Chapter 28

We greet each other, and let me just say, it is the awkwardest encounter I have had with another human being on Earth ever. He looks fine. He relaxes onto the doorpost when he sees that it is me, crossing his arms and giving a confident smile.

I am terrified. I clutch the strap of my purse with both hands. I wish I could be like Zayn right now- totally relaxed while standing at his door, but I can't.

My throat is dry and my legs are locked. I cannot begin to think about what I could say to him. We stand at the door, both of us waiting for the other to say or do something. I should start the conversation, but the words I had prepared refuse to come to me when I need them. I cannot stop thinking that if I screw this up, I lose Harry, and there will be nothing I can do to get him back.

Regardless, Zayn finally says hi, after seconds of just staring at each other. From all that staring, I notice that he is wearing a simple blue long sleeve shirt and plaid pajama pants. He looks like he woke up minutes ago, but he talks and acts like he has been up for hours.

Zayn invites me in. I hesitate. I don't know exactly what I plan on doing once we get into the house. But I say yes, what else am I supposed to say? I have to be in the house for the plan to carry on.

He shuts the door after I walk inside. The apartment (A/N: or flat... idgaf, I'm American) is a decent size. It is mostly clean, with only a few items out of place, but Zayn is still shuffling around quickly to pick them up.

"Just have a seat in there. I'll be right back," he says. He points to the small living room not far from the front door, then disappears. I drop my purse on the floor by the door, but keep my phone with me before moving to the living room. Thank God Zayn is gone, even if it is for just a second. I need to calm down before he gets back. The whole array of emotions are circling in my mind, and I need to sort them out.

I sit on the sofa. A TV in the room is playing a movie I know.

"Anchorman?" I yell out for Zayn to hear. More like choke, slightly cough and then stutter out for Zayn to hear. I still have not reached the point where I can talk to him comfortably.

"Yeah," he calls back, then I see him sprint into the living room with two drinks.

Zayn hands me a glass of ice water. I mutter a thanks.

He jumps over the back of the couch and lands sitting next me, making the entire couch bounce with him. He begins to eat some food that he already had in a bowl on the coffee table. Some pretzels or Chex Mix or something shitty like that. I don't really have the ability to care about it. I am so horribly nervous. I know I need to relax, but I cannot stop thinking about how important this moment is for Harry and I. I can't mess it up, or we are ruined. I am clutching the glass of water tightly in my hands, needing something to hold onto to keep me from insanity. Zayn does not notice at all.

Zayn, who is intently watching the movie, playing with his hair with one of his hands absent-mindedly.

I sit up straight in the chair.

It has to be bad that I find that attractive.

It cannot be okay that he is attracting me by screwing up his hair. I glance over to him.

He is still doing it, dammit. Whatever he is doing- slightly running his fingers through his hair, I guess? All I know is that fuck, I want to touch his hair, and that I have to calm down.

But even his pajamas make him attractive. Is that even possible? Can fricking plaid pajama pants make someone look hot because holy fuck he looks hot.

Maybe if I just watch a few minutes with him I will be able to calm down enough to talk. I sit up to put my cup onto the coffee table. A few papers are on the table. I spend a second looking at them before I put my cup down. Some of them are just bills or random coupons and advertisements, but one of them looks like a letter from an actual person. I keep trying to figure out who would send a real letter, written out and sent with a stamp and everything. Grandparents, maybe?

"Do you not like the movie?" Zayn says. His voice shocks me. Completely. I jump and lose my grip on the cup. It falls out of my hands and spills all over the coffee table.

"Shit." The water quickly drains out of the cup, and it floods the table and the papers on it. "Dammit, Zayn, I'm so sorry let me just-" I hastily pick up the wet papers and move them out of the way, accidentally hitting him in the face with them.

He moves the papers out of his face and comes out grinning. Why is he smiling? I ruined his mail and spilt water all over his coffee table.

Oh.

He's laughing at me. Can I make this any worse?

He places his hand on my shoulder, trying to be reassuring, but the constant laughter makes it hard for me to take him seriously. "Hey, calm down," he says through a laugh. "It's just some water."

