Icarus | Z.M.

33 | Forget

Victoria Tomlinson

When I opened my eyes in the morning, the only thing I wanted to do was go back to sleep. My head was pounding, and I wasn't entirely aware of my surroundings, my thoughts and memories from the previous night were a blur, completely scrambled in my head.

I didn't even know I'd drank that much.

I took in a deep breath, pressing the heels on my palms to my eyes to rub them and get rid of the sleepiness for a moment. It was when I rubbed my eyes I realised I had slept in my makeup, I could feel it smudging across my face. I wiped my fingers beneath my eyes, hoping to rid some of the black that I knew I had just smeared over my cheeks.

Last night was coming back to me, slowly and it felt like it wasn't in the correct order. My head was so hazy. Everything was somewhere in my mind, but I couldn't put it into the correct timeline. The bar, getting drunk, smoking, Zayn hitting that man. The sex. Did we order food? My mouth was so dry. Everything was still so confusing.

I was laying on my back, my hair a mess on the pillow behind me but I was glad I had managed to change into some pyjamas, most times I barely made it into bed, so this was a small win for me. I didn't really remember doing that. I went to roll onto my side so I could try to get up, to find my phone. I had no idea what time it was and I immediately needed six litres of water to even begin to get rid of the dehydration in my mouth.

Except when I went to move, I couldn't.

Because there was something weighing me down.

There was a heaviness on my stomach. I turned my head to the side, where there was the other bed. The double bed, separate bed that we had specifically asked for.

I had expected to see a lump under the sheets, Zayn still asleep or at least the mess of the end where he had been asleep if he had already gotten up.

Except the bed was neatly made, untouched, there was no trace of anyone ever sleeping there.

I turned my head in the opposite direction.

Shit.

Shit.

Zayn. Asleep. Beside me. His usual grumpy or pissed off expression was only one of peace, he was completely relaxed. He was completely sound asleep. He lay on his stomach, he hadn't actually gotten into the end but rather fallen asleep on top of the sheets. His face was smushed against the pillow, his lips were pouted, and he let out slow rhythmic breathing. His eyes closed gently, I'd never really looked too hard at his eyelashes. But they were so pretty. That crease that always seemed to be between his eyebrows, the one I was desperate to smooth away with my thumb at all times was gone. He wasn't angry, he wasn't worried about anything. I had never seen him look so relaxed or calm before. He looked so soft, so warm. He was resting.

The bedsheets were down at my hips, I always got too warm on the night when I went to sleep drunk so I must have shimmied out of them at some point which didn't surprise me.

What did surprise me though, was Zayn's arm. He was collapsed face down on the bed, completely asleep, in a deep slumber that looked like he was never going to wake up. One of those sleeps thag felt like you'd been asleep for weeks.

I had no idea why he hadn't gone to the other bed when he was so adamant about not sleeping in the same bed. But his arm was resting across my stomach, his bicep and elbow weighed me down, but his hand rested on the side of my ribs, holding me as he slept. Somehow his hand had slipped beneath my shirt, his palm was on my bare skin, the warmth of his skin against mine. My shirt had ridden up, exposing the bottom part of my stomach. I'd always thought his hands would be rough, calloused fingers from boxing, fighting, everything he did. But his hands were so soft. I'd felt them on my skin before but i was typically distracted by the way he would be touching me elsewhere. But now all I could focus on his hands, the way his skin felt touching mine.