Strings and Schemes

Chapter 30

Zayn's brows furrow, frustration flickering across his face. "I just wanted to make this easier for you."

"Easier?" I repeat, my voice climbing. "How is it easier when I suddenly have to consider how everything I do, everything I say, could be spun into something else? How is it easier when I feel like I don't even get to decide what parts of myself are mine anymore?"

Zayn scrubs a hand down his face. "I didn't mean for it to feel like that."

"But it does feel like that," I press, setting my coffee down harder than necessary. "It feels like I lost control of my own life overnight - again -  and the worst part? I can't tell if it was me losing it or you giving it away for me."

His head snaps up at that, something sharp flashing behind his eyes. "That's bullshit."

"Is it?" I challenge. "Because from where I'm standing, it sure as hell doesn't feel like I have a say in any of this."

Zayn shakes his head, pacing slightly. "You do have a say. You always have a say."

"Do I?" I cross my arms, daring him to answer.

He stops pacing, turning to me fully. "I told you I wanted this to be on our terms."

"Right, and what were those terms, exactly?" I throw my hands up. "Because it feels like you already decided them for me."

His lips press into a thin line. "That's not what happened."

"Then explain it to me."

He exhales sharply. "I knew the second the press caught us together, they'd start digging. It was only a matter of time before they tried to make you into some story that isn't yours to tell." He runs a hand through his hair. "I just... I thought if I could control how they got the story, it wouldn't be as bad."

I stare at him, heart pounding. "You thought you should control it."

His brows knit together. "I thought I could protect you."

My chest tightens. "But I don't need that kind of protection, Zayn. I need to be able to breathe. To make my own choices. To feel like I'm not just stepping into your world with no say in how I exist in it."

Zayn's jaw flexes, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for me but doesn't. "I didn't think about it like that."

I swallow. "That's the problem."

His gaze drops to the floor for a second before he looks back up at me, something softer settling in his features. "I never wanted you to feel like you were being managed. I just- " He exhales. "I wanted to take some of the weight off your shoulders."

I stare at him for a beat. "But you didn't take it off me. You just carried it for me without asking if I wanted you to."

I take a deep breath before I continue, "Do you know often things were managed or handled for me as a kid? A teen? Hell, even now? I bet you'll never know that I got in a massive car accident when I was 18. Or that It went to a criminal investigation as the other driver was drunk and t-boned me."

Zayns eyes flash with concern.

I laugh, a hallow laugh. "I've never been a problem or had a real problem according to the press, American or otherwise. Even though that's far from the truth. I never got in trouble for taking party drugs with Louis when we were posted one year, in a country where we could've been executed for it."

"I'm not saying I wanted bad things to happen to me, but I'm just saying, I've never gotten to be a part of those strategy discussions on how to 'handle' me. And it makes me feel, so isolated. So incapable to trust my own gut and instincts on handling tough stuff."