Your Creation • Zarry

62. Tell me your lies

By the end of summer I was back in London, but Camille wasn't with me due to work. It was a little past midnight and I was driving with the windows down in my 1970 Ford Capri, one of the first cars I ever bought, jamming to "Tupelo Honey" by Van Morrison, just minutes away from Zayn's place. I had been avoiding him for the last two weeks ever since I read that Vogue article about them breaking gender stereotypes in clothing. It was so stupid to me, like they were shoving their relationship down the world's throats. Maybe I was just being overly sensitive, but it was too much. Also, how was sharing your clothes with your girlfriend and/or boyfriend even that groundbreaking? I had been doing it for years but now suddenly they were that couple and I was becoming increasingly annoyed by it.

But I was still going to see Zayn anyway because he just so happened to be in London and I couldn't stay away from him.

As I made my way inside his house, it was just as I remembered it. He still had his dragon's blood incense burning, the dank smell of weed wafting through the air, and everything looked pretty much the same as the last time I had been there years ago.

Zayn was sitting on his couch playing video games with a joint dangling loosely from his lips but he didn't even look over at me when I walked in; his eyes were glued to the television, intensely shooting at zombies.

"Helloooo," I said while waving, trying to get his attention.

Zayn pressed pause on the controller and looked over at me, putting it down on the coffee table.

"Bit late. You said you were coming round earlier."

"Sorry I was out with some friends for awhile," I replied.

"Naturally."

I hardly had any time to see everyone else that I wanted to see when I wasn't working, so squeezing in the time to hang out with all my friends, plus Camille, and also sneaking around with Zayn wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do within my limited schedule, and maybe subconsciously I wasn't as eager to see Zayn as I usually was.

"Well, at least I'm here now," I responded, taking a seat beside him on the couch.

I noticed a bottle of whiskey on the table and picked it up, taking a big swig.

"I don't hear from you as often anymore. It's been weeks..." he trailed off, taking another drag from his joint.

"Sorry I've got a lot going on," I retaliated a bit defensively, taking another big swig, fully intending on getting drunk.

"Texting isn't that hard, Harry."

Oh here we go. I felt myself sinking back into that familiar, snappy attitude of mine that I hated, but couldn't seem to control whenever Zayn and I found ourselves stumbling into an argument and I could feel the start of it every single time.

"The phone works both ways."

"So you're back on this bullshit again?" Zayn asked, rolling his eyes.

"Wait, you mean the part where you're in a relationship and I'm just your secret lover in the night when no one's around? Same shit, different time and place," I snapped back.

Zayn started laughing, as if he was in disbelief by what I had just said.

"Don't even start with me. You don't want me to give you a dose of truth because you never could handle it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's always poor you, like I'm supposed to feel sorry for you or something when you can't even take a look in the mirror."