[COMPLETED]
❝Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth.❞
Arielle is a studious young woman striving to be a chef. Her life is full of going to class, reading textbooks, and hanging out with her friends, until she meets Zayn. Zayn's an...
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➳ ARIELLE'S POV
I open my eyes and I'm in an unfamiliar place. It's a dark room. In fact the room is black, with coloured chalk sketches covering every square inch of useable space.
Am I dreaming? What is this place?
I'm lying on a king-sized bed in the middle of a fairly large room. There's minimal furniture—all I can see are the two end tables, the bed I'm lying on, a mirror, and a small green chair in the corner of the room. The only light within the room is provided by a stand up lamp resting beside the chair.
I pull myself towards the edge of the bed and attempt to rest my feet on the floor, but they don't reach. I rub my eyes, which feel tired and still heavy. The room is so dark that I can't tell what time of day it is. My eyes scan over the walls that surround me as I try to decipher how I got here and where exactly here is.
On the wall in front of me is a sketch of a robot. Further down the wall is a detailed drawing of a naked woman, and on the wall to my left is an assortment of things—comic book characters, Zayn's name, as well as an extremely large sketch of a race car, which takes up nearly half the wall. It's amazing to stare at the walls, each little detail has been meticulously thought out.
So I'm obviously in Zayn's room, but I don't exactly remember getting here. Did we sleep together? Because the last thing I remember is Zayn kissing my neck . . .
A bit of bile rises in my throat at the thought that he might have taken advantage of me last night. Why don't I remember anything clearly? I can't help the suspicions that my mind raises.
When my eyes scan the wall above the bed I catch a quote written in the neatest little font. I recognize it as the same font from the cigarette, which was found in my pocket. Surprisingly, it's a love quote that's been hidden among all the other scribbles. Who knew Zayn was a romantic?
I throw myself back on the bed. When I stare up at the ceiling I see clouds above a delicate landscape. Wow. How'd he even draw that up there? I lift myself off the green bed sheets and look in a mirror that has been carefully leaned up against one of the walls. I'm still wearing the clothes that I last remember putting on—jeans and a tank top. But where's my sweater and the shirt I was wearing over this tank top? How long was I out? My makeup is slightly smudged from sleeping, and my hair appears to be lightly knotted, only leaving me further confused.
What the fuck happened?
I pat my pockets. Where's my cellphone? I head back over to the bed, checking between the sheets, as well as on the end tables. I can't find it anywhere. Did Zayn take it? Did I lose it during the night?
I decide it's best to find Zayn since he should be able to answer some of the questions I'm having. I open the bedroom door and am stunned with light. Clearly it's daytime. I have to take a moment while my eyes adjust to the sudden light before leaving the bedroom and beginning to make my way down the narrow hallway. There isn't all that much to look at, and I don't bother opening doors.
