Paranoia (Zayn Malik) (editing)

Chapter 9: Piano Keys

Luna's POV

I sit on the uncomfortable stool, my back unsupported. My fingers graze over the piano keys. I've never learnt to play, but I would watch my mother play songs for hours, my little mind mesmerised by how quick her fingers to move, and how the sound that would correspond would sound so beautiful when every time I've ever tried it only ever amounts in frayed notes.

I press down on one of the white keys, letting the note ring true in my ears, watching intently as the sting on the inside of the lifted piano lid pulls.

I haven't spoken to Zayn since he blew up at me in the hallway, but he's been plaguing my mind. I've been trying to ignore the things I saw downstairs, the chains, and the things that didn't really happen, him in the chains, fighting against them, but I am failing miserably. I also seem to be obsessing over his words. I don't give a fuck whether you like me or not. I'm annoyed at myself for wanting him to care.

My phone buzzes and I'm slow to check it. The forty-eighth message from Zoey asking where I am. I'm sure she's losing her mind over where I am, but I haven't been able to bring myself to respond, not knowing the words to use to explain the situation I'm in.

My fingers hesitate over the keys, before quickly typing.

*I'm OK, I promise. I'll be back soon.

I know that will probably do little to ease her mind, but I have nothing else to give. I put the phone on silent and place it down. I let my head fall into my hands, relieving my neck of the tension building up in it, only momentarily.

"Do you know how to play?" In our normal fashion, Zayn greets me with a question while I'm deep in thought.

I look up toward the door where he stands, shirtless and wearing a pair of basketball shorts. He leans against the door as he waits for an answer from me.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." I scold, pressing my palm to my chest "You scared me, it's rude."

"Oh, but I suppose in your rulebook of manners, going through someone's stuff, going into their private rooms, breaking their lamps, that's ok?" He grins, entertained.

I look away from him, embarrassed.

"So, can you play?" He repeats.

"No." I shake my head "My mum did, I never got around to learning."

He moves to the white drinks cabinet, grabbing a glass and a dark brown liquid I've never become acquainted with. I study the contours of his back as he does. Tattoos cover his skin, different illustrations I've not had the chance to study yet, along with two long scars that drag down his back, red and angry, but somewhat faded like he's had them a long time. I've never seen scars so big, so deeply cut into the skin, and I don't want to imagine what caused them.

"They're from an accident I had when I was young. If you'd like to take a picture, I'm sure it would be easier for you to analyse them." He says very bluntly, pouring the brown liquid into the glass.

"Sorry." I choke out, not expecting him to be aware of my wandering eyes.

He turns and stares me right in the face with an intensity I didn't expect. I look back at him, feeling the tenseness in his stare. I feel the normal pressure on my brain when he and I lock eyes, my thoughts becoming hazy and I feel as if I'm about to drop to sleep right here. I blink again and again as a headache manifests and images flash past my eyes, trying to focus very hard on not breaking eye contact with Zayn, as well as staying upright which becomes increasingly difficult.

His eyes start changing, the brown in his eyes almost illuminating and becoming a shiny gold, then going deeper as they turn into dark brown waves, crashing against each other in a furious storm.