Until you came (Zarry) /English Version

40. Silence

Harry

The door's wide open. Zayn just opened it, looked at me and then disappeared. I stand alone in the stairwell, in front of me the open door and I don't know if I can come in or not.

I stopped, not sure whether I should enter the apartment. I never thought I'd come back so soon. The living room is empty and still looks like I left it. Where is he? Then I hear clattering dishes from the kitchen. Zayn must be there. I follow the noises and see him standing at the table and putting the used dishes in the dishwasher. He don't talk. He presses his lips together.

"Zayn." I dare one more attempt to start a conversation with him.

Why do I feel like I'm disturbing him? The painter ignores me and doesn't make any effort to talk to me. I hastily reach for his arm as he bends over the dish rack. He winces at my touch and smacks my hand away. With a Marlboro between his fingers, he sits by the window, lights his cigarette and stares out - for minutes.

I join him and do exactly the same. We both just stare out the window into the flowering garden. The silence between us....I can't stand it any longer.

"You smoke too much, Zee," I say to him as he blows the smoke into the air.

Without even looking at me, he says:

"Don't tell me what to do."

He couldn't resist having a little dig. I'm hurt.

"You don't even ask why I'm here, Zayn."

"Why do you think I care?" he replies emotionlessly and continues smoking silently.

The pretty boy just shrugs his shoulder. It seems as if he doesn't care whether I'm there or not. What actually happened that he separates himself from me? Why doesn't he talk to me anymore like he used to ?

"What's the matter with you?" I finally want to know. This silence eats me up and gradually makes me aggressive.

He doesn't answer, puts out the cigarette and leaves the window. Just when I thought we could finally talk, I was standing alone in the kitchen. Zayn just left! I can't believe it! Even my patience has its limits.

I rush through the apartment and find him sitting in the living room. Silently and lonely he sits on the black leather sofa, buries his face in his hands. Zayn is quiet and emotionless. A picture of misery.

Is he crying?

Slowly I go to the sofa and sit next to him. And for all of it, he never budge an inch, but sits rooted to the spot.

"What's going on ?' I ask him.

"Harry, why don't you just go home? Don't you notice that you are annoying me and I don't want to talk to you," he says dryly and his voice sounds slightly annoyed.

I look at Zayn, stunned.

"Last night you didn't cast me out like that," I say.

Now he looks at me in horror. His lack of memory is written all over his face.

"What do you mean?" he says and the walls of silence have crumbled. I notice a touch of curiosity in his dull eyes.

"So you still don't remember?', I go back.

Zayn shakes his head. My hands reach for his hands that he can't run away again. They hold him tight. There is so much to talk about...for me at least.

"Why did you get so drunk? What happened, Zayn, that you had such a bender?

"Nothing, nothing happened. I just felt like it. Do you always need a reason for having fun?," he answers.