Strings and Schemes

Chapter 22

I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat.

He tilts his head, his dark eyes searching mine. "Do you even realize how fucked it is? That you trusted me with your body, but not with the rest of you?" His jaw flexes. "That you had to shut me out to let me close?"

I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides. "It wasn't about shutting you out -"

"Then what was it?" he snaps, his voice sharp but not loud. "Because it sure as hell felt like you were using me to disappear. And if that's what you needed, fine. But don't stand there and tell me it wasn't what you were doing."

I close my eyes.

Because he's right. He's so fucking right it hurts.

"I didn't know how else to cope," I whisper. My voice is barely there, a ghost of a confession. "I didn't know how to let you help me."

Zayn's chest rises and falls, his hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for me but won't let himself.

"That's the worst part," he murmurs. "I would have helped you. I would have stayed. I was staying." He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "But instead of letting me be what you needed, you tried to turn me into something easy—something that didn't matter. And I let you."

"I - " The words don't come. His voice is steady, but his expression—God, his expression—holds everything I don't want to face. The weight of his words crashes over me, heavier than I was prepared for.

I had been choosing an escape. A way to avoid feeling everything that scared me. And now? Now I'm staring at the consequence of that choice, written in the tension of his jaw, in the way his hands flex like he's holding himself back.

"I don't want to be the thing you use to turn it all off," he says, quieter now, steadier, but no less raw. "I want to be the person you turn to when you're ready to feel it."

My throat tightens, something fragile catching in my ribs.

"And if I'm choosing you now?" My voice is barely above a whisper, but it lands between us like a declaration.

His expression shifts—softens just slightly, like he wants to believe me but can't yet. Like it has to be more than words.

"Then show me."

And just like that, the weight of waiting, of wanting, disappears.

I swallow hard, staring at him. At the weight in his eyes, the way his body is coiled like he's waiting for me to do what I always do—run, shut down, make this harder than it has to be.

But I don't want to be that person anymore.

Not with him.

I step forward, hesitantly at first, then with more purpose. My hands are shaking as I reach for his. He doesn't stop me, doesn't pull away, but he doesn't close the space between us either. He's waiting.

"I don't know how to do this right," I admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Zayn's jaw tenses, but he doesn't speak. He just watches me, his eyes searching, waiting for whatever I'm going to say next.

I tighten my grip on his hands. "But, I want to learn. With you."

His breath is shaky when he exhales. "Then show me, Raina."

For once, I don't overthink it. 

I pull him in. Not desperately, not with urgency, but with certainty and clarity. When our lips meet, there's no battle this time, no frantic need to chase the feeling or drown in it. This isn't about numbing or running or proving anything. It's about choosing.