misfits // z.m

ch. 20 || black treacle

XX. black treacle

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[Thalia's POV]

"How could you?" I whispered, tears slipping down my face. I was angry - my whole body resonated with rage. How could he?
Zayn's hands cupped my face a wiped away my tears. "Can't you see how beautiful you are?"
"It's just a face, Zayn! I don't fit in, I'm not who you think I am...How could you love me?"
"I just do, Thalia! I fucking love you and I don't care if you can't say it back, because I love you. I know you're scared, I am, but I just c-can't help it." He kissed my tear stained lips and, reluctantly, I kissed back.
"Forget I told you. I'm sorry that I love you, but I can tell you this - since you came into my life, nothing's been the same, and for that I'm thankful."

I looked up at him with fearful eyes, my heart doing something frightening.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, "Can I be alone for a minute?"
He nodded and let go of me, walking away to the car waiting outside for him.
Briefly, I thanked Dana for living on the outskirts of London, where there was secrecy and freedom.

Collecting my thoughts together, I paced back and forth.
I pressed my fingers to my temples and breathed.
Zayn was in love with me. Zayn was in love with me.
From within me, a deep pain twisted at the threads in my heart, a dark voice calling me to remember Smith; its voice sounded like mine - a phantom of myself. 'You're going to kill him in the end.'
I took deep, calming breaths and looked over at Zayn, watching as he leaned casually against the car, talking to his security guard. He looked so unaffected by me, and that's something I'd never understand - how he remained so calm and collected all the time, yet the slightest look from him and my brain would shut down completely.

My heart was incandescent - it glowed for him.
Him, who was kind and giving and so, so beautiful - I never tired of looking at him.
And, oh, how he was passionate - he could talk for hours on end about his art or his music, and I would listen, just as he would when I spoke about books.
I perused him from head to toe, realising I wouldn't see him again for a long time.
I wanted to remember him as he was in Amsterdam, and forget that he loved me, but I felt so lucky to be loved by him.

Zayn walked over to me and I jumped into his arms, startling him. He caught me, stumbling back a little.
Tears, tears which I'd restrained for so long, came torrenting down on his shirt - he was leaving me.
"Zayn, I don't want you to go." Came my forlorned voice. And I hated it. I hated how weak I sounded because the last time I was this fucking helpless was when Smith died.
"I don't want to go," he replied quietly.

I paused.
"Why the fuck am I crying?" I murmured, laughing a little.
He smiled, "I'd rather you cried infront of me than when I'm gone."
Slowly, ardently, I closed my mouth over his. My lips shivered as the kiss concealed my sobs.
My body was numbed by his touch, yet I'd never felt so alive.

"What time do you start the tour?" I asked, my eyes slowly opening as our lips departed.
"Tomorrow, 7pm, Wembley." He spoke in monosyllables.
"Well, good luck. Just make sure they know you're mine." I half-smiled.
He smiled back, kissing my nose as he put me down. "I'm yours."
I nodded and looked at my wrist.
On it was my favourite bracelet - blue and black, something I made to remind me of my parents.

I slid it off my wrist and gave it to him, "I want you to wear this."
He put it on without a word.
Breaking the silence, I said, "I just want to ask you one thing...please don't f-forget me."
Zayn smiled, "Never, T, never."
I grinned at his new nickname for me, falling into his embrace, lachrymose. "Oh, Zayn." I whispered sadly.
"Thalia." He answered, my voice a mere tremble on his raspberry coloured lips.