Strings and Schemes

Chapter 17

"You think if you fuck me like you fuck Louis, it'll make it easier, don't you?" he says, voice quiet but razor-sharp.

I go rigid. My heartbeat slams in my ears. "Excuse me?"

My heart thumps. I want to say, I can't believe you'd say that, or who do you think you are? But my eyes dart over to the art, and I know the answer; Deep in my soul, I know that I am wrong. But I can't let him know that now. I am proverbially naked, horrified at my behaviour, and unable to stop this slow moving train crash from happening.

His gaze doesn't waver. He almost looks like he wants to hold me, to take care of me, but when he opens his mouth it's the last thing that comes out. "If you don't slow down long enough to feel anything, then it doesn't mean anything. Then it's just another thing you can shove into a box, another thing that won't hurt if you don't look at it too closely."

I scoff, standing quickly, putting space between us. "You don't know what you're talking about."

He watches me, his face unreadable. "I think I do."

I turn away, arms crossing over my chest as I head toward the kitchen, needing something to do, needing to move.

"You can't keep doing this, Raina."

His voice follows me, steady, unwavering. It feels like a challenge, like a truth I don't want to hear. I have to get out of this situation, but I can't. We're at my apartment, and I can't leave him standing here in the wake of... that.

Instead, I get up off the floor, and I reach for the fridge looking for an exit,  pretending I didn't hear him.

"Yeah?" I say flatly, fingers gripping the handle. "Watch me."

I don't turn around, don't wait for his response. But I hear him exhale, long and measured. He doesn't follow when I walk away.

Zayn exhales sharply, his hand dragging down his face as he shakes his head. He stands, zipping up his jeans, his movements sharp, frustrated, like he's trying to keep himself from saying something he can't take back.

But then he looks at me—really looks at me—and I know whatever patience he had left is gone.

"You don't even know what you're running from, do you?" His voice is quiet, but the weight of it crashes over me.

I cross my arms, suddenly feeling exposed even though I'm still wearing his shirt. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Z."

He lets out a humourless laugh, shaking his head again like he can't believe me. "I don't have to, Raina. You make it obvious." He pauses, studying me. "I know exactly what this is."

My stomach twists. "Oh, do you?" I try for sarcasm, but it lands weak, thin.

He steps closer, his voice dropping lower. "You don't want intimacy, you want control. And when you can't have that, you go for detachment. You think if you make it all physical, it won't matter." He tilts his head slightly, narrowing his gaze. "That's why its so easy with Louis, wasn't it?"

My breath catches, but I recover too quickly, too practiced. I scoff, rolling my eyes, like he's just spouting bullshit. "Jesus, you're really reaching now."

Is he jealous? God, Raina. How fucked of you to even wonder that in this moment.

But he doesn't back down. "No, I'm not. You liked that Louis doesn't ask for more. That you could keep it at a distance, that you didn't have to be vulnerable." He steps even closer, his eyes searching mine. "But I see you, Raina. I see what you're doing."

I clench my jaw, keeping my expression flat, unreadable. "What am I doing, Zayn?" I challenge, daring him to say it.

He doesn't hesitate. "You're trying to push me away before I can do it first."

My throat tightens, my nails digging into my own arms. "That's not true."

His lips press into a hard line. "Yeah? Then why do you only come to me when you need to shut your feelings off?"

I open my mouth to fire back, to say something sharp and cruel to make him regret this conversation, but I don't. Because I don't have anything to say. Because he's right.

He watches me struggle, and for a second, I think he might stay, might keep pressing, but then he just sighs, stepping back.

"Let me know when you figure out what you actually want." His voice is softer now, but the edge is still there, cutting deep. He grabs his hoodie off the back of the couch and heads for the door.

I don't stop him.

The door clicks shut behind him, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My apartment feels too big, too empty, and for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I won.

I spend all night in my bed, crying.