stars and terrain (zayn malik)

Chapter 44

Charlotte

She has her dark hair tied up into one of those knot things that girls always seemingly know how to do with ease that look so complicated. I watched her fasten it up on top of her head in awe, rolling and twisting and tying and she laughs at me.

"What?"

"You look even prettier than you did last night." I answer, without really thinking. Because it's true; with her hair pulled away from her completely bare face she looks just as beautiful as she did dolled up. I think I've found a unicorn.

She mumbles thanks, and her cheeks flush a little. I hope she never gets sick of my sentimental, stupid compliments. I just let the stupid little things slip out of my mouth and more than half the time I can't control them.

She's sitting Indian style on the floor of our bedroom with a mug of tea and my record collection scattered all around her. I'd had my records flown in from my New York apartment because we decided this house needed more music flowing through it and she was intrigued by the hundreds that arrived. She's still wearing my MTV tank top which I had noticed she wore even when she was mad at me and ran away.

I wonder if I'll ever get her to stop running away.

"No way!" She exclaims, waving an obscure Van Morrison record. "This is my favorite Van Morrison album."

"It is?" My voice rises in surprise. To be honest it's shit. It's probably his worst. And I'm not sure why I have it.

She giggles.

"Yeah. It was the only CD my mom had in the car when I drove it down here from Washington. I just listened to it over and over and over." She presses her lips together and looks down at the record fondly. "It grew on me."

"Here," I say, standing up from the bed where I've been perched watching her and dropping it into the record player in the corner of our bedroom.

The first song lilts out of the speakers placed in almost every corner (a detail I'd requested from Sarah) and Van's voice rattles off lyrics about being a perfect fit fill the room. Charlie rocks her head back and forth adorably while she continues to sort through the rest of my collection.

"Did you drive down here by yourself?" I ask, knowing she's referring to the time she came down for the America's Next Top Model audition and then never left.

"Mhm," she nods, her eyes trailing off far away. "My mom just sent me off. She had just started dating Larry - who ended up being husband number four - so I think she was happy to ship me away."

"How often do you drive up there?" I ask gently. For some reason we're both never quick to share much about our families. I just recently found out her mom still lives in Seattle where she grew up.

"I've never gone back. My mom married Larry and they have their whole weird thing up there so I just stay down here."

"What do you do on holidays?" I ask, curious if she's spent the last four years in Los Angeles alone.

"Alli's family is from Orange County so I usually spend Thanksgiving with them. My mom flew down for Christmas Eve the last couple years. Larry's too old to travel." She wrinkles her nose at the thought of the eighty-something year old man she told me her mum married.

I want to ask how she spent Christmas Day but I don't want to confirm that she probably spent it in her tiny apartment, or at work. So I press my lips together. I want to invite her to spend the holidays with me but they're still so many months away.

"What do you do for holidays?" she asks, blue eyes blinking up at me.

"I usually go home for Christmas. End up spending more time at Harry's. His family's a lot more functional than mine."

It's true. The Styles have always felt more like family than my own. I left home when my sisters were so young that I haven't ever felt like I know them well, and my mum and I have issues that always end up erupting around the holidays. So I usually head to Harry's at one point or another.

"When do I get to meet Harry?"

I've been really torn on that. I want the guy I consider a brother to meet her, but I'm not necessarily in a rush for her to meet him. He embodies all the good things that I don't.

"One day," I say, truthfully. It will eventually happen.

That seems to appease her, and she turns back to investigating my record collection.

She's been making piles. There seems to be four of them, and I can't make sense of what they mean but she's been hard at work at this for the last hour so I don't want to disrupt whatever method she has going to her madness.

And I really don't want to disrupt her happiness. Even since getting off the phone with Jane, who offered to work with her, she's been in such a good mood.

I didn't press her for details, so I don't really know why. I'm still treating her like she's one of those porcelain dolls, gingerly since I don't want her to take off again. I'm not going to change my mind on that stuff, and there's no need to rehash that argument.

I gathered from listening to half the conversation that Jane went over everything that happened in the press today after her Grammy debut and they made some sort of a game plan about what kind of work she should be looking for, and how to handle the attention.

Because we're developing some weird sixth sense with each other Charlie looks up from sorting records and brings up the Jane conversation casually.

"She says I should make my social media public. Not put too much info about us, but just enough to garner myself a following that will make the right kind of brands interested."

"Really?" I ask. I trust Jane, she's always picked up the pieces when I fucked shit up and she's never steered me wrong. So I know whatever she's telling Charlie to do will be good advice.

"Yeah. So we need to start taking some pictures together." Charlie says it like it's a chore and I laugh, because all anyone else ever seems to want is to take pictures with me.

"I'll take as many as you want," I smile.

"Okay, thanks," her voice is small and cute and she goes right back to sorting without offering me much more insight into their conversation.