It was your cheshire cat smile that coaxed me into security, Dreamboat. I delved too deep...and like you said,
Curiosity killed the cat.
Italy has a certain scent to it. It's hard to put into words...but as soon as I arrived back from Denver, that scent overtook me. It's like fresh and steady air filling your nostrils.
It's a different scent from Denver—far different. Denver, to me, smells stale and foggy. But maybe that's only because of my past there.
Stagnant. Hazy.
Isaac took me back to his apartment after the bank incident. He tried to convince me to stay just one more day, worried that I'd be too freaked out to leave on my own.
But I needed to leave that city immediately.
An hour before my flight landed, I called Zayn.
He did answer, but it was all choppy and broken up. He told me he wouldn't be at the villa when I got there but he'd pay for a cab.
The cab took me to the villa, parking at the end of the long driveway. I took all of my bags out of the trunk, dressed in sweats and a hoodie with my hair messily falling out of its bun.
I need a shower.
I walk in through the front entrance of the villa, the familiar smell of the interior hitting my nose. I shut my eyes and take it all in before heading to the kitchen to go upstairs.
However, a sharp gasp catches in my throat when I walk into the kitchen, immediate startle striking within me that didn't fade.
At the kitchen table, there was a man.
Not Zayn. Not anyone I'd seen before, I don't think.
My yelp of fear causes him to look up from a magazine he was reading. I pin my back against the wall with wide eyes, my bags drop from my hands.
All I could think was that there was an intruder and I'm alone.
The man is dressed in black. A black shirt with black slacks...his hair neatly gelled. Dark eyes.
"I-I'll call the police." I stammer through my fear.
He's sitting yet I can tell he's much bigger than me. There's no way I'll be able to fight him off.
His lips lift into a smirk and he sets the magazine down.
"No need, miss." his heavy Italian accent speaks.
Still pinned against the wall, I breathe heavily in anxiousness.
"W-who are you?"
"Zayn didn't tell you?" he arches his brow. "I'm the hedge keeper."
What?
My brows furrow and I tilt my head. "I'm sorry?"
"Zayn hired me to trim and care to the hedges at the front of the villa today." he adds.
He doesn't look like someone who trims hedges.
Relaxing off of the wall a bit, I keep my eyes on the man who was just giving me a short smile. "D-do you know where Zayn is?"
"Running errands." he quickly answers. "I just came in here to grab some water." he says as he begins to stand and head for the front door, walking past me.
I watch as he closes the front door behind him and disappears from my vision.
Still puzzled and my mind all over the place, I grab my phone from my pocket.
I send a message to Zayn immediately.
Elaina
there's a man at the villa??
I press send and look around to make sure the man wasn't lurking. I stick my phone back in my pocket and grab my bags again, heading up the stairs and down the hall. I walk past all the guest rooms, the ones that weren't occupied by Zayn's friends anymore.
Once I get to my room, I lock the door and set everything on my bed. My plan was to shower and freshen up from the flight but I don't want to do that when it's just me and this man here.
My phone goes off in my pocket, I pull it out.
Zayn
the hedge guy? don't worry, i hired him for today. i'll be back in around two hours.
I blow out a sigh of relief, feeling less stressed now because Zayn knew about the guy. I just wish he told me but it's no big deal.
Another text from Zayn comes through.
Zayn
how was the trip?
My thumbs tap the keyboard.
Elaina
5/10. at best.
Zayn
tell me all about it when i get back.
I toss my phone down onto my bed. I'm too exhausted to even think about unpacking right now, and I'm sweaty and overall gross. I desperately need a shower.
I feel a little better with the idea of showering now that I'm aware that Zayn does in fact know the hedge guy. If he's staying outside then I'll be able to take a really quick shower with my door locked.
I grab some fresh clothes, a coral sundress to bring into my bathroom with me.
