Louis shakes his head and sips his wine. I eye the red liquid. The crowd is probably wondering where I went, but I don't care. I am too stunned by the information Louis has told me to do anything but stare at him.
As much as I'd love to see Harry behind bars for his crimes, I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a little sympathy for him and what he has been through. I can't even imagine what it must feel like to witness the person you love violated and murdered. It doesn't excuse the fact that he has committed very serious crimes himself, but it does help me understand him a bit better.
Louis gives me his wine.
"I think you need this more than me," he teases. I nod because he is right. A young man walks by the fountain. Louis snaps his fingers and the brown-eyed waiter I had seen earlier, turns. But when he spots Louis, he immediately turns and hurries off into the hotel again. What?
"Terrible service," Louis huffs. Another waiter comes by and refills our glasses. I take a long sip. Louis looks at my face. "You ok? Don't over do it, honey," he shakes his head warningly. I nod.
"I know," I say. My voice sounds so weak, so strange. I shake my head. I am definitely not drunk, but I still can't think straight, mainly because of the information Louis just told me.
"I'd better go interview your dad's friends. I need to write a review of The Ball, for Monday," he grins, raising his glass to me. I nod, unable to speak.
"Do you want me to get your boyfriend?" Louis asks.
"Yes," I reply hesitantly, but I don't like that he's using that word.
"Which one?" he smirks. I glare at him. Right now, I honestly don't want to talk to anyone, not my dad or mom, or Zayn, and especially not Harry, but Zayn is probably my best bet.
"I was just kidding," Louis raises his hands in surrender.
I try to laugh. The beads of sweat on my fingers moisten the neck of my glass. The glass slips and falls, cracking against the fountain like shards of glittering ice. I suck on my thumb. A piece of the glass cuts my finger and droplets of blood ooze down to my palm.
Louis looks down at my hand as though it is the most revolting thing in a mile's radius.
"L-let me get you a plaster for that, honey," he offers quickly. He comes back with a cloth and a band-aid and fastens it around my finger very quickly.
"Sorry, I just get a little queasy when I see blood," he admits. It was just a minor cut...
"It's ok. Thank you," I smile at him, still confused by his behavior.
The side door of the hotel opens rapidly. Zayn is running like damned lightening to get me. I stare at him, still annoyed by his rude suggestion earlier. It's more that I'm afraid to give myself to him, that I feel like I'm breaking my promise with Christ. Zayn is obviously beautiful and I have feelings for him, but I just don't know if he wants me for sex or if he sincerely cares about me. I shake my head. Isn't that what every girl wonders? College won't be any different. If anything, it'll be worse.
Zayn rushes to me, his eyes stuck on mine as though his breath depends on it. He takes my hands in his and pulls me to his chest. Louis walks off, giving us a minute. He waves at me and leaves.
I struggle to breath. Zayn is holding me so closely, I can feel his heart beat rising against my chest. His eyes are wide with worry and his hair is even slightly disheveled. Did he really go around looking for me?
“Kat, why did you run off like that?!” Zayn asks hurriedly.
“Because my parents are idiots," I tell him plainly.
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.
"How-- what-- how did this happen?" I squeak. I want to scream and laugh at the same time. This is unbelievable. There has to be some kind of a catch.
I look up at Zayn and he's smiling just as brightly as I am. There is no catch. Zayn just cares so much that he went through the trouble of getting my work reviewed and approved by the hotel owner.
Zayn pulls out a piece of paper from his wallet. It's a check. "He wants you to have this."
The check is made out to me, for $400. Wow.
"And so long as your painting is in his gallery, he'll give you a percentage of the profits the gallery tours make in the Fall," he adds. I shake my head. I can't believe my work was actually approved. Clearly, it's not an official art gallery, but still. I only get to paint at night or after school or whenever my mom is out of the house for a little while. I've always known I had a passion for it, but never did I think anyone else would actually like my work.
"I don't know how to thank you," I gasp. It's not about the check or any of the other money that might come from this. It's the sheer fact that my work has been approved by someone, a hotel owner, someone with a large, reasonably well known gallery of his own.
"You don't have to thank me, you're an amazing artist, baby. All I did was show one more person how brilliant you are," he shrugs. I can't stop smiling at him. It's making my cheeks hurt.
"One pretty important person," I add. Zayn nods. He takes my hand and leads me out the back exit, toward a small garden littered with beautiful, fresh flowers, neatly placed around various ice sculptures. There is a small, wooden gazebo, beautifully decorated with white roses.
Zayn and I hear some of the music coming from the hotel, from The Ball. There is a soft melody playing and Zayn takes a few steps forward and back, dancing slowly in the gazebo.
"I can't really dance," he admits with a laugh. I shake my head.
"You're better than me," I smile. I'm too stiff. Zayn is a bit too slow and he drags his moves too much. We sort of balance each other out, I guess.
