Forbidden

Chapter forty-seven

I feel the wetness on my cheeks, the frustration of everything spilling over and when I lift the back of my hand to smear the tears away from my eyes, I'm left with blurry vision and a sense of need, of want, of something.

I blow air out of my mouth and put my face on my hands.

I've been debating with myself what I should do to only find the answer that I shouldn't have left. I doubted it the moment I was out on that unfamiliar street where the mansion is. And maybe I was too blind with flared up jealousy to think it through. At least I'm admitting it, not like someone I know that likes to hide behind that rude, mad personality.

The first hour on this trip was spent too good I was looking for a way to find the English Embassy or a police station just fervent to leave but as the hours went by and I could physically feel the distance between me and the house, and me and Zayn. I was reluctant to keep walking even hoping Zayn is coming after me.

I don't know how I can be so emotionally invested with Zayn when most of the time I spent with him was awful, him trying to dominate me, scare me, make me cry. The only few times he was nice was only two days at most, where he told me how I made him feel something..

I take a deep breath enjoying being alone and away from it all, children were running, people had their dogs out for a walk, others were picnicking for their free time. I take my time to just not stress for a few moments.

There's a phone booth not far when I decide to walk again and I dial my mother just so I can hear her voice. I had to do this at least and something good had to come from today.

A few rings later she picks up.

"Hello?" her kind voice was toneless, distant even. I bit my lip before I cry."Who is this?" she croaked hopefully, so I can't help but say, "Mum it's me."

"O-Olivia?" her voice broke, "Oh my goodness, Olivia. I can't believe it's you." her tone wavering and she's already crying, I'm too."Where are you and-"

I can't let her get her hopes up so I cut her off while evening my voice, "I found a way to call, to let you know I'm alive, healthy and you don't have to worry about my life being at risk." I ramble."I'll be fine, just know that I love you mum, tell dad that I love him too please."

"No, Olivia don't-" she shouts desperately but I end the call.

And the most awful daughter award goes to me. Am I a bad person for not feeling that sorry that I just had my last phone call with my family?

The thing is that I tried. I really tried. I wanted to walk away from everything, from him but it doesn't feel right. There's that feeling that I can't leave him back no matter what he did or how unholy, shameful, wicked my feelings for him are, they will be there consuming me all the time.. This is beyond normality, but I want this sick feeling because that's when I feel alive, I relish it, embrace it with my whole self.

After I meet a russian guy who speaks broken English I ask him if he knew where the most expensive mansions were, he told me there were too many so he asked me if I could tell him a surname. So I gave him Zayn's. Before I get back in that house I go shopping for clothes, hygiene products and food with Zayn's money to make out the horrible way the day went, before I hail a cab giving him the piece of paper that kind Russian guy had wrote the address on, I hope it's the right one.

I lean my head on the cab's window as the lights of lampposts make fast blurry movements, other cars too, it calms me down until no tear falls anymore.

Now only myself is to blame that I'm walking back to the lion's den. It's not where I belong to, it's not where I am welcomed, but it's where I need to be, the compulsion of my addiction to be near him is never going to leave me in peace, might a well embrace it.