bang, bang [ziam]

don't you love me

"hi." i forced myself to smile, just wishing for him to do one of his charming smirks and lean forward and kiss me sloppily as we laugh at ourselves. it's nothing like that.

"hey." he breathed out and i felt like i might freeze from the distance between us. his face is obscured with this weird, aggressive look simmering in his eyes and it makes my insides feel like i'm having a good ol' bowel movement. i had thought that danielle hadn't bothered him too much but it's obvious it has with the way his hands stay stuffed deeply into his pockets. and i hadn't even told him all of it, apparently.

"how did it go? i—" i begin and am immediately interrupted by zayn holding a finger high up in the air in front of my face and digging his other hand into his luxurious bag.

he eventually finds a magazine and i'm sorely confused and worried, the words choked in my throat. he has this insane smile on his face and i almost want to throw myself onto the carpet and scream out into the universe, "what the fuck happened now?" but i'm left completely still as zayn begins to become sickly angry with a patronizing grin on his lips.

"i'd just love to know, as i'm sitting next to some stranger eating loudly on the train, why on earth she has a magazine in her hairy hands — and for some fucking reason i see you and your face and that fucking girl from your school all over the page. you know, in one one of those trashy tabloids that only bored housewives read when they've taken a couple too many adderall—" he suddenly throws a rolled up magazine at my chest that i fail to catch and zayn is already reciting the title, "'arising star in upcoming film, liam payne, a teenaged father?!' how sweet." he's so bitter and sarcastic that my brain has completely fired up a blank at the sight of his patronizing smirk. i'm too shocked to come up with anything intelligent to say, especially when zayn was the most cunning man on the entire planet.

"what?" is all i can muster, because it's true. my hands clutch a magazine with my stupid, unsuspecting face and danielle all over the front cover. how can i be completely unaware of this? isn't this a breach of privacy? how the fuck is this possible and i'm only finding out now? zayn begins to laugh darkly now, his tongue running across his bottom lip and my whole body is completely numb.

i watch as he storms away from me and pulls open the slider door out onto the balcony. i worry for a second that he is going to have a cigarette but he seems not to, and stays icily calm, as he leans against the glass and takes a deep breath of the dirty city air. he is still maddeningly grinning as he begins to talk and i'm just the rubble left behind in the aftermath of a bomb.

"yeah, that skank of yours, danielle, is it, had a little coffee and tea with a journalist. blabbed on about how she's just so excited about popping out an infant between her legs and creating a happy family. real thought provoking stuff there — how you both are abused, poor kids from out of town, and how it wouldn't determine how the baby is gonna grow up. gee, nearly made me tear up. as if catching filthy public transport is bad enough, i had to read all about how my fucking boyfriend knocked some girl up before he even had the dignity to tell me. funny how the universe works like that, huh? what else haven't you told me? are you secretly an alien sent from mars to fuck with me? is there barack obama hiding under the sofa?" he questions me and i feel like i'm in sitting the principles office being screamed at or about to be hauled over his knee and get a spanking. really it wouldn't surprise me at this point.

"i-i had only found out after we got off the phone. i'm so sorry. you can kick me out, hell, i-i'm just really sorry. i never meant for any of this." my voice is so hoarse and pathetic. he barely regards what i've said as he steps in front of me so that i'm pinned against the slider door, my breath hitched. i wonder if he had been drinking as he sinks his hand into my back pocket and retrieves my phone immediately, one hand clutching my phone and the other pressing against the glass behind my head.