My shower was quick. I washed my hair and I cleansed my body with fruit scented wash. I didn't have the luxury of standing there in the hot water. I simply can't do it. The water has to be lukewarm.
Or else I panic.
Getting out of the shower, I dry myself off with a towel. I get dressed, the sundress falling a few inches above my knee caps.
I love wearing dresses in Italy. It makes me feel like I'm in a movie.
I let my wet hair fall naturally down my back, too tired to maintain the curly red mess.
My unpacked bags sit on the floor of my bedroom, my willpower at an all time low with no energy to unpack them right now.
What I need—is a nap.
I don't even remember falling asleep.
My eyes shot open and I came to the realization that I was sprawled across my bed, my pillow is a little damp from my hair being wet when I fell asleep.
I lift my head slightly, seeing how my room had more of a golden tint from the natural light outside the window. It was brighter before, so it must be later in the evening now.
How long was I asleep?
I pat around my bedding in search of my phone, eventually feeling the metal device wrapped up in my comforter.
I retrieve it, clicking the side button.
It's nearly 6:30. I slept for 4.5 hours?
"Shit." I murmur to myself, not meaning to pass out for that lengthy amount of time.
My phone is blank of any notifications apart from a text from Isaac asking about my flight.
Nothing from Zayn.
It's been nearly five hours, shouldn't he be back by now?
I open up my phone and call him, pressing the speaker button before placing the device down beside me as it rings.
I groan as I sit up in my bed, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms while I yawn. The phone is still ringing.
The ringing stops and I expect to hear a 'hello' or something.
"This is Zayn, I'll return your call when I can."
Voicemail.
I'm a little worried. I wouldn't be if he had given me some sort of heads up...but it's like he's vanished.
Maybe I'm overreacting because that whole bank situation still has me a little shaken up...I don't know.
What I do know, is that I'm starving.
My stomach growls while I get up, swinging my legs over my bed while still in my dress. My mouth was dry and I felt empty, needing to get something of substance into my body.
My hair is a poofy mess from sleeping on it while it was wet. I stand in front of my vanity, taking a claw clip and quickly gathering my hair to put it up in the clip, leaving a few loose strands in the front.
I walk down the stairs, carrying my hollow stomach to the kitchen. I just need to whip up something small for right now at least.
When I get to the fridge, my anticipation for food is winded once I see that there's quite literally next to nothing on the shelves.
I tilt my head, confused and annoyed. Zayn was here all weekend, what the hell did he eat?
I open up the pantry in hopes that I could find something, but there's nothing.
My head tosses back with a frustrated, hangry sigh. All our food is gone because there were six people living in this house last week and no one bothered to grab enough groceries.
I'm so desperate for food that I'm willing to do anything. In a quick snap decision, I determine that I'm taking myself out to eat. I'll worry about groceries tomorrow—or better yet, I'll let Zayn worry about groceries.
I jog back upstairs to grab my phone and purse, quickly shooting Zayn a text telling him I'm off to go grab a bite at a certain diner just five minutes away. There's no use in calling a cab, I can walk there.
My purse hangs off my shoulder, my phone gripped in my hand as I walk out the front doors. I look at my sneaker covered feet as I head down the cobblestone pathway, feeling the stillness of the evening on my uncovered arms.
It's a warm night here in Milan, the sky tinted and the breeze barely present.
I'm excited to go eat, I haven't treated myself in a while...and the food at the diner I'm going to is incredible.
As I walk up the path, I hear the faint sound of clipping—growing louder as I get closer.
I furrow my brows, putting two and two together as I hear the clipping noise near the full green hedges by the front gate.
The hedge guy is still here? It's been like five hours.
I walk past him as I leave through the gate, giving him a small friendly smile which he returns with a nod. I'm sure he's harmless, it's just my own nerves that's bugging me.
Being alone with a person I don't know enough to trust—that makes me nervous. I have my reasons why.
