't only see one girl's face every time I go to sleep.

I'm Zayn fucking Malik. Tickets for my concert tonight are reselling starting at three hundred dollars for the cheap seats.

"That's because there's nothing to fucking do in Kansas City, don't flatter yourself."

I hear it, pitch perfect, exactly how she would say it. Exactly what Charlotte would say. And I wonder if I should call my shrink Dr. Benson and have an emergency phone session.

I should. Because I don't have anyone else to talk to about this. Not even Harry.

Because the other weird thing about Charlotte is that Harry doesn't know about her. She's probably the only thing in my life he doesn't know about.

Because for some reason since the day I met Charlotte I felt oddly protective of her.

She was beautiful, obviously. Even before I was famous I only ever went for tens. But she was different.

She was this enigma, simultaneously sweet and mysterious, and I always felt like she really, truly liked me until it was time for her to go.

She never texted first, and my pride kept me from only ever texting her when I was in Los Angeles (which, after meeting her, I made sure was fairly regularly).

She never once asked for anything. Not even a ticket to the show, which in my world was absolutely bizarre. Most girls not only ask for one ticket, but one for everyone they've ever met.

I wonder if she even likes my music.

I wonder if she ever likes me.

I wonder if she has a boyfriend on the side.

What the fuck.