red hair and a blue hoodie // ed sheeran

Chapter 35 - Empty Rooms and Broken Glass

ED'S POV:

I awoke on the floor with a dead arm and a dry throat. My eyes opened to a blurred version of reality and my head hurt like someone had dropped a golf ball on it from a ten storey building. I heaved myself into a sitting position and tried to get comfortable. I looked around my lounge room to be disgusted. There were empty bottles and cans littered everywhere, several pizza boxes littering the couches and scraps of food stuck in the carpet.

Have fun cleaning this Sheeran.

I really did hate my conscious. I would throw it out the window if I could. With an aching head I half crawled, half stumbled into the kitchen to pour me a glass of water. Pulling my blue hoodie over my head that I had retrieved from the couch my thoughts flashed. Niall had left not even half way into the night. His gaze had been continuously flitting to the door.

Zo…

With a recovering dead leg, I stumbled out the door of my apartment and found myself at Zo’s doorstep. I rapped lightly on the wooden plank but even still the tapping of the wood echoed around my tender head and left a dull throb in its wake.

“Zo?” I waited for a response. I was speaking loud enough so she could hear me, no matter where she was in the house. But no answer was given.

“Zo?” I tried again, louder. But still nothing was heard. My knocking became a little more persistent and soon grew from light raps to dark poundings.

“Zo - answer the door. Zo? Zo!” I stood back and pushed my shoulder roughly against the wooden frame, attempting to knock it out of its screws.

“I’m coming in Zo!” With a few more charges of my shoulder, it unlocked and I pushed it open.

There was no noise coming from inside. No wind whistles, no tea kettle boiling, no television. Just nothing. I stepped inside the apartment slowly, checking around for signs of life. She was nowhere. I looked down the apartment towards the kitchen and found everything gone. It looked like it would of when she moved in.

I quickly set charge for her room. I slammed the door back against the wall and stared in astonishment. The room I remembered with the posters, the photos, the scattered items of clothing, the beanies, the magazines, and the mess. It was all gone. The walls were bare, leaving only scratched and peeling paint in its place. The floors were clean, vacuumed even. The mirror in the corner of the room which was once tacked with photos and memories were cleared. The bed spread was plain, a boring cream and white. The clothes that were normally piled behind the door were gone and the closet on the left side of the room, which was open, was empty. Not even a beanie left behind.

Look what you’ve done Sheeran. She’s gone. She won’t be coming back.

Then behind me footsteps echoed through the door. My head flicked around like a meerkat on guard and I took off towards the noise. I came face to face with a cleaner. She wasn’t old but she wasn’t young either. Her face was faded and worn with wrinkles weighing down her happiness.

“Who are you?” Her voice sounded.

“Where is she?” I asked, completely brushing off her question.

“Where is who?”

I started approaching her and she began stepping backwards. “The girl in this flat.” My voice was flat and cold. “Where has she gone? Tell me.” I had crossed the distance of the lounge room and was standing a mere metre away from her.

“I don’t know anything…” Her voice came out a whisper as she pulled her hands to her stomach, defending herself as if preparing for a blow.

She thinks you are going to hit her! Back off Sheeran!

My conscious was screaming at me but I didn’t listen to it. I took another stride towards the woman. With each step towards her, my self-control took one away from me.

“Stop lying! You know where she went! Tell me!” I was standing directly in front of her. She was shorter up close, about half a head shorter than me. She cowered beneath me and I watched as her dark brown eyes screamed in  fear. 

“She told me not to tell you. She didn’t want you finding her.” 

My eyes widened and my mouth parted. She didn’t want me finding her? She was… afraid of me. I took a few stumbling steps away from the woman as she regained her self-confidence and steadied herself.

“I’m sorry.” She finished and left the room, probably planning to come back later. I was still in shock.

Why wouldn’t she want me finding her? Had I hurt her that bad? She was so fragile… and I had dropped her off a skyscraper. I scampered from the room and back into my apartment. I had lost everything. She was gone. She was gone. She was gone and it was all my fault. My hands were shaking at my sides as I slammed the door so hard the room shook. My thoughts were swimming around my head, giving me a headache but all I could think about was her.

Zo.

My Zo.

She was gone.

Brown wavy hair.

Gone.

Forest green eyes.

Gone.

Freckle face.

Gone.

Scars.

Gone.

Gone.

Never coming back.

Zo.

Gone.

My Zo.

Gone.

My hands grabbed hold of the nearest object and flipped it, my mouth letting out a loud shout. The table clattered noisily to the floor and the plates and cups on top shattered, scattering glass all over the floor. I stomped my way into the lounge room and swiped my hand across the coffee table scattering yet more glass and objects amid the debris on the floor.

I soon found myself amongst broken plates, shattered picture frames and scattered paper. I reversed up against my kitchen wall and slid down its smooth face, pulling my legs up to chest. A bottle was in front of me. Its aroma carried itself around the room, slaughtering the gentle smell of vanilla. I lifted it to my mouth and skulled. My throat burned and my ears rung but I kept drinking. Alcohol was now my only escape. She wasn’t coming back.