As I walk to the diner, I can't seem to stop thinking about Zayn. There's so many scenarios running through my head. He told me he'd be home two hours ago, and now he isn't answering his phone. I can't help but wonder...what if something's happened? What if he got hurt?
My head rushes to the thought of the jewelry store robbery that happened just days ago when I was with Harry. There were no reports of those people getting caught.
I know it's far fetched, because there are lots of people in Italy and Zayn would probably be the last person they'd target...but what if?
'What ifs'...they constantly taint my mind. Those nagging insecurities that make the unknown and uncertain so scary and daunting.
These days, it's like I can't do anything without asking myself that question. Those two simple words.
What if?
The diner was located next to a body of water, surrounded by flora and golden lights that hung from the ceiling like vines off a tree branch. It's a little diner, but the comfort it brings forth makes it seem huge.
The tables are draped with white cloth, beautiful Italian music playing softly through outdoor speakers. It smells of bread and vinegar.
There are six tables out here, all around eight feet away from each other. There are other people here, but I don't care enough to look at them.
Sitting down at an empty table, I set my purse and phone on the white cloth. I take a breath and tuck those loose strands of hair away. There's two clean empty wine glasses here at my table, just like every table. There's silverware wrapped delicately in satin napkins. There's also a short clay vase of white lily flowers acting as the centre piece.
So beautiful.
Across the street, the library stood tall in its old building. The bricks never touched or rebuilt or remodeled from the original construction.
I'm very attracted to these minor details about Italy, or anywhere really. The aged buildings that have been around for centuries. The cracks in the cobblestones...those are rare to find, but here and there you'll find a path that has never been repaved since the Italian ancestors walked them. It can give you chills when you really think about it. The reservation of history, it's a beautiful thing.
Don't even get me started on Rome. I saw the colosseum from miles away on my European tour, but never got close enough to take it in.
One day, I hope. I hope I'll be able to see the cracks of history left there.
A waiter approaches my table, he's dressed in a tight white shirt and black dress pants. In one hand, he beholds a water jug and immediately begins pouring that ice water into my wine glass. In his other, he holds a tray with golden toasted bread and a dish of olive oil and a black bottle of vinegar. He places that tray down, the bread stacked neatly as he splashes some vinegar into the oil.
"Ready to order yet, miss?" he speaks, his accent thick.
"Not quite yet, thank you." I say politely, not entirely sure what I want yet.
"Take your time." he smiles with a set of perfect teeth before heading off.
I check my phone one final time to see if Zayn got back to me...but to my dismay there was nothing.
I hope his phone is just dead or something.
I reach for the bread on the tray, ripping a little bit off and dipping it in the oil and vinegar concoction. I soak the bread and put it in my mouth, tasting the acidic vinegar and neutral bread.
This makes me feel fancy.
As I chew, I scroll through my phone, deciding that I should probably answer Isaac.
His last text read: 'How did your flight go?'
My thumbs tap against my phone screen, forming the response before I hit send.
Elaina: 7:00pm
boring
I'm happy that Isaac and I left things on good terms. The phone situation sucked and it hurt me, but we talked it through. We're fine.
We'll be fine.
I keep my eyes glued to my phone, hearing footsteps but paying no mind to them as I wait for them to pass my table.
But they don't.
The steps stop right across my table, making my brows furrow as I stare down at my phone, suddenly becoming too nervous to look up.
It could just be the waiter, but he would've said something by now.
Then, I hear the sound of the chair across from me being pulled out along the stone ground. This person was pulling out the chair to sit in front of me.
My heart is pounding.
What I see next, are hands.
Two hands plant on the white cloth. I look at them.
Tan skin. Rings. A cross tattoo on the left.
No.
Slowly lifting my gaze up with my anxiety pumping, my eyes go past the white lily flowers and travel up the body sitting in front of me.
"Miss me, Picasso?"
That damned nickname.
My widened eyes meet that face. The familiar forest green eyes. The toothy smirk upon pink lips. The dimple carving his cheek.
