This is a re-post of Chapter 9 for those who can't see the first Chapter 9. There seems to be a glitch with Wattpad for that chapter. Sorry for the trouble. Thanks for reading!
(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)
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Bangkok, Thailand
March 14, 2015
Once Zayn put an end to a discussion, that discussion was done. Dead, buried, finito— never to be revisited again. His lips were sealed like his life depended on it, and you ought to follow suit, or he'd walk out on you faster than you even realized he had borne the inclination.
I found myself on the receiving end of this behavior too often to count, since I was naturally disposed to talking through whatever was bothering me until I felt a sense of relief. Zayn was the exact opposite (rather brusque at times), and in moments like this we became oil and water—repelling one another until he couldn't stand to be in my presence anymore.
Walking on eggshells was a grave misrepresentation of what it was like to talk to him whenever I brought up his desire to leave. It was more like navigating a minefield. My "hysterics"—although they were always the result of his relentless stonewalling—tended to rankle his nerves even more. Once or twice he even told me I was acting like a female, and that set me the f--k off.
He was the only person on earth with the power to reduce me to anything, let alone an emotional wreck. I just wasn't an outwardly emotional guy. Like him, I was a studied stoic and prided myself on the fact, but there was just something about that Yorkshire bastard that dissolved every bit of my composure—sometimes with just one look.
March 14, 2015. Thailand. My memories of that night were hazy, and gave me a sense of sinking or free falling into a vacuum. Once the fog cleared and I was suspended mid-air, I saw the stadium. The Rajamangala stadium. That night, the show had gone off without a hitch. In the end we blew kisses to over 23,000 smiling and sobbing Thais and hopped offstage to decompress.
As we stopped by the sound-crew to return our mics and have the in-ears untangled and removed, I tracked Zayn's every move, getting a sense that he was avoiding me. Onstage he had chucked his chin at me a few times in a silent "wussup," but never uttered a word until "Little Things," and even then, he was only responding to something I muttered first.
As Niall crooned the lyric, You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you, Z looked directly at me, nodding. It had been a pointed gesture. He wanted to break the ice, but was reluctant to make the first move. Like always, I relented so he didn't have to.
Technically we hadn't spoken in days, each too stubborn to yield—thus, the ice layering over and hardening since Valentine's Day. Despite a few hiccups here and there where we managed to crack a smile or share a fleeting word or two backstage, we still hadn't returned to texting or calling, and it was driving me up a wall.
I kept dreaming about him, and when I wasn't doing that, I couldn't sleep. And now, neither of us had spoken a word since returning from the brief hiatus that followed the Japan shows. We had all flown home to England as expected, but after a day or two of settling in and catching up with the family, when I reached out to meet up with him, he made excuses.
Apparently, he preferred to spend time with Perrie and his family since the break between shows would be so brief. I tried not to take it personally, since I held the same sentiment about seeing family and friends who I neglected all year, but something about the way he treated me smacked more of avoidance than honoring social obligations. Especially since he had been acting weird long before we flew back to the UK.
Things hadn't been exactly copasetic between us in a while. We seemed to fight every time we met up those days. And it seemed we were having the same argument over and over—rehashing old talking points, both refusing to budge from self-serving positions. Both degenerating the conversation to petty insults and jabs whenever we weren't getting our way.
How many times had I called him a selfish dick? Too many to count. How many times had he called me a miserable twat? One could only imagine. Although these words may have sounded harsh to an outsider, overtime they had become more like dysfunctional terms of endearment. Backwards as f—k, but theoretically we only fought because we cared. Both of us wanted to stick around for as long as possible, and to do that, sometimes you had to go to war.
By now I was well aware that Zayn wanted an out. He wanted a fresh start and a break from the relentless pace we had taken up in 2010, which undoubtedly had begun to have adverse effects on his physical and mental health. I understood that, and longed for nothing more than him to be well and content. Problem was, no part of me could fathom or stomach a Zayn-less world.
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After flinging my earpieces onto the nearest sound cart, I caught up with him outside the stadium on his way to the bus. He was already puffing away on a Marlboro; the pack hanging out of his back pocket (black skinny jeans leaving nothing to the imagination). He had changed into a white tank-top midway through the show, and since it was oversized it billowed in the wind, exposing the lines of his lean figure. There was always an unaffected grace in the way he carried himself. It exuded confidence, sex, and dominance.
His cousin Jawaad chatted animatedly at his side, flinging his hands around and breaking into songs from the setlist every so often. It was late and warm out, and I could feel the exhaust from the two running busses several yards away. Z halted short of climbing onboard to finish off the cigarette, kicking idly at one of the tires in the meantime.
Sensing my approach, he glanced up and ran a hand through his hair, raising his brows a bit. Then he squinted through the smoke, eyeing the way I wrung my hands.
"Hey..." I said.
"Harreh..." Jawaad said, stepping away to speak with Preston [Z's security guard] a few feet away.