We shut our eyes and lean closer to one another, pressing our foreheads together. He coils his arm around my waist. Our bodies are close, touching delicately. The moon is bright in the sky, illuminating the rustic wooden floors beneath us. There is a soft breeze that curls around my neck, contrasting to Zayn's warm breath fanning my lips. It feels nice. It feels soothing.
I close my eyes, allowing myself to just be here, with Zayn, alone.
"Why have you been so nice to me so recently?" I ask Zayn quietly. He doesn't open his eyes, but shakes his head slowly.
"I don't know," he admits. His voice is a soft whisper. It sounds soothing. "I guess it was fun being an ass to you all those years. I liked seeing you mad," he says. I shake my head, confused.
"How nice," I laugh quietly. Zayn licks his lower lip and opens his eyes slightly.
"You're cute when you're mad," he says. I squint at him.
"You're so weird," I shake my head. He kisses my nose.
"I know you like me, Kat. I know I've been a dick for all the time I've known you, but I want to change all that. You're going to college and guys will probably line up around the block for you, but I want to be your first," he says.
His voice is deeper now, slightly possessive. Zayn lets his hand trail down my bare back, until he grazes my bum, cupping it slightly. His hand hovers over my skin, making goosebumps rise in their wake. I feel that slight pang of heat down my abdomen again. I want him to touch me. I do. It's not that I don't have feelings of lust. It's just that I feel like I'm doing something wrong.
I ignore that part of me -- the very large part-- that wants me to be a celibate nun. I take Zayn's face in my hands and kiss him. I hold his sharply, perfectly defined cheekbones and press my lips to his.
"I want you, Zayn, but I'm nervous," I tell him, my breath whispering over his mouth. The words feel strange, too emotional, too strong to be coming from my mouth. All I know is that Harry is most likely going to kill me soon so I have to say my good bye to Zayn.
Zayn pins me gently but still urgently against the wall. He keeps his hand at my back, protecting my bare skin from the indentations and jagged designs jutting out from the gazebo wall. His lips trail down my neck and to the scoop of my breasts. He reaches the necklace and rolls his tongue over it.
My chest tightens.
He nudges the necklace aside with his nose and furrows his lips against my breasts, licking them slightly. I feel that warmth between my legs. Zayn's free had wanders down to my dress, to the slit along my leg.
He slides his hand under, following up my inner thigh. My legs tighten. There is a soft, needy ache between my legs, but there's an even greater sensation in my heart. I feel as though God is watching me, judging me. I made a promise to him and I must keep that promise.
Zayn's hand slides between my thighs and he cups my vee. I gasp. He slides his long fingers around the lace of my panties, pushing them to the side.
"Wait," I breath.
Zayn lowers his hand and pats the slit of my dress to cover my leg. "I'm sorry, Kat, I was going too far," he shakes his head. I stare up at him. He's apologizing? Out of all the times Zayn has tried to get his hands between my legs, he's actually apologizing this time? Who is this man and will he really be such a gentleman for the rest of the night, the week, the year?
He smiles shyly. "I know I'm older and more experienced, Kat, and I don't want to rush you. I should never rush you," he says. I stare into his dark eyes.
"Thank you," I smile. I kiss his cheek again. I don't think I've ever really lost control in my life. I'm too 'prudish' as Harry said. Harry....where is he? Why hasn't he killed me yet-- not that I want him to. It's just that the anticipation is making me so anxious.
"You're probably starving. Let's get dinner," Zayn tells me. I agree and we begin heading back to the main ball room. My mother sees me walk in and smartly, neither she nor my father say anything. They have no right to say anything. They're in their own fake world, smiling and kissing for the cameras. At least Zayn and I have something real, even if it's not actual love.
Zayn and I talk about random things. Every so often, I scan the room in search of Harry. Why is it that now that I know who he really is, he suddenly disappears, leaving me on edge. I have to tell someone that he's here, but who is going to believe me?
'Hey, by the way everyone, there's a murderer among us.'
My hands start to shake as I think of Louis' words. He smiles politely at me from a few tables away before turning back to talk to someone else.
I look up at Zayn. He's already watching my face intently. He has been smiling at me all through dinner. "Zayn," I speak up.
He pours me another glass of wine. I really shouldn't be drinking so much. I've had two glasses already. My head is starting to feel light, but Zayn keeps pouring me more and I'm beginning to get used to the taste. I want to feel more independent, older, not in need of my mother's warnings. Alcohol isn't the best way to seem "older," but I don't really care at the moment. I can see my mom eyeing my glass from her table. She doesn't approve of drinking, only in Communion, but I'm not interested in her warnings.
"Zayn, the man I was dancing with earlier," I begin, but he shakes his head and takes my hand.
"Kat, don't worry about it. I'm not mad at you. And I'm not gonna beat him up and look like a jealous, raging boyfriend," he says, then stops himself. "Do you want me to be your boyfriend?" he asks softly, almost like a child asking for a cookie before dinner.
