Bullet From A Gun

20: Just You and Me

20: Just You and Me

 Zayn pulls away from her quickly. “AJ,” he says, trying to stop her. “Baby, we...I–”

 “I'm sorry,” she tells him quickly. “This is my fault. I love you, not him and I need you to know that I would never leave you.”

 He shakes his head and frowns. “I believe you, alright? I don't want you to think you have to have sex with me just to prove your love for me because you don't and I don't want you to.”

 “But, I—”

 He shakes his head again, walking her over to the bed, sitting down with her in his lap. “Baby, please, just hear me out,” he begs. After she nods reluctantly, he continues. “I'm not rejecting you, I just don't want you to do this and think we always have to do this when we get into a fight. I just... I just don't want us fighting to be the only reason why we do this. I would rather talk about it than try to solve things with sex,” he tells her sincerely. “That's why my parents eventually got divorced. Why do you think I have three sisters?” He asks, trying his best to lighten the situation. 

 She sighs.

 “Baby, don’t be mad, please,” he begs.

 “Just two seconds ago, you wanted to fuck me and now you don’t,” she tells him.

 He frowns. “I know, but—”

 She stops him. “Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk. I think it’s really fucked up that you don’t trust me with Aston or any guy for that matter.” Zayn opens his mouth to protest, but she stops him. “Even after what happened, you should trust that I won’t leave you. If I was going to leave you, I would’ve don't it a long time ago.”

 He stares at her. “Then you should trust me when I tell you I'm not going to let anything hurt you or me,” he counters.

 “Alright, fine.”

 “You still don't believe me, I know you,” he tells her. He pulls her closer to his body and looks right into her bright green eyes. “You have to know that I would never hurt you.”

 “I won’t believe you ‘till you’re sober,” she answers back.

 He groans and leans his head against her shoulder. “I only had like seven drinks, it’s not even that bad,” he whines.

 “Only like seven drinks,” she mocks. 

 “That’s not even that bad.”

 “Yes it is when you haven’t had more that one beer in like eight years, Zayn!”

 He sits up and looks at her. “It’s not like I’m some sort of raging alcoholic!”

 “You just went from pissed to emotional to horny in the course of an hour, Zayn!”

 “Whatever,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. 

 “Don’t whatever me because this is why we always fight. You can never tell me what’s bothering you and when I try to attempt to fix it, you shut me down or make it even worse or make me feel like shit and I don’t know what you want me to do anymore, Zayn!” She shouts at him, on the verge of tears as she hits her fists on his chest in frustration.

 Zayn’s face falls, his sensitivity rising to the surface again. “Do I really make you feel like shit?” He asks softly.

 She stops and looks at him. “I didn’t mean it like that; it’s just sometimes when you go off or you keep things from me, I—”