Dress Me ||z.m.

The Aftermath

My face burrowed further into the pillows at the top of my bed, the only thoughts running through my head making me want to disappear. I didn't even think of staying for the actual premiere, calling for an SUV as soon as I saw Zayn's lips connect with someone else's. I didn't even bother looking anything up, all that mattered was he was kissing someone who wasn't me.

Our driver tried to ask me what was wrong when I clambered into the back, biting down on my lower lip so hard that I was almost confused when I hadn't tasted any blood on it. You know when someone says the outfit you're wearing is ugly and it makes you both angry and hurt, but you decide to hold on to the anger for as long as you can instead of crying? That's what I was doing.

The entire ride to the hotel I sat and replayed the previous few minutes in my head, the image of Zayn and the blonde burning in my brain and further fueling my anger. I wasn't even sure who I was mad at, whether it be at myself or Zayn or the world, I didn't know, I was just mad.

As soon as Don pulled up to the hotel, I thanked him, trying to feel bad about the edge in my voice. He hadn't done anything to me, in fact he's done nothing but help me. He didn't have to come and pick me up but he did.

When I finally made it up to my room, after kicking off my shoes and cursing myself for accidentally knocking the lamp off of its place on my bedside table, I paced my room, unable to keep still. I had far too much energy for sitting.

While I walked back and forth in the suddenly too small space, I thought back to the car ride here. I decided I was mad at myself. And I was mad at Zayn. I was mad at myself because I didn't see any of the signs.

I brushed off the distracting phone calls, the looks he'd get when he'd see who it was that was calling. Sometimes I would almost ask him who it was, but I decided to trust that it wasn't anything to worry about. For a second, I thought just maybe I wasn't his side piece, maybe I wasn't the other woman and she was, but I kicked that thought to the curb as soon as I made it. If that were true I would have been the one on the carpet with him instead of hidden in the theater.

I should have known by the way he would leave in a separate SUV whenever we'd be out together and paps or fans inevitably found their way to us. He wouldn't even enter the building at the same time I did.

By that point in my inner rant I had sat down on the edge of the bed, my elbows on my knees and my clasped hands at my chin, with my thumbs holding up my head. I had to sit down to think of the reasons I was mad at Zayn. Because those would lead me straight to being sad.

Normally people would be pissed with the girl that their man was with. But she wasn't the one who fooled me into thinking that we were dating. And, besides, she was the one that was cheated on, it wasn't her fault that Zayn can't keep it in his f*cking pants.

I had so much faith in him. I stupidly put him before everyone and everything, including my best friend and my job, knowing good and well that I would be fired if Zayn and I were outed as whatever we were.

I frowned when I realized there was no real name for whatever Zayn and I had over the past months.

I was mad at him because he knew what he was doing the whole time. I could tell by the fan's faces that she wasn't some new girl that just came into his life, they had already known about her, which made me feel even more out of the loop. If she was new, they wouldn't be so happy to see them locking arms and lips out there. I would know how it is to be a new female around these guys, I thought, rolling my tearing eyes when I thought back to the night I was attacked by the fans with random objects.

I sighed, ultimately feeling defeated when a tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't bother to wipe it away, frustratedly laying down and hugging one of my pillows closer to me, letting a couple more hot tears slide down to make a dark spot on the pillow case.