Zayn's gaze speaks volumes now.
Harry
For a moment, all three of us will hold our breath. Liam probably also feels the pulsation between us and lets the beer glass overflow in fright. The liquid pours over his hand and forms a big pool on the bar.
"Shit," he scolds and wipes the bar clean.
"I'll have to serve the guests. I leave you guys alone," he mumbles. Liam is probably glad that he no longer has to attend our upcoming discussion.
While he gives us the chance to talk, I face a very, very angry Zayn. It seems as if he would love to tear me to pieces in front of all the guests. With a grim expression he looks me in the eye and breathes deeply. His ribcage raises and lowers dangerously. Meanwhile I am expecting his outburst of rage, which is in the air. The Pakistani rises in slow motion from his bar stool, walks towards me and suddenly grabs my shirt collar and pulls me from the chair.
Completely taken by surprise I stumble over my own feet, fear is growing inside of me and I can' t breathe. My shirt, he will rip it apart.
"Styles, move your ass," he growls and pushes me towards the front door. The grip is still firm. I have no choice and have to follow him.
"We're going to get some fresh air now," he grumbles.
The other guests are looking at us, as some have watched the scene. From the front row someone is yelling:
"Is there a fight now? I wouldn't put up with it either. Hit the curly head in the face! The woman was really hot and he has spoiled your plans!"
Zayn just ignores the scathing remark and drags me outside. To be honest, I'm a little afraid. I've never seen him that angry. The painter is completely beside himself. The anger makes his face hard and ugly. His brown eyes look coldly down on me. He is not going to beat me up, is he?
In front of the bar, on the street, cool evening air surrounds us. Zayn presses me with a firm grip against the wall, his other hand is still on my collar. My head hits the bricks hard and will probably get a lump on the head.
"Well, now we're both finally speaking plain English, Styles," he says with screwed eyes up.
"About what exactly?", I stammer. "About what? You dare to ask me that, you asshole?"
What did he just say? Did he just call me an asshole?
His choice of words pisses me off. That's just what you call someone you despise, someone you want to banish from your life. Does he hate me so much? All of a sudden I just want to leave, I'm too hurt to believe that Zayn really said that to me.
"Why are you constantly interfering in all my affairs? Mind your own business! Huh? Who are you - my mother?" he yells at me and his face is getting redder and redder, while mine is getting paler and paler.
"What the fuck were you whispering to her? Hey," he screams and repeatedly hits my chest with his hands and with every punch I crash against the hard wall.
"Tell me, Styles! What did you tell her?"
When he behaves like that and talks to me like that, I'd rather not say anything at all. Who am I to him - a criminal?
"Answer me!"
The matter is getting more and more serious, because Zayn work himself up into anger. I look defiantly down on the ground and refuse to answer.
"I'm listening, Styles!" He places his hand behind his ear to show the listening.
My painter treats me like dirt. I'm not worth it for him to talk to me decently. Tears are running down my face. Why does he treat me so condescendingly?
"Harry, don't take it too far! Answer me finally. What did you whisper into the beauty's ear that she walked away - without saying a word to me," he snaps and his gaze kills the last glimmer of hope.
"Are you happy now? Have you got what you wanted? Why don't you just let me live my life and you live yours. Today you had a lot of fun with the new guy at your side, didn't you? You were holding hands, giggling together like teenagers and had a great lunch in the most expensive restaurant in town."
Talking to me like that doesn't deserve an answer. I thought I could fix my relationship with Zayn and talk to him again in peace. Instead he is talking something about teenagers and giggles. Is he crazy? He's not talking about Ben Winston, is he?
I was hoping we'd talk about us and he'd finally notice how his random flirting hurts me every time. Instead, he swears at me in the most terrible way. If he really loved me, it would never have come this far.
"Well? So you won't say anything? You'd rather keep your mouth shut. Well, have it your way. Be silent and shake off a bad question, as you do all the time. Then we'll both go for a nice walk and we'll do it right now," he shouts and he is tugging at my arm like crazy.
I try to defend myself, but I have no chance against the angry Zayn. He's so rough and furious that he almost drags me along the footpath just to follow him.
"Hey Malik," I'm out of breath because I've finally have enough of this game.
This is about this slut and not about his wife. So why is he acting like that?
"Where are we going? Taylor is waiting for me in the pub. She'll be looking for me everywhere," I scream and hope he comes to his senses.
"I don't care! We both have to sort something out, Styles!"
And then we continue our way. Where are we going? I don't know.
After about three hundred metres, which in my condition seem like several kilometres, he stops and I see that we are in front of his house.
