READ AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END.
PLEASE.
That night, I seriously contemplated sleeping on the couch in the living area. I had never thought an argument or altercation between Zayn and I had been fatal enough for me to even consider sleeping in a separate area from him, but this latest show of affection was a bit much. The thought of lying next to him in bed made every portion of my body that had been affected by his push throb in excruciating pain, as if coming in contact with him would enliven the pain. It was a comical and irrational thought, but I couldn’t bear sleeping on the same bed of him for that night at least. I decided that, in order to avoid gossip around the estate, I would sleep in the sunroom farthest from the main living quarters of the West Wing. This way, there was a safer chance of my escaping in the morning before any maids or butlers caught a glimpse of me. I thought of two things before I drifted asleep: Zayn’s face when he was watching Liam carry me out of the kitchen and Liam’s own face when he was wrapping the bandage around my wound. I realized that at those respective moments they were displaying nearly the same emotions; they were both shrouded in brooding thought, as if they were contemplating something. Before I had the opportunity to process exactly what they could possibly be thinking, I fell asleep.
I awoke at seven in the morning sharp. This was around the same time Lisa and the other maids began working in West Wing, dusting and cleaning and preparing and ironing. I quickly jumped to my feet, silently cursing in agony as my left leg protested in pain. I carefully lifted my bandaged hand up, scrutinizing over how terrible it looked. I was tempted to unwrap a few layers and take a peek at the damage, but decided against it. If I did take a look and saw that it was infected or anything of that sort, I would probably murder Zayn in his sleep. That was a tempting thought, but one I couldn’t fulfill. I was too young to be a widow.
I set off for the nearest bathroom. I was wearing the same clothing from yesterday and didn’t care in the slightest; I wasn’t about to strut into the bedroom and pull out a fresh set of clothes. I would risk having to speak with Zayn and the thought made me shiver. After splashing water over my face and preparing myself for the day, I walked into the kitchen, where Lisa looked over at me in surprise. She was setting out a plate of hot eggs, toast, and fruit onto the counter as her mouth formed an “O” of pure astonishment. I then realized that it was an early Monday morning; Zayn was about to head off to work. I hung my head in despair, thinking that I could have avoided him for the majority of the day.
“Miss, I didn’t anticipate you’d be up this early,” Lisa looked petrified, as if she had been caught shoplifting. “If I had known I would’ve set out your breakfast as well.”
I offered a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it, Lisa.”
She bowed her head politely. “I’ll ask the chef to prepare your breakfast this very moment.” She then hurried off towards the chef’s kitchen, out of my sight.
I let out an exhausted sigh as I leaned against the refrigerator. The coolness from the large box chilled against my back; it was refreshingly calming. I closed my eyes for a bit, listening to the quiet humming of the machine; it was the only sound in the house this early in the morning.
However, another sound soon grabbed at my attention. I opened my eyes and saw Zayn walking into the kitchen. He was dressed for work; he had on a finely fitted black blazer with a neat pattered dress-shirt tucked beneath and a pair of black pants. He was adjusting the strap his gold Rolex watch, his polished shoes hitting against the tiles of the kitchen as he made his way over to the counter. He took a seat in front of his food, giving me no notice. I wasn’t baffled by his behavior but I was tremendously offended. I wasn’t exactly expecting an apology upon our meeting, and I wasn’t sure exactly what I was expecting, but this certainly wasn’t it.