I chew on my lower lip. Zayn eyes my mouth. "I-I guess so," I agree. I repeat myself to make sure I'm confident with my answer. Zayn smiles and kisses the back of my hand.
"Great, now what were you saying?"
I clear my throat, unsure how to begin. "The man I was dancing with was-was from T.V., the news cast...The Cult."
Zayn chokes on his cheesecake. "What?"
"He's the killer," I say, unable to speak aloud Harry's murderer name.
Zayn laughs. I stare at him, starting to feel a little anger and stupid. I knew he wouldn't believe me.
"Zayn, I'm serious," I defend. "He has the bandanna-- well, it was a tie, but--"
I want to prove that I'm right, but Zayn takes my hand. "Kat, you've had too much to drink," he laughs. No, I haven't. I pat my forehead. Ok, maybe I have. But Harry is here, lurking and I'm his next victim.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to freshen up. I don't feel tipsy, but the wine has started to wear down on me.
On my way, I see my dad. Great.
"Honey, wait," he calls. I turn around immediately, but he takes my wrist and forces me to stand still.
"Dad, I don't have time for your lies, I really don't," I say and I mean it. My dad holds my wrists tightly, until I agree to stay put.
"I'm not seeing Sienna," he says. I laugh.
"Oh, really? Then why does she stare at you like you're the apple of her damned blue eyes?
I look into my dad's eyes. They are the same shade of blue-grey as Sienna's. Dad loosens his grip around my wrists and we sit down on the small couch in the hallway.
"I was 21 and drunk and stupid," he begins. I stare at him. "I was at a party and I met this girl and we weren't safe...she didn't tell me until later on, when she was four months in," he continues. I sit there, staring at his face. He takes a deep breath and pats his dark hair back.
Oh God, Sienna is my half sister.
Without another thought, I start running down the hall, unable to cope with all this new information about Harry and now, my supposed half sister?
I shake my head. I guess Sienna being my sister is better than being told she's my dad's mistress, but still. I wish my parents could reconcile their differences and try, at least try to love one another again.
Quickly, I turn the hallway and hear a noise coming from the men's bathroom. I know I shouldn't be snooping, but the sound is strange. What if it is Harry and he's hurting someone? What if he has poor Zayn?!
As confusing as my relationship with Zayn is, I can now safely say that I really, truly care about him. I would be devastated if anything happened, especially at the hands of none other than Harry.
I walk into the men's bathroom feeling awkward as ever. But that feeling goes away when I see Zayn pinning my mother in one of the stalls. Her dress is bunched up around her waist, her leg wrapped around Zayn's hip. They're moaning and kissing. Thrusting. Thrusting. Disgusting.
The room is spinning. My head is spinning. My eyes are blurry with confusion and straight up anger. I feel like I'm on a reality T.V. show, being pranked.
Zayn sees me. Immediately, he zips his pants up and moves away from my mother. My goddamned mother, who I was actually feeling sorry for a few hours ago. The woman who told me to cover my knees and be modest and pray for The Lord's forgiveness is spreading her legs for my so-called boyfriend.
"Is this your third surprise?" I chuckle. My mother is adjusting her panties and dress while Zayn smooths out his shirt and belt before reaching hurriedly for my hand.
I pull away.
"Kat, wait, let me explain everything, please," he begs. I laugh loudly, thoroughly amused and unbelievably hurt. There's an aching sensation in my chest that just keeps growing stronger and stronger.
"How long have you been screwing my mother? You know she's my mother, for God's sake!" I scream. My voice sounds scratchy and weak and my head won't stop spinning. It just keeps spinning.
Zayn nods and swallows hard.
"Ten years," he admits. My legs start to shake. Ten years?! A whole decade? Christ.
"Katarina, please, we're so sorry, this was a confusing situation. Zayn was there for me when your father was seeing the maid. Zayn was so sweet--" she pleads, but I ignore her. I can't believe I actually wanted to comfort her a few hours ago, but she was probably screwing Zayn on and off all night.
"Kat!" Zayn calls, but I turn away. "Kat, I love you," Zayn says. He looks into my eyes and holds my gaze as though he is naked, surrounded by a crowd of people. He looks so sincere. Damn. He's a good actor.
I actually laugh. Hard. Zayn bites his lip as his eyes grow wide. He looks as though I crushed his heart. Oh well. Sucks for him.
"Now I get why you were being so nice so randomly: You wanted to take my innocence, make me fall in love with you so you'd have my trust and I'd never suspect you of fucking my own damned mother," I whisper.
I run out the bathroom without looking back. My throat feels heavy, but I refuse to cry over them. I can't believe I was stupid enough to fall for Zayn's little gifts and tricks. He's really a convincing actor, I'll give him that.
I rush through the hallway and make it to a random room. It's an empty ball room. Someone turns the light on.
"Kat," Harry speaks.
I suck in a breath and try to run past him, but he grabs my arm.