[COMPLETED]
❝Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth.❞
Arielle is a studious young woman striving to be a chef. Her life is full of going to class, reading textbooks, and hanging out with her friends, until she meets Zayn. Zayn's an...
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➳ ZAYN'S POV
I push all my shirts to the side in my dresser drawer, but it's just another area that comes up empty. I've probably been searching for an hour for that car-shaped ring box from my dream, or vision, or flashback—whatever the fuck it should be called—but I haven't found shit.
Thinking about it, I have the idea that maybe I've stuffed it in one of the kitchen drawers. I often end up tossing random junk into the one, so it's possible it could be there. I stand from my kneeling position and saunter to the kitchen, opening the drawer.
Just inside lays my sketchpad and I pull it out, placing it on the marble countertop. I search around in the cabinet but there's nothing much in here other than a few extra lighters, some scissors, elastics and other random rubbish. I jam everything back inside, including my sketching pad and lean against the cool marble as I ponder where this jewelry box could be.
I decide that maybe I need a break from it. Maybe this should be treated like my memory loss. Like, if I leave it be, possibly it'll just randomly come to me, and I'll remember where I put it. Honestly, I'm feeling positive that I've tossed the box, or my old roommate did. But I don't want to give up quite yet.
I head out to the deck and light up a cigarette. I sit down on one of the loungers and enjoy the sun as it sets in the sky. The minute the nicotine lights up in my bloodstream, I sit back and breathe a heavy sigh.
The good news is that by trying to find this jewelry box I've managed to get my mind off the things I'm not supposed to focusing on. What's really fucking shitty though is that this whole flashback, or vision of this gift has only raised more questions for me. As it is I'm struggling like absolute hell to not go over scenarios in my mind. So many questions.
Cigarette still between my lips, I run inside and grab the newspaper. It's at least something that'll distract me because I know that I'm about to start thinking about the amnesia and I seriously need to follow the doctor's orders. The fact that I even had another flashback yesterday proves to me in my brain that relaxing and distracting myself is helping and I surely don't want to fuck that up now.
I jog back outside before the cigarette smoke intoxicates the air inside the house and position myself back at the lounger. I lazily flip through the pages of the newspaper—as if it's helping—but I can't focus on it because I couldn't really fucking care less about the local shit that's going on. Stick of tobacco balanced between my lips, I rip out the sports section and toss it onto the table beside me.
I'm pulled out of my thoughts when I hear tires rolling against the asphalt. I put the entire newspaper down onto the table and step forward to lean against the deck railing as the familiar shit-box stops on my driveway. Sky starts barking from inside at the noise and I open the glass patio door to let her out onto the wooden structure. She spots Nyjah through the glass panes of the railing and she growls lowly.
