Until you came (Zarry) /English Version

56. He crossed the line

Zayn's gaze speaks volumes now.

Harry

For a moment, all three of us will hold our breath. Liam probably also feels the pulsation between us and lets the beer glass overflow in fright. The liquid pours over his hand and forms a big pool on the bar.

"Shit," he scolds and wipes the bar clean.

"I'll have to serve the guests. I leave you guys alone," he mumbles. Liam is probably glad that he no longer has to attend our upcoming discussion.

While he gives us the chance to talk, I face a very, very angry Zayn. It seems as if he would love to tear me to pieces in front of all the guests. With a grim expression he looks me in the eye and breathes deeply. His ribcage raises and lowers dangerously. Meanwhile I am expecting his outburst of rage, which is in the air. The Pakistani rises in slow motion from his bar stool, walks towards me and suddenly grabs my shirt collar and pulls me from the chair.

Completely taken by surprise I stumble over my own feet, fear is growing inside of me and I can' t breathe. My shirt, he will rip it apart. 

"Styles, move your ass," he growls and pushes me towards the front door. The grip is still firm. I have no choice and have to follow him.

"We're going to get some fresh air now," he grumbles.

The other guests are looking at us, as some have watched the scene. From the front row someone is yelling:

"Is there a fight now? I wouldn't put up with it either. Hit the curly head in the face! The woman was really hot and he has spoiled your plans!"

Zayn just ignores the scathing remark and drags me outside. To be honest, I'm a little afraid. I've never seen him that angry. The painter is completely beside himself. The anger makes his face hard and ugly. His brown eyes look coldly down on me. He is not going to beat me up, is he?

In front of the bar, on the street, cool evening air surrounds us. Zayn presses me with a firm grip against the wall, his other hand is still on my collar. My head hits the bricks hard and will probably get a lump on the head.

"Well, now we're both finally speaking plain English, Styles," he says with screwed eyes up.

"About what exactly?", I stammer. "About what? You dare to ask me that, you asshole?"

What did he just say? Did he just call me an asshole?

His choice of words pisses me off. That's just what you call someone you despise, someone you want to banish from your life. Does he hate me so much? All of a sudden I just want to leave, I'm too hurt to believe that Zayn really said that to me.

"Why are you constantly interfering in all my affairs? Mind your own business! Huh? Who are you - my mother?" he yells at me and his face is getting redder and redder, while mine is getting paler and paler.

"What the fuck were you whispering to her? Hey," he screams and repeatedly hits my chest with his hands and with every punch I crash against the hard wall.