Raina Addams has always lived in the shadow of her father's political career. As the daughter of the US Ambassador, every move she makes is watched, every decision scrutinized. Her life is one of polished appearances and calculated diplomacy-until Z...
The next day I wake to my empty apartment, just how I designed it. My heart sinks from realization, that last night wasn't a nightmare. I see the gift from Zayn leaning against the wall where I had intended to mount it, but I can't bring myself to even look in its direction. My heart thundering from anxiety. I check my phone, nothing from Zayn. No acknowledgement of my fucked up behaviour, or that he even got home safe.
I open up social media, to see a photo that Louis posted of me, him and Z from the night of my Independence Day party earlier this week. It feels like I've fallen from grace. How did I go from that to this in the matter of a couple of days? We're all smiling, while Louis is classically throwing up a middle finger. Louis captions it with, "the new Independence Day party" and a barber pole, I laugh, tears in my eyes - likely the closest he could find to a stripper pole.
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I am in the same clothes as the day before as I pad towards the fridge and start to brew a coffee, remembering the moments Zayn has done the same for me.
She's picky, don't fuck it up Louis' text to Zayn that first morning together.
I shake my head at myself. I get to design my own life for all of three days, without scheming or strings, and I end up making a royal mess of it. Whats worse is, I don't even take what I really and truly want.
Every part of me wants to yell, cry, scream, drink, hide. But I know that will do no use. The risk of loosing something before I even have it is haunting me. All I want to do is free fall into his arms, in any way that I can, but there's a large part of me that just can't let myself. I find myself pacing, spiralling, re-reading the note that he wrote for me, before quickly grabbing my keys and finding my car brought around by valet for me. It's a swanky building, I'll give dad that.
I start driving, no end destination in mind. When suddenly, I recognize the area.
I jog up the steps to Louis and Liam's flat, shoving my hands deeper into the pockets of my oversized sweatshirt. Zayn's scent still lingering from the night before. The morning air is crisp, the sky still overcast, typical for London. My hair is barely brushed, pulled into a lazy bun, and my face is free of makeup—an unusual sight for me, but I don't care. I spent the night at home, alone, drowning in my thoughts. The fight with Zayn still lingers in my chest like smoke, curling through my ribs, refusing to dissipate.
I press the doorbell, shifting my weight onto one foot, my mind already working through what I'm going to say to Liam.
Then I hear it—footsteps behind me. I close my eyes, this can't be happening. I tense instinctively before turning around.
There he is: Zayn. My very heart, outside of my body, waiting on the same stoop as me.
The sight of him makes something clench in my stomach. He's in black sweats, hoodie pulled up, hands stuffed into his pockets. There's a tiredness about him, like he hasn't slept much either, though his sharp gaze scans over me with an unreadable expression.