There's no fucking way.
"H-Harry?"
My voice cracks, seeing his anatomy sat in front of me like it was nothing. Is this real or am I hallucinating?
My mouth is open in pure shock, looking at the messy haired boy sitting across from me.
"Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?" he keeps that smirk as he leans forward in his chair.
I watch as he reaches for the bread on the tray, ripping some off for himself and soaking it in the dish before popping it between his lips.
"W-what?" I finally get a word out, shaking my head in disbelief. "H-how?"
He smiles at me while chewing the bread at the side of his mouth, lips closed as his eyes burn into me.
I never thought I'd see this man again. He left Italy the same day I did.
So what the fuck is he doing here now?
"I-I don't understand..." I mumble through my paralyzed shocked state of being.
"Simple really," he shrugs, looking over his shoulder and pointing with his thumb. "The guys and I wanted something to eat."
I look past his shoulder, spotting Louis, Liam and Niall all sat around a table. They're all looking over here.
"This place seemed...convenient." he smirks again.
I didn't seem any of them when I sat down, I wasn't paying attention.
"B-but..." I shake my foggy head again in an attempt to clear it. "But you went to America...just two days ago—"
"So did you, didn't you?" he tilts his head, already knowing the answer.
My leg is bouncing under the table with anxiousness.
"Yes but," I speak through my dry throat, "w-why are you back here?"
He leans back in the chair, crossing his arms.
"We like Milan. There's something about the atmosphere. Wouldn't you agree, Picasso?" he winks.
The waiter from before suddenly approaches the table, making me look down at the cloth in humiliation.
"Can I get anything for you?" he asks between Harry and I.
"We'll share a lemon tiramisu." Harry speaks, arms still crossed as he looks at me.
The waiter gives us a nod and leaves to grab the dessert.
I look at Harry. "What are you doing?" my tone drops to a whisper.
He tilts his head. "Getting dessert, Picasso. Keep up."
"No, that's not what I meant." Asshole. "What are you doing here, sitting across from me? What do you want?"
"Who says I want anything?" he remarks as he unravels his silverware, draping the satin napkin across his lap in a mocking manner.
"You hate me." I murmur.
"You hate yourself so you assume everyone else feels the same." he suddenly spills, my stomach dropping because I wasn't expecting to hear that—not from him anyway.
I feel my face burn red, my eyes immediately averting.
"Ah, did I get that right?" he tsks, "Wasn't so hard to figure you out."
"You do not have me figured out." I mutter, suddenly looking up at him again.
His lips tug at the corner. He doesn't respond.
I give my head a fed up shake and grab my purse and phone off the table.
"Fuck this," I murmur. "I'm calling a taxi."
As I stand, he abruptly stands too.
"Sit."
The demand leaves his lips, causing me to look at his face and realize that he is dead serious. There's no let up in his set expression.
"W-what? Why?"
"We're not done here, Picasso." he tells me vaguely, gesturing back to my seat.
I stare at him warily as I sink myself down in the chair. He doesn't sit again until I'm sat.
I flick my eyes to the guys a few tables behind. They're watching everything.
"What's going on?" I question Harry. He brings his hands up on the table, folding them on the cloth.
"You're gonna have to cooperate and come with us."
My eyes grow completely wide and my mouth falls open.
"What!"
He's crazy if he thinks I'm going with him.
"Trust me, sweetheart." he mumbles. "I don't want to go anywhere with you either...but, with these circumstances I don't have a choice."
"W-what circumstances?"
What is he talking about?
He glances back at the boys over his shoulder before looking back at me.
"You haven't heard from Zayn, right?" he asks the unexpected question.
I furrow my brows, just blinking at him. How would he know about that?
When I don't answer, he pushes.
"Well?"
"No. I haven't heard from him in like...five hours." I admit.
Am I missing something? Did something happen?
