READ AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END.PLEASE.JUST DO IT.PLEASE
Good Lord, the confusion Zayn was creating for me as of late was comparable to my Organic Chemistry lectures in university. Most of the time, I had no idea what I was doing; thank goodness I wasn’t a Biology or Chemistry major or my grades would have suffered tremendously. Zayn had a similar effect on me. I was trying to stay mad at him; after all, he was terrible. But at the moment, confusion was consuming my mind in the place of anger. I was convinced that he was trying to apologize to me earlier in the day. However out of character it was for him, I was convinced that he was only words away from offering me a legitimate apology. That was where the confusion set in. Zayn Malik hadn’t shown me an ounce of friendliness since my arrival in London five months ago. Well, friendliness probably wasn’t the best word to describe the emotion he had portrayed to me earlier. It was more guilt than anything else, but in order to feel guilt, you have to like the person you’re reciprocating the guilt towards, right? Then again, he didn’t necessarily have to like me at all. In reality, he may be feeling guilty because he physically hurt another being and, based on his interactions with Rebecca, he usually wouldn’t do something that crude. So, in accordance to my calculations, he was feeling bad only because his conscious was bugging him. Okay, that wasn’t too bad, especially since I probably wouldn’t get a better explanation. Also, I was just going to pretend that he went through with his apology.
I was sitting in the living room, aimlessly flipping through the pages ofMysteries of the Mathematical Genius as my thoughts wandered and, eventually, drew to a conclusion. Yes, Zayn was merely addressing a guilty conscious. There was no chance that he was starting to respect me as another human being. He would, perhaps, never experience such a revelation. The conjecture made my chest feel heavy and uncomfortable and, consequently, I picked the book from my lap and put it on the table. Rising to my feet, I let out a long yawn. My hand was still bothering me and I had to get the bandaging redone, as these wraps were old, and the wound cleaned. I made my way to my bedroom, gently closing the door behind me, and changing into a comfortable sweater and a fresh pair of pants. Changing outfits was an excruciatingly slow process due to my two injuries. Pulling on pants required my body to be laid horizontally against the bed, just because it hurt to bend my knee after a certain point. I had to very carefully pull my right arm though the sweater, making sure the bandaging didn’t catch onto the fibers of the clothing.
I was exhausted by the time I had finished and wanted to take a long nap until dinner was served, but my dreams were interrupted when I heard a soft knock at the door. I frowned in confusion as I walked over and slowly opened the door.
“How are you?”
Liam was smiling at me. There were a few smudges of kitchen grease over his forehead and cheeks, which made me chuckle. Besides that, he looked gorgeous. Strands of is golden brown hair were reflecting the light as it hit against them. His eyes were shining at me as he said his greeting.
“I’ve been better, but I’m not bad.” I returned his smile, pulling the door open all the way as to let him into the room. As he walked in, I asked, “What brings you here?”
He pulled his hands from behind his back; they were holding another roll of bandages, sterilizing alcohol, and cotton swabs. “I thought I’d do the honors.”
I felt my eyebrows rise. “You don’t need to; Lisa will be changing the bandages. I told her I tripped over the Persian rug in the foyer and sliced my hand on a vase.”
“That’s a brilliant story; quite a fabrication.”
“What was I supposed to tell her? ‘Oh, Lisa, could you change these wraps for me? I cut my hand after my loving husband pushed me over in a fit of absolute rage.’” I shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like the words of the elite, does it?”
