Heartstrings ➳ z.m.

twelve - skylar

Chapter Twelve – Skylar

            I could’ve blamed Harry for calling me into the room in the first place, or Louis for making me stay, or even Liam and Niall for not making me leave. But in the end, it was nobody’s fault but mine. I had completely forgotten about Zayn.

            We haven’t talked in four days. I had tried, sure, but he had always blown me off.

            “I’m tired of this,” Harry snapped, grabbing Zayn by the elbow and dragging him out of the room. “We three are going to have a nice day out, and you most definitely will be over this little grudge by the end of the day, understand?”

            Zayn glared at Harry through his lashes, sharp jaw clenching, before shooting a spiteful look my way.

            I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t want to—”

            “Don’t remember asking if you wanted to,” Louis raised his brows, giving me a look. When Harry shot Lou a look of surprise, the older boy shrugged. “You think I’m just going to be left here with Liam?”

            “Liam is nice company, thank you very much,” Liam scoffed from the kitchen, rolling his eyes.

            I sighed. “Guys really, we’re fine.”

            “If ‘fine’ includes you moping around every time that you’re here—which just so happens to be every day—then I never want to be ‘fine’ in my life,” Harry retorted, grabbing his keys from the coffee table in one quick motion. “Louis, go hang out with Niall or something, I’m sure the bloke would enjoy it.”

            Louis wrinkled his nose, jutting out his lip. “But Hazza—”

            “You only use that nickname when you want something.”

            “I just want to come with!”

            Harry sighed, tangling his fingers through his curls. “You’re intolerable. Fine, but call a few guards or something. We’re going to that place… The amusement park, whatever the name of it is, and I’m not in the mood to get mugged.”

            Louis nodded eagerly, shooting me a smile and grabbing his phone.

            I’m sure this would be interesting.

            “I don’t think he likes roller coasters, Harry,” I murmured, taking in the way Zayn’s eyes widened just a tad at the contraption in front of us.

            We had been at the place (I had passed the sign and didn’t even think to glance at the name) for about 20 minutes now. Fifteen of those had been spent with the boys signing autographs, taking pictures, and answering questions (where’s Liam? Home. And Niall? Nobody ever knows where Niall is, probably bugging Liam or having a pint. This early? Of course this early; he’s Niall), before their guards—two nice men named Stan and Jake—had said enough was enough.