Cult

13: Run Ω

He shakes his head and takes my hands in his. Why are his hands shaking slightly?

"You scared me. Don’t ever run off like that again," he warns. His voice is steady, but there's something shaky about him. Was he really that worried? I was only gone for what? Fifteen or twenty minutes.

I look down at the grass around the fountain and the pavement leading to the hotel entrance. I guess I shouldn't have run off like an idiot.

"I-I didn't mean to scare you, Zayn. I was just so angry," I try to defend, but Zayn shakes his head. He cups my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. 

"Don't do it again," he says. "Please," he adds. I stare at him. His breathing is starting to calm down and his heart rate is relaxing, but there's still a look of urgency in his eyes.

"I won't," I agree, staring at Zayn. I don't think I've ever been so confused in my life. If this nervous, caring, thoughtful Zayn is going to be permanent, then I should accept him and allow myself to get closer to him. To care about him.

Of course, he is just a man. He's going to want something physical, something to satisfy his libido, but at least he isn't straight up rude like Harry, who has no filter. Where is Harry, anyway?

I take a deep breath, praying Harry has chosen not to hurt me tonight, or anyone for that matter. But the fact that I can't see him anywhere makes me more nervous.  

Zayn takes my hand and leads me back into the hotel.

"I wanna show you my last surprise," he tells me. I smile up at him. We really just need time to talk, to really get to know each other-- not presents, nothing sexual, just a simple date.

Zayn takes me into the side entrance of the hotel and to a grand ballroom that's empty. "Close your eyes," he says. I do as I'm told.

Zayn stands behind me and holds his hands over my eyes as though I might sneak a peak. He kisses my cheek.

"Uh-uh uh," he tisks. He's being so playful, it's actually cute.

"Hurry up, I'm getting old here," I tease. He moves his hands, but makes me stand still for a moment.

I open my eyes. Zayn is holding my glasses. My beautiful, clunky glasses. He puts them on me and I sigh in relief. 

"God, you don't know how great it feels to finally be able to see clearly," I tell him. He smiles. 

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asks. I reach for his hand and close my fingers around his. I hate when people ask that question; my vision is blurry, I'm not full on blind.

"You look beautiful even with your glasses," Zayn whispers against my lips. "Like a sexy doctor," he purs. He takes a step closer to me and cups my face again. 

"But this wasn't the surprise, I've got something else," he winks. I shake my head. That's what he was saying to Sonya earlier; he wanted to get my glasses. He's good. Too good.

Zayn takes my hand and points up at the ornately decorated ball room wall. It is designed with gold and cream paint, giving it a more classical feel. The room holds numerous paintings. It must be the gallery room. But there is one painting in particular that catches my eye. It's front and center, above the fireplace. It's the painting I did of my backyard. 

"I don't know if you were done or not, but I figured you deserve to start having your work up for the public to see," Zayn tells me. I stare at the painting. It wasn't finished, but it actually looks good up on the wall. It looks professional.

I turn to Zayn. "I don't know what to say," I admit. 

"The hotel owner loved it and he wants you to make another for the lobby. He wants to add your portfolio to the gallery, Kat," he tells me. His voice is barely a whisper, but it echoes in my ears. I can't help the grin that etches on my face. I wrap my arms around Zayn's neck and pull him closer to me.