Icarus | Z.M.

35 | Saturday

Victoria Tomlinson

I hadn't spoken to Harry since Zayn sprained his wrist, only because he wasn't answering any of my texts or calls. In the meantime, I had stopped my self-defence training classes with him, because he had stopped showing up, he wouldn't be able to train me with his injury.

I just wanted to apologise, I knew it was an accident, he would never hit me on purpose. We were training, fighting, accidents happened, I should have blocked it. Maybe I was overworked and tired, but that didn't make it his fault, I agreed to go back out and continue fighting. I'd be a hypocrite if I was mad at him for accidentally hitting me, I'd done it to him before.

So now instead of taking part in my training, I was sitting along one of the couches by the fireplace, snoozing with Cujo while reading a book, or pretending to read a book while actually just staring at the paper and flicking the page over every once in a while. I didn't mind that I wasn't at the gym, it felt nice to have a day off, I always hated training anyway.

I'd poured one of my mum's bottles of wine into a glass cup, disguising it as some kind of fruit juice while I drank it. I was on my third glass around now, I didn't feel drunk, just relaxed, my mind wasn't focused on anything other than the things that entertained me.

It took my mind off everything for a while, if I kept thinking about my life and every role and responsibility I had, I would fall into an anxiety riddled spiral, so what better way to get rid of that feeling than drinking an entire bottle of wine until I fell asleep?

I was home alone as far as I was aware, besides the security everywhere, by the doors, all through the corridors. I didn't know if Zayn was here or if he had finally got to go home. I hadn't seen him today and I didn't plan on leaving the house at all, so I wouldn't need him to hover around me like a shadow.

A small noise coming from somewhere in the room had me lifting up my head from the couch to look over, the fucking devil himself wandered into the room, wearing a full black suit as usual, an unlit cigarette handing from his mouth, and his hair tied back into a small bun on the back of his head. God the fucking bun. It could kill me. Just looking at him made me want to bury my face into a pillow and scream. Something about him drove me up the fucking wall and made me insane.

I pretended to be normal around him, greeting him as he walked into the room, "Hey,"

He looked like he was just walking through this room to get to another, with no intention of stopping to have a conversation. But as soon as he had heard my voice he stopped and looked across the room towards me, as if he didn't actually know I was in here until I spoke.

He gave me a bit of a strange look, making his way over to the couch I was laying across. He stood at the arm where my head was resting and looked down at me. He was upside down when he asked me, "You alright?"

"Mhm, yeah." I nodded, sitting up with my legs crossed so that I could face him. "I just didn't know you were here." My head was a little heavy from the wine, but nothing that would seem obvious. "Why wouldn't I be?"

His head angled to the side, narrowing his eyes, "Just looked a bit zoned out there,"

"Oh, right." I responded, tapping my fingers along the page of the book I had been pretending to read for the past hour or so. "I was just reading,"

He glanced down at my lap where the book was resting, reading the title before he met my eyes again. He stared at me for a little second, as I'd he was trying to read my face or figure something out. Maybe it was obvious I had been drinking and he could see it easily, but I didn't even feel drunk or tipsy, so I didn't think he would be able to tell.