"It's warm out." Z muttered, brow furrowed, taking another drag and exhaling the smoke away from me. I watched the cherry flare and ash over, before venturing,
"Got a minute? Can we talk?"
"Um...sure. I guess..." He glanced around, shrugging. "Um, f'sure." He was already aware of how the conversation would play out (this owing to months and months of us having the same unresolved discussion). I always initiated it, and I guess my body language was a dead giveaway by now.
Z knocked the cherry off the tip of the cigarette and slid it back into the pack before indicating the stadium with a chuck of his chin. He wanted to go back inside, since neither bus would provide the privacy this conversation required. I followed wordlessly, watching his shirt fling about his body, buffeted by the night air. Once inside, he found a backstage storeroom that was lit only by a window overlooking a vacant part in the rear of the building. There was nothing to see there other than what appeared to be a few employee cars parked on a field in hopes of escaping the day to day madness of the main lot.
Inside, he moved to sit atop a desk pushed up against the right wall, with one boot planted into the seat of a metal chair. High stacks of supplies and boxes sat in a heap at the center of the floor and a few folding chairs against the far wall. The room was a mess and barely spared room enough for two bodies.
In a show of capitulation, I approached, leaning into him where he sat, forcing him to catch me. He laughed, wrapping his arms around me with a grunt. I took a hold of his face with both hands and watched him uncertainly.
"Hey..." he whispered, pressing a kiss to my parted lips; inquisitively. I could taste the cigarette. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to say 'I'm sorry' (for what I didn't know), but just couldn't form the words.
"...Baby..." I breathed weakly against his mouth. I rarely called him that, but sometimes that was all he embodied. Especially now. He was my baby. He was my world. And I would do anything for him...except let him go.
When we broke, I scratched at his beard, pressing hungry kisses to his cheeks and ear. Z chuckled, grabbing the hem of my shirt with one hand and snaking the other one up my back to feel the warmth of my flesh. His fingertips stroked my waist—still damp, still charged with the heat of my onstage exertion. My heart raced, and I grew self-conscious that he might feel it from behind.
"Harreh? Wus wrong?" he murmured, knowing this was my way of softening the blow to come. I shrugged a little, so he took my face between his hands and locked eyes with me. "You gud?" When I dipped my head he tilted it back up. "Babe...I know youh didn't bring me here to be nice."
"M'always nice." I muttered with a smirk, sitting atop the desk beside him—shoulder to shoulder. "You okay?" I asked, drawl filling the room.
"Yeah...m'alright."
"I got you this." I produced a silver lighter, pointing out the engravings.
"Sickkkk..." he chuckled, fingering the inscriptions. "Vintage?"
"Mm-hm."
"Youh got this for me? Fanks, babe." He kissed my jaw, withdrawing playfully before I could plant one on his lips.
"You thought about it some more?" I finally asked.
"Yeah..."
"And?"
"Um...it's no different really." He hesitated, watching me as I watched his boots. "I told youh, yeah? I don't want youh worryin'. I don't want you waitn' 'round for me or somethin'. Nothin's gonna change. Not this time." His accent got denser whenever he was tired. I was probably the only one who could understand a word of it when he got like this.
"But when...?" I ground out, already fighting the ache welling in my throat. He, however, was exasperated, and let it be known with a long pause.
"I told youh, Haz...I don't know. I've got no clue. Whenever the time comes, it'll come."
"So, I can't even know when? That's the least you could give me, y'know what I mean?" He studied me, reaching and pushing my hair behind my ear so he could see my face.
"Youh'll know when I know. Alright? Youh'll be the only person to know."
"I just want you to think about it, okay?" I pleaded. "Think about what would happen to uz...to everything. Think about the fans—"
"Stop, Haz, just stop." He snapped, looking at me like I'd lost it. "I already thought about all that—more than youh even realize—"
"Yeah, doubt it." I scoffed, getting up and toying with the window. The paint was chipped so I peeled some of it off in listless agitation. "Otherwise you wouldn't be going about it in the way you are."
"And how's that? Huh? How am I goin' about it exactlyh?"
"What difference does it make? You don't care what I think, mate. You treat me like I'm just another dude. Like some kind of afterthought or something." I spat. "I think...you're just becoming so f—king obsessed with your own sh-t you can't even see how it's affecting me."
"Believe it or not, Harreh, not everything's about youh, yeah?"
"You know exactly what I mean. And I know 'not everything's about me'—don't be a dick."
"Lighten up, Haz."
I approached again as he toyed with the lighter, flicking the flame on and off. "I don't want to fight you, Z, you know that. But you keep shutting me out...pretending I'm not a part of this. This is as much about me as it is about you."
"Oh yeah?" He laughed snidely, eyes like slits. "How soh?"
"Because of everything. Because of what you did to me. You're the reason I'm f--ked up forever, mate."
"And what exactly have I done to youh?"
"You want me to say it? I know you hate it. I know you don't wanna face it."
