Strings and Schemes

Chapter 19

Zayns POV

I don't look back when she enters Louis and Liams house without me.

I tell myself it's because I don't care, but my chest is tight, my hands clenched into fists inside my hoodie pocket. My feet move on instinct, getting as far away from Liam and Louis' house as I can, but my mind? My mind is stuck on her.

Raina.

Standing on their doorstep, in the same fucking sweats I saw her in yesterday.

She didn't say anything. Didn't try to stop me. Didn't correct me when I assumed.

The image of her, disheveled and quiet, is stuck in my head like a splinter I can't dig out. It doesn't matter that she looked different—less like someone coming home from a night out and more like someone who hadn't left at all. The point is, I don't know anymore.

I used to think I had her figured out. But I don't. And that pisses me off more than anything. The issue isn't that she won't let me in, it's that she tried to let me in in the messiest moment and I failed her by not seeing it.

Fuck. She almost let me use her.

I exhale sharply, tugging my hood over my head and picking up my pace. I need to do something with this. I need to get this out of me before it eats me alive.

Louis tries to make small talk, tries to avoid that scene laid out on his front lawn like a dagger straight to my heart, but I don't say anything. I don't answer or engage. I don't encourage him and I don't offer anything.

But knowing him, he already knows.

"Well, well," he drawls, falling into step beside me. "Didn't take you for the type to turn tail and flee, mate."

I grit my teeth. "I wasn't fleeing."

Louis just hums, like he's entertaining a lie he doesn't believe.

"What happened to seeing the stars when you see her?"

I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, my hoodie hanging low over my face. I don't answer.

Louis snorts. "That bad, huh?"

I stop walking. Because it wasn't bad. It was worse.

Her standing there, on their doorstep, looking like she had just rolled in from the night before. My mind filled in the blanks before I could stop it. And she let me believe it.

I swallow the words I want to say. Words that have no place outside my own damn head. Louis stops, too, waiting for something, anything from me.

I exhale sharply. "I need to work."

He raises a brow, not buying it for a second. "And by 'work,' you mean 'write an entire song about her while pretending she doesn't have you by the throat emotionally?'"

I glare at him, but my silence says everything.

Louis grins. "Fucking hell. Alright then, let's go ruin your night properly."

Louis opens the bottle of tequila, and it makes me seethe. All I see is her. I can't even have a proper fucking drink on a shit day without thinking about her. She's invading my every fucking thought like a god damn parasite.

Louis barely settles into his chair before I'm throwing my notebook onto the table. Pages spill everywhere. Half-written lyrics, scratches and rewrites—evidence of my own goddamn inability to get her out of my head.

He flips through them lazily, smirking. "At least she's good for creativity."

"Louis."

"Alright, alright, let's get to it." He grabs his guitar, fingers pressing into familiar chords. "What's the damage, then? Are we feeling 'devastated but poetic' or 'so angry you might punch a wall'?"