"What are we doing here?" I ask carefully and wipe the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve and brush my curls out of my face.
"I live here," he replies to my question.
"I know that you live here, I'm not stupid after all," I hisses back.
"If you know, why do you ask?"
One last try to fix the situation so it doesn't escalate between us. So I take the floor again.
"Listen, Malik. I'm not sure right now why you're getting so upset. Okay, I screwed up your date with the woman. Understood. I apologize for that. But why do you make such a drama out of it, tugging at my arm and treating me like shit. Tell me, do you actually notice what you are doing to me and how you are dealing with me?
Tears now streaming down my face. All the frustration and disappointment about his bad behaviour because of this drunken, pushy chick make me cry.
"And to top it all off, you called me an asshole," I cry and I'm distraught with grief. "Do you hate me that much, Zayn?"
He loosens the grip on my wrists. Zayn is shocked and his face is pale. Then he lets go of my hands. Once free, I make the most of the opportunity to run away. I run through the darkness as if it were a matter of life and death. Maybe that's what it's all about. Zayn is unpredictable and I really panic.
Zayn
Stunned by the words that Harry just hurled at me, I stand in front of the house entrance. Oh God, what have I done. Breathing heavily, leaning against the fence of the front garden, shaking my head as I start to really process what was happening. He ran away from me. He was really scared.
My anger has made me a man who I don't want to be and who I'm not. I hurt Hazza, my Hazza - not only emotionally, but also physically. That was too much. I crossed the line and I drifted into evil and didn't even notice it.
I saw the fear in his eyes, the fear of me. This impression of him, with that fearful look, I will never forget for the rest of my life. I wish I could erase that image from my memory. But this thought has become firmly fixed in my mind and makes me a prisoner of my own thoughts.
I can never make up for what happened earlier.
What was it that angered me, that woman in the pub? She was so unimportant. She was somebody I could have taken with me for one night - nothing more. Did it throw me off track because Harry disturbed us? I wanted to make him jealous because I was jealous of him and this man in the restaurant.
I'm such an idiot!
But what is even more important to me is how I can put my fucking behaviour right again, if that is possible at all. Taylor is sitting in the bar and is worried because Harry has vanished without trace. Also, our emotions run high that it would be impossible to talk at this time. Taylor is killing me if she finds out how I dealt with Harry. So I'm trying to call him so we can talk about it tomorrow.
We urgently need to talk about this. Urgently. And it's been bothering me.
I'll probably spend the rest of the night sleepless in bed. I have to meet him and apologize and hope he forgives me again.
With the telephone in one hand and the other hand on the fence of the front garden, I listen to the ringing tone. My pulse is racing, my heart is beating so fast that I can hardly concentrate. After a minute the voicemail starts. Harry doesn't answer. I don't want to leave a message, remain silent after the beep.
Again I try to reach him and dial his number - in vain. Of course he doesn't answer the call.
With drooping shoulders I walk up to my apartment and sit silently in the kitchen doing nothing. For minutes I sit at the kitchen table, stand still, not move. I just sit there and feel ashamed of myself. I have ruined what is most important to me - my relationship with Harry.
"Haarreehh", I scream and cry my eyes out. "Harreehhhh, I am so sorry! Harreehhhh, please forgive me!"
But Harry doesn't hear my shouting, he doesn't see my despair. So the screaming echoes in the dark night and never reaches the one who is supposed to hear it.
Harry
I don't know how I got back to the pub. All I know is that I've got puffy eyes and I look dirty. On the way I fell over a few times and ended up crashing into a bush. My clothes were tangled up in the branches.
I don't ever want to see him again! Never again. Because Zayn is dead to me!
Taylor and Liam are standing at the bar worried. They come running and take me in their arms. Liam pats me sympathetically on the back and I think he's a nice guy.
"For heaven's sake, darling," she screams. She breathes a sigh of relief, but she's also distressed. "What did that son of a bitch do to you?" she asks worriedly and clenches her fists. "I'll kill him, that bastard! I promise you that this is going to have consequences. I always felt that something was wrong with him. I've always been suspicious of Zayn."
.
Liam also comforts me, he' s looking serious, but he knew the history and stays very calm. And that's good for me. The barman is smart enough not to tell anything, because the situation is crystal clear. I am - I was - Zayn's boyfriend and he knows it. Liam isn't a traitor. I am very grateful to him for that. I am deeply indebted to him.
"Here, take this," he whispers and presses a wet cloth into my hand and places a strong-smelling drink on the bar. I carefully wipe my face off and then drink the schnapps in one go.