Harry sits back in his chair with his arms crossed again. His tongue lapses across his bottom lip while his green eyes remain calm.
"He's in the hospital."
His words cause a jolt of shock to run up my spine, my tongue running dry as he makes the admittance. Zayn's hurt?
I knew something happened. I felt it.
"What happened!" I say with immediate concern.
"Motorcycle accident. He fell and hurt his rib." Harry tells me.
I cover my mouth with worry, wondering what this meant. Was it a minor injury or was he going to be forever affected by it? I don't have enough details.
This is why Zayn never came back.
"I-I need to see him." I murmur, gathering my things for a second time.
"We'll bring you to the hospital." Harry says, taking out his wallet and grabbing a wad of Italian money to leave at the table.
"I don't want to go with you." I tell him, the both of us standing up now.
"I don't want you to go with us either." Harry says, but grabs my upper arm to move me along toward the boys' table. "But, I was outvoted."
I can sense his eye roll as he brings me to the boys, letting go of my arm once we're at their table. All of them are standing up now, ready to ditch this place.
"Nice to see you again, Red." Niall smirks.
I don't say anything back, crossing my arms over my stomach as my mind fills with worry. I just want to know that Zayn is okay, and I guess that means I have to cooperate with these guys...
These guys that I never thought I'd ever have to deal with again.
I'm brought over to a slick grey car, Louis getting in the driver's seat. Liam gets in the passengers, leaving the backseats for Harry, Niall and I.
I take the furthest seat for myself, sitting behind Louis. Harry gets in next to me with Niall on the other side of him.
I tuck my knees away from Harry, hating the fact that I'm so close to him right now. He isn't a fan of the position either, I can see that just by glancing at the side of his face. His tongue is in the side of his cheek, his brows lowered and his eyes set forward with his hands on his legs. He's tall, and he takes up a lot of space in that little middle back seat. Part of his leg is touching my outer upper thigh and I hate it.
He is the last person I wanted to come across again.
The hospital trip was silent and too long for my comfort. We got there in 34 minutes, walking in and requesting to see Zayn.
The woman at the desk told us that they only allow two visitors in there at a time. He's conscious but sustained a fractured rib and a broken nose and concussion.
Harry went in to see him first, then came out to the waiting room and told me that Zayn wanted to talk to me. Apparently he's a little loopy from the drugs they gave him.
I went in by myself, hesitantly walking into Zayn's room and seeing the state he was in.
He looks at me as he sits up in the bed. He's got a black eye, bruised bandaged nose, and there's a bandage on his head as well.
"Oh my god." I murmur as I hurry up to his bedside.
"It looks worse than it feels." Zayn exhales a weak chuckle.
I bring myself down in the chair next to the bed, looking at him with hurt in my chest.
"Zayn, I'm so sorry. I had no idea—"
"Don't do that." he shakes his head right away. "You didn't do anything."
Exactly. I should've done something. I should've been there, I don't know.
"When do you think you'll get out?" I ask, looking at his brown eyes.
"They want to keep me for a couple of days." he coughs, clenching his side where his rib was hurt.
"Okay, that's good. They'll take care of you." I nod. If he's here at the hospital, they'll give him proper medicine and ensure he gets enough rest.
He nods back, agreeing.
"El..." he speaks again, looking directly into my eyes.
"Yes?"
"I don't want you to be alone at the villa." he stammers.
I tilt my head, my brows creasing together. "What do you mean? I was alone this afternoon."
He shakes his head. "No you weren't."
"Are you talking about the hedge guy? We barely spoke."
"Yes but," he licks his swollen lips. "you weren't alone."
I freeze as I try to understand. I look at him with puzzlement, his words not making sense.
"What are you trying to say, Zayn?"
He sucks in an inhale through his nose.
"I didn't hire him to trim the hedges." he admits, immediately unraveling my mind to only make me more confused.
He sighs before he continues.
