Neon Red [Order The eBook] [Zayn]

22

I'll leave you words underneath your door

Underneath the singing moon

Near the place where your feet pass by

Hidden in the holes of wintertime

And when you're alone for a moment

Kiss me whenever you want

Patrick Watson "Je Te Laisserai Does Mots"

I wished I was an actor. In moments like these, surrounded by all the lights and thunderous shutters on the red carpet, I imagined I was Shah Rukh Khan or somebody. The Japan premiere was a welcome reminder of all we had achieved this year, which had been overshadowed in the throes of my petty personal drama. So, I pretended it wasn't me for a while, that way I could enjoy it.

Theatre had been a refuge in school, as it allowed me to escape mediocrity and all the unexpected grief that came along with my mixed ethnicity. That awful feeling of not belonging one way or another. The white kids looked at me funny. The brown kids didn't always accept me into the fold because of my Celtic genes. I was just different, and sometimes it gave me the impression I was a leper. 

Therefore, slipping on someone else's skin, as psychopathic as that may sound, had always been a pleasant retreat. Someone as sick as Danny Zuko from Grease. His only concern was being a stud and snagging the hottest bird in school. Plus I got to sing, which I loved. I used to slip his personality on like mask, hiding behind his insane bravado, walking around with my chin in the air, just short of beating my chest. The leather jackets were pretty dope too.

A fan pulled me forward by the sleeve and I stumbled toward her amid all the chaos. All the spindly limbs spilling over the crowd barricades. She had the prettiest jet-black hair and eyes I had ever seen. Like apparition out of a Japanese folk story. She couldn't speak English, so only jutted her phone in my direction. I leaned in with a shit-eating grin and a thumbs-up while she snapped a few shots. The first couple turned out blurry because the girls behind her were trying to shove their way to the front. The third time was the charm, apparently. 

There was so much weeping and shrieking I could hardly think straight. Incessant sounds that quaked down the street for blocks whenever someone opened the doors. A hand on my back guided me over to the first interview, and I saw that we'd been broken into teams again like at the previous screenings. For some reason, Haz and I kept getting linked up to form an awkward duo. He seemed reluctant every time, as the first premiere had lined up with news of the engagement. Purposefully, of course, as Pez and I figured there was no better time to announce the news for optimal exposure. Thinking back, it had been a super shitty thing to do to him. Now that we were paired for interviews, fielding questions about my fiancé presented all the peril of drunkenly navigating a mine field.

His stares could be ice cold sometimes. Soulless even. We'd had our good moments since the massive fallout over August; times where we'd make love and everything seemed fine, but then a switch would flip in his mind and he'd go right back to punishing me. Ignoring me, reviling me quietly in his head. 

Back in Brisbane in October, he really flipped out when he found out I had plans of meeting her in Sydney. Little Mix were on a press tour for their new album and had flown in for a few days. She and I had made plans to meet up there since we would be on the same side of the world after a good stretch apart, and how could we not? Weren't we supposed to madly in love? Isn't that the type of shit fiancés do? Well, Haz didn't see it that way and felt it was an unnecessary trip for me to make. He thought I was just doing it for the headlines and gave me the cold shoulder for a week after I met her. I was only just beginning to break the ice again.