CHAPTER 8

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“And when I came in with tears in my eyes, you always knew whether I needed you to hold me or just let me be. I don't know how you knew, but you did, and you made it easier for me.” --Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook.

~

Zayn was blissfully sleeping when Autumn called him. He ignored the first two calls and let it go to voicemail. He just did not feel like waking up. Every time he opened his eyes to get out of bed, it felt like a million hammers were hitting him in the head. He regretted going out with his band mates the previous nights. It wasn’t like he had planned it; it was an impromptu outing to celebrate their last few days in England for a while.

The third time Zayn’s phone went to voice mail, Autumn left a message. “I know you’re sleeping. Wake up, you idiot! You need to pack. I told you I can’t help you do that in the evening. I’m going to get into the car and start driving now. If you aren’t up and about when I reach there, I’ll bloody kill you.”

Zayn groaned. He buried his head under the pillow and sighed loudly. “I hate hangovers.” He said.

Slowly, he managed to drag himself out of bed and get into the shower.

When he came out of his room after getting dressed, he lay down on the sofa. His hair was still wet and since he wasn’t planning on stepping out, he didn’t spend any time setting it.

The doorbell rang and he got up to open it. “You look like hell.” Autumn said standing outside his door.

She moved past him and entered his apartment. He closed the door and locked it again.

“Thanks.” He muttered.

“Seriously, though. Did you get mugged or something?”

“No. I just got drunk.” He replied, as Autumn placed her bag on the table.

She pulled out her phone and saw the time. “It’s eleven now. I need to go home at two. So, I reckon we should start working.”

“What’s the hurry?” he asked, walking towards the bedroom.

Autumn followed him. “I’ve mentioned it a million times, Zayn. Fundraiser.”

“Right. I remember.” He said.

Autumn looked around the room with her hands crossed. Zayn just looked at her.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

He shrugged and brought out a suitcase.

Autumn opened the mahogany wardrobe in the room and started sifting through things.

She said “You should start packing your personal stuff.”

Zayn was too tired to understand what she meant. “What?” he asked. “Why do always have to talk so cryptically?”

Autumn sighed. “I’m not in the mood for joking around. I’m here to help. Not to pack the whole thing. I’m sure as hell not going to touch your boxers. Ew.”

Zayn chuckled. “Of course. I forgot. You’re twelve.”

“At least I have a life outside of drinking and sleeping.” She snapped.

“Harsh.” He said. Zayn recognised the tone of her voice now. She was angry. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at her expectantly.

When Autumn realised what she had said, she looked at him and said “Sorry. That was mean.”

Zayn smiled. “You’ve said meaner things in the past.” He shrugged. He joined her in front of the wardrobe and started pulling out some clothes.

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