"Did he hit you?" my wife, still hysterical, wants to know.
"No, he didn't hit me," I answer to both of them, standing motionless in front of me, staring pitifully.
Things are even worse, I'd like to tell them. He treated me like a stranger, a leper and called me an asshole.
"He didn't hit you? But then why do you look so...so...so...so horrible?" she stutters and points to my clothes, which look completely ruined.
I'd rather not answer that question. I first have to deal with what happened and just want my peace and quiet and go home.
I wish Zayn'd beaten me up. A bloody nose would have been bearable for me, but his hateful words....they finally broke me. The external wounds would have healed at some point, but the internal ones would remain.
It's finally over. Zayn has gone too far - he crossed the line.
The next morning I wake up, shattered from a sleepless night. It took me forever to get any sleep at all. Again and again I remembered his words and thought about the encounter in the bar.
Taylor is already in the kitchen making breakfast and giving me a cup of tea.
"Good morning, darling. How are you today?"
I mumble something like: " I'm fine...".
" Well, are we going to the hospital this afternoon to see Louis? You haven't been there for a long time."
"I know, Taylor."
"Why is that? Didn't you want to take care of him, too?" she asks me quite reproachfully. She is not in a good mood today. Taylor is not over last night.
Oh, how I hate this never-ending explaining. Can't I just say something for once? She always comes up with counterarguments.
"I was just too busy," I answer and pray that she'll calm down and let me have breakfast. "You think you're alone in this? I work all day long. Every afternoon I go to the hospital. You, on the other hand, are at home during the day and in the afternoon you also hang around at home.
She is angry. Probably she feels strongly about it for a long time. Today, for the first time, she expresses her unease. The moment is right. I notice how she tries to work against her frustration. It spoilt the whole morning for me. Great!
"Is this gonna be a fundamental discussion?" I'm nagging.
"I don't know. If you want it that way, then it will probably be one. Harry, Louis is also your friend and we are fucking obliged to take care of him. He doesn't have anybody else. Don't you think so?" she snaps and pours tea.
I'll have my breakfast in peace. Louis is no longer my friend.
"Listen, I'll go to Lou later. At ten o'clock I have an appointment at the publishing house, I have to go there. Are you happy now, at last?"
I pray to God. I am begging you, please give me back my morning silence and spare me from problematic topics of conversation with my wife.
"Okay, whatever you say. I have to go anyway. So see you tonight, Haz."
And then Taylor rushes out the door.
FINALLY. I enjoy the silence in the house and indulge in my morning ritual - reading the daily newspaper. While leafing through the newspaper I spot a longer article about Zayn's vernissage. No, I won't read it.
However, my curiosity gets the better of me. So I leaf back and read the newspaper article again. My heart is racing.
He looked good. The photograph shows him with his gallery owner and a customer. The suit he was wearing fits marvellously, like everything he wears. Zayn always looks stunning.
This fateful evening....
We were about to come out, finally wanted to be a public couple - without any annoying hide-and-seek and we wanted to live together - in his apartment.
In the end, everything went wrong. Instead, Louis had the car accident and we had a lot of problems.
The reporter also interviewed him and asked about Zayn's artistic plans for the next few months. I read in the newspaper that he was planning an exhibition of his paintings at the "Tate Gallery" in London. I mean, the "Tate Gallery London" is the ultimate for an artist, so to speak. Amazing. That's what he's been dreaming about for a long time and now he gets this opportunity.
But London is far away. Does that mean he's leaving the city?
Actually, I shouldn't care, because I wasn't planning on meeting him anyway - just after yesterday's incident. But the problem is, I care about him.
The screen of my phone suddenly lights up. Zayn is calling me. I let it ring and drink tea. Two unanswered calls from Zayn and now the third one is added. My decision has been made - Malik is dead to me.
I quickly clean the dishes, put them in the dishwasher and get ready for the meeting with Ben Winston.
Zayn
You know what they say, all good things come in threes.
Third call, I've been rejected three times. Harry remains adamant. Okay, okay. He doesn't want to talk to me, maybe he never wants to talk to me again. Last night - because of my jealousy of this guy in the restaurant, because of my flirting with the woman and in my rage at Harry - I ruined everything in no time. I destroyed the hope of a future together with Harry - with one word and my gestures.
Love and trust cannot be stick together like broken porcelain. Nevertheless I would have liked to talk to Harry again and at least apologize for my awful behaviour. Well, that's not going to happen. The time is over and my plane leaves in an hour.
Time to set off into the unknown.