"Say whatever youh want, Harreh—"
"Oh f--k off, mate."
"Youh f--k off." he spat. "You're so miserable all the time!"
"You did this to me! You f--ked me, Zayn, not the other way around. And I let you. As much as you wanted, whenever you wanted, over and over again. And whether you like it or not, you involved me in every-f--king-thing that goes on with you now. That's just the way it is." He lifted his brows in a dismissive shrug, that kind of said: 'O-kayyy...' making me feel crazier than ever.
"That's it?!" I nearly shouted, becoming hysteric. "You just gonna keep being a dick?!" I couldn't stomach the gaslighting, the stonewalling, the apathy. I wasn't built for the sort of frigid impassivity he dealt out. It was cruel. And I knew if I wasn't careful, it was only a matter of time before he stormed out again.
I watched him and must've looked expectant, but his gaze strayed from me, becoming unfriendly. I could sense it was a struggle for him to remain polite.
"I—" I began, at a complete loss. "You're literally so f—king annoying, mate, I can't even explain it. And I can't even look at you—" I croaked, voice taut with emotion. "And you're just f--king everything up, y'know? And you expect me not to be hurt by it. It's not how any of this was supposed to be. Not like this."
"It's not like anythin', Haz. It's just not that deep—"
"Not that deep? Now you're just being condescending. How the f—k am I supposed to be ok?" I demanded. Finally, he relented, standing to face me.
"Babe, you're gonna be alright. I promise. Nothin's gonna change between us. Youh hear me?" I shook my head, fighting tears. I couldn't begin to articulate the nightmares I'd had for weeks about losing him. And I feared that if I spoke them, they would manifest and become reality.
I saw things like him dying, and me being stuck half-way across the world; unable to see him one last time. Or I saw him walking away from me in public places, never turning around. Or I saw him blocking my number, refusing to reach out again. Then sometimes I saw him ringing me up to tell me she was pregnant. Anything that could possibly put a wall between us, I'd dreamt it.
"Hey...?" He whispered, shoving me so I'd look at him again. His eyes were tired; dejected. "Nothin's gonna change between us, ever. Babe, it's us. You and me against the world, remember? The world goes right, we go left. They go up, we go down. Haven't I always been there? F--k everything else, Haz, haven't I always took care of yah?" I nodded.
"Yeah, well?" He continued. "Then I'll always be there, alright? Whether I'm standing right in front of youh, or 20,000 miles awayh. Youh know you're the only one who can call me whenever youh want—even if it's the middle of the night. Even if I'm dead tired, or sick, or busy. Don't I always pick up? Over everything?"
I shut my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks. He brushed them away with his knuckles, saying: "Look at youh. You're mad. You're stressed." He squeezed my shoulders. "I'm right here, babe. You're always on my mind. Youh know that? Always, always on my mind." He rubbed his hands up and down my back until I dissolved. "We're gonna be okay..." His voice was a silky lilt whenever he was emotional. I took a shaky breath and nodded.
"Betterh?" He pressed a few feathery kisses to my lips before wrapping his arms around me. I rested my cheek against his temple—inhaling the syrupy sweetness of his perspiration. I felt defeated. Now the room seemed unnaturally silent, apart from our breathing.
"I love you..." I rasped quietly. "I love you so f--king much..."
"I love youh more."
"Then what about her? If you're not here with me, then you're going to be with her every day. And then you're gonna get married...behind my back...just like you got engaged. Remember? You didn't tell me anything, remember?"
"I did tell youh—" He pulled away.
"In so many words. But not directly. And then I look up and it's all over the media, and I have to sit through stupid f—king questions, and people asking me if I'm happy for you two. It's gonna happen again. I'm gonna open my phone to headlines that you married her—"
"You're overthinking—"
"I'm not." I distanced myself to remain firm, crossing the room.
"Babe..."
"Don't call me that. Not right now." My eyes flashed. "All I want to know is: Are you getting married when you leave here?" He tossed a hand at me, moving to lean back against the desk. "Why won't you just f--king tell me if you are?! F—ks sake, Z. D'you have any idea how crazy it's making me?! I swear to God I'm losing my mind/" I faltered where I stood.
"Babe, you're shaking. Take it easy..."
"I need to know."
"You're making me crazy too, Haz. It's not just youh who can't take it anymore. And I genuinely don't knowh. I can't say whether we'll go through with it right nowh. I told her I'd think about the summer or fall of this yearh, but either way, I made her a promise and I can't just—" I stormed out before he could finish the thought. Halfway down the hall, I took off running and didn't look back.
Grips and security guards shouted my name, but I evaded them and eventually cleared my way to the second tour bus. There I collapsed, grateful that he'd be riding Bus One back to camp, far away from me as usual. It was the only way I could get a decent night's sleep on the road—I simply had to be away from him. Without removing my boots or clothes, I crawled into my bunk and shed the tears I'd been holding back for hours.
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