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My eyes scanned the cramped bookshelf--a sign that I was in desperate need of investing in a new one--until they landed on a familiar novel that I had read countless times and still loved. I carefully pried the first Twilight book out from it's place between the classic Stuart Little and my first edition Hunger Games trilogy set and smiled at the worn cover.
I crossed the room and grabbed my tea off the coffee table before settling into the comfort of my couch and pulling a soft blanket over my lap. Quiet music tinkled in the background, just enough so that I wouldn't be completely enveloped in silence.
I took a sip from my tea and opened the book to the first chapter, prepared to begin reading, when I found myself frowning, the book falling into my lap and snapping shut.
For a few moments, I didn't understand what I was doing, until I realized with a jolt that about this time would be when my long lost best friend would be calling me from some club in a drunken haze, begging me to drive him home, or even better, let him crash at my place.
Every time, no matter how appalled by the idea I was, I agreed, and every time, he ended up becoming a hungover nuisance the following morning when I found him moaning and groaning for painkillers on my couch, but this time would be different.
I hadn't heard from Shane. He'd all but disappeared off the face of the Earth. My theory was that he'd gone back to America and given working there another go, but I couldn't be one hundred percent sure.
Wherever he had gone, I had been sure to change the locks on my door. I knew that it wasn't much, but the precaution helped me to sleep a bit easier at night knowing that no one but me had the key.
I settled back into the cushions and flipped open the book again, determined to not let the past dominate my thoughts, when three light taps at the door had me closing the novel once more. I sighed and set my things down on the coffee table before standing up.
I knew of no one that would come around at about midnight now. Only Elijah, but he would be home in a month or so, so I didn't have to worry about explaining things to him until he returned. Ignoring his calls had been easy to pass off on a busy work schedule.
Another knock at the door brought me back to the issue at hand. I crept towards the front of the house, grabbing my can of pepper spray on the way. I had stashed it near the front door for my just in case emergencies, but right now, I felt stupid holding the little can at the ready. I couldn't have grabbed a club or something too?
With slightly shaky hands I unlocked the door and pulled it open in one swift movement, my thumb prepared to shoot at the stranger when the can suddenly slipped from my hand as I saw the little chunk of my past that stood in the doorway.
"Zayn," a gasp left my lips. "What are you doing here?"
His normally tall quiff was flattened into a messier style that made him look older but definitely suited him. A small smile was on his lips. It surprised me that it met his dark eyes. "I was in the neighborhood," he answered swiftly. "Can I come in?"
"I... I'm not sure that that would be such a good idea," I admitted quietly.
I hadn't seen any of the boys, Zayn included, since I'd left Louis's house. The walk back to Bradford was almost perilous, but I'd managed to make it to the nearest bus stop and get a lift home. I hadn't heard from any of them either, so it was a major shock with Zayn showing up at my doorstep past midnight.
"Does it help that I'm not armed?" he asked, amusement alight in his eyes as he held up the bottom of his leather jacket and turned in a circle to show that he wasn't hiding any guns, knives, or pepper spray under there.
