In His Arms[Ziam/Ziall Fanfic]

Chapter 7

“The drum solos are getting really good on Josh’s parts. He’s really getting more professional. As a drummer. Not as an adult. He’s sticking a drumstick up his nose x]. I’m missing you so text me back to put me out of my misery. ;) I love you.”

“Zayn, it’s getting late. I hope nothing bad has happened to you. I don’t know what I would do if I was to ever lose you. I love you. P.S. I’ll never get tired of saying it too much cause it’s the truth. I love you Zayn Malik! NH <3 ZM.”

“Babe we’re leaving but Josh wants to get some dinner. I’m gonna stop by his place to have some pizza and he’ll drop me off at yours so we don’t need to drive two cars tomorrow. I hope you’re feeling better. NH <3 ZM.”

“You are my world babe. I can’t wait to come home to you so we can cuddle the night away. I’ll be home in a few.”

I must have looked like such a lovesick fool sending him all those messages when he was probably spending all of that time getting shagged by Liam. The thought makes me furious, but I can’t bring myself to barge into the bedroom like a scorned lover and beat Liam to a pulp. Because even though Zayn is in there right now, with someone else . . . Well, not just someone else. With Liam. Apparently the guy that he has been in love with since the very beginning, that he didn’t have the audacity to tell me about before we began this whole love affair. I couldn’t bring myself to make Zayn’s life misery. I wanted him to still be happy. 

Even when his happiness didn’t involve me . . .

I walk towards the elevator, my blushing fists shoved into my pockets, holding back their true intentions. The elevator opens and I step inside, not breaking ground. Not here. In a place I was probably never loved. Only used. 

A brush of cold air runs through my flushed cheeks when I step outside into the night air, and it is then when my energy gives up and I fall to my knees, my face smacking against the pavement as my tears fell on the gray stone like rain.

*   *   *   *   *

“Who needs love?” I slurred, downing another shot of hot liquid. I had been drinking with Zayn all day inside of his flat, after my stupid excuse of a boyfriend decided that he wanted to “test the waters.” Of course, I didn’t tell Zayn the cause for all this drinking. He was just happy to oblige. After all, who would deny free alcohol and a totally bomb ass drinking partner? And it was just my luck because Zayn was also in the mood to get shit-faced. 

“I know,” he slurred, raising his glass. “Me. And you. To being single forever!” He cheered, clinking his full glass of vodka against mine. “Fuck love because love is always fucking you!” bantered Zayn. 

Taking another long sip of vodka, we refill and let the night take us by. 

Going through our third bottle of vodka, Zayn and I are completely fucked that I can barely see the whites of his eyes. He’s staring at me on the couch, both of us in a fit of giggles. I’m not even sure what we are laughing about, but it seems that it was incredibly funny. Zayn has been rolling around the sofa, his arms holding in his guts and tears springing from his eyes. I don’t know whether the joke, or whatever it was, was funny, or because this is the most I’ve seen the raven-haired boy laughed since a long time, but I’m laughing uncontrollably with him. 

Through his choked voice, he says, “You’re . . . Irish,” and Zayn bursts out again into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “You have blonde hair, blue eyes, rosy cheeks. And . . . you’re Irish!” Zayn can’t help but laugh. And it seems he was laughing at me.