"I hired him to make sure nothing happened to you." he tells me.
My muscles tense up for a moment as Zayn groggily makes the confession.
He paid someone to watch me at the villa.
"You don't have to do that." I shake my head.
He just nods. "Yes I do."
I think he's a still out of it from the drugs they gave him. He's not making sense.
Why would something happen to me?
This is making me anxious, especially with everything that happened with the jewelry store and then the Denver bank.
But there's no way there's any linkage there, right?
"You should rest." I tell him. He's gotta sleep on these medications.
"I have to tell you something." he mumbles tiredly.
"Anything." I nod, urging him to tell me what he needs to.
He licks his dry lips again. "You're gonna be mad."
I furrow my brows. "Zayn..."
"I want you to stay with the guys...at least while I'm in here." he spills.
It felt like someone strapped weights to my shoulders. All of a sudden, I felt the crushing heaviness of the thought of staying with them.
Harry is impossible to be around. I'm not comfortable with the other guys yet.
I don't want this.
I say goodbye to Zayn, knowing that he needs to be left alone to rest. Dread filled me as I walked the halls of the hallway alone.
I'll abide by Zayn's wishes and stay with them, but I won't enjoy a second of it.
I'd rather protect myself. I can trust myself, that makes me feel safer then putting my safety in other people's hands.
Especially Harry's.
There's something about Harry that sticks out. I can't pinpoint whatever that is yet.
Thanks to him, I barely ate at the diner. In need of something to fill me up until I had the chance to get real food, I head to the vending machines.
With my purse hanging off my arm and my arms crossed, my feet step across the white tiled hospital floors.
I turn down a corner to where the vending machines were located at the end of the hall.
Three machines stood there, but they were occupied.
From behind, I see the black skinny jeans and the white shirt with the long sleeves rolled up to the elbows. I see the shaggy medium length hair.
Harry.
Of fuckinggggg course.
I blow out a sigh and approach the machines anyway. If I'm going to be staying with him, we at least need to be able to stand in the same room. This is practice.
I go up and stand next to him at one of the machines, browsing the items inside.
He doesn't look at me but I know he knows I'm there.
He punches in a number on the vending machine, then inserts a bill.
"Did Zayn tell you—"
"Mhm." he answers quickly.
"That I'm supposed to be staying—"
"Yes."
"Okay." I murmur, listening to his snack drop into the dispenser.
He bends down and retrieves it. It's a chocolate bar with caramel filling.
To my shock, he doesn't leave.
Instead, he unravels the chocolate bar and he separates a chunk off of the bar, popping it in his mouth. He turns around so his back is against the second vending machine while I try to focus on the snacks in the third.
It's quiet as he eats his chocolate, but there was so much noise in my head.
"Uhm," I clear my throat. "y-you said it was a motorcycle accident...were you there?"
He chews a little slower with the chocolate in his cheek. He doesn't look at me at any point, just looking down at his shoes.
"Yeah." he says. "I was there."
"How bad was it?"
"He fell unconscious," he says, "so he didn't feel much until he woke up in the ER."
God.
I look down and shake my head, feeling hurt for my best friend.
"I should've been there." I murmur, not necessarily to Harry...but more to myself.
Harry doesn't say anything at first. I didn't expect him to, I honestly thought he'd leave by now.
Eventually, he lifts his back off the machine.
"We leave in ten." he says before walking off.
I fight the urge to look over my shoulder, and ultimately lose that fight. I turn and watch him walk off, his body tall and his shoulders broad but not too broad. His shirt cascades down his back, shoulder blades and back muscles peeking through the loose material.
His looks mean nothing when he opens his mouth. All that comes out is arrogance, annoyance, and aggravating phrases.
He disappears around the corner, leaving me in the hallway.
And just like that, it all began. That moment was the gunshot at the beginning of a race. Dreamboat, that was our kickoff.
//
AHHH the boys r back!
and we're just getting started