I half-smile at his attempt to calm me down. I am screwing up so bad. I sigh and pick up the cup that is laying in the water still. But I do not realize how slippery it is now, and it falls out of my hands, reaching the ground with a loud, sharp crash. I jump back on the couch and squeal. Shards of glass spread all over the living room floor.

"Oh my god," I groan. I let go of the hug on my legs I had, only now realizing I was holding them. I stare down at the broken glass on the floor and wonder how I could be so nervous to spill the water and break the glass in the same sixty seconds.

He is laughing. Like, laughing.

My cheeks burn red. He won't stop. He is actually doubling over from laughing so much. I cross my arms. Let him laugh, I already knew he was a dick.

"Jessie, no-" he says when he has somewhat caught his breath. "I'm not laughing at you."

"Whatever."

He waves his hands in the air to stop my assumptions. "No I swear, it's just you."

Is he stupid? "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

He bites his lip, trying to find the right words to say. "You just need to relax," he smiles. All his smiling has little effect on me now that he has been rude. I do not want to take advice from him. I hardly want to talk to him. He was laughing hysterically at me seconds ago.

But in reality, I should calm down. I need to, actually. If I have to talk to Zayn about the kiss being as nervous as I am now, I will get no where. I sigh.

I bring my hands up to my temples and massage them. I know I can't stop screwing up, and it is murdering my chances of anything ending up alright with Harry. Whatever happened to the plan? Get in, ask, get out? So far I have barely made it past the first step, and I even had trouble with that.

"Are you okay?" Zayn voice rings into my head. I look up at him. He is still sitting inches away from me, but now he curiously takes in my pathetic condition. Small lines etched into his forehead prove to me that he is concerned. This isn't just another attempt to make a joke of me. Still, I keep my defense up while answering him.

"I'm fine." I don't even sound convincing. Nothing is fine. Harry is pissed at me for the first time ever. I am no where near as mad at Zayn as I wanted to be. Don't get me wrong, I am so sorry for what I did to Harry, but Zayn is still one of the most laid-back and interesting person I have ever met. It is hard to not want to get to know him more. But he can't know any of this.

"You're telling the truth?" He nods, trying to get me to respond positively as he wants. We both know I can't. "Jess?"

I lift my head slightly when I hear what he calls me. Jess? Only Harry calls me Jess, ever.

Zayn takes my small movement as encouragement to try harder. He searches out my eyes with his own to incite me to answer him, but I can hardly look at him at all in the first place. Any eye contact will just shut me up more. But he won't give up. "Of course," I say finally.

He stares at me, trying to guess my emotions, I figure. I wish he could. Then he could tell me how I really am feeling. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself off the couch. "Alright. Well I'm going to go grab some towels and something to clean," he smiles and gestures towards the glass, "that up." He bounces around the broken glass and casually drifts into the kitchen.

While he is gone, I try to focus on the movie, and it does an okay job at relaxing me. But most of the time, I keep worrying about what he called me. Jess? The name doesn't even sound strange coming from his lips, although Harry is the only one who ever uses it. Harry might have even been the one who started calling me by the name. I push the thought to the back of my head. I cannot start to confuse myself by comparing Zayn to Harry.

By the time Zayn is back with some towels, a broom and dustpan, and another glass of water for me (I have no clue how he could carry it all), I feel less anxious and just a bit more awkward. I try hard to keep it covered. "Anchorman's fine, but the second one is way better," I continue our older conversation.

He puts the towels on the couch, and I take one and help soak up the mess with him, first starting with the table. It actually cleans up quickly, probably because it was just water. "You couldn't be any less right. Anchorman 2 is no where near as good as the first one," Zayn replies.

"Really?" I ask while we start to clean up the floor.

"Have you even seen the first one?"

I shrug. "I've seen parts of it," I say, and I stop cleaning to take a sip of my new water.

His eyes widen. "What?! You haven't seen the full thing? Well now you have to stay and watch it with me," he demands, overemphasizing the importance of our argument.

"I actually can't stay too long-"

"Just watch some of it?" He raises an eyebrow. I break immediately, and nod a small yes. He grabs the remote and turns the television volume up. After we have dried and swept the floor, we sit back on the couch and Zayn makes me watch five more minutes of the movie with him. Well, Zayn lays down on the couch. I sit on the very edge of the couch, being all most shoved off by his sock-covered, smelly feet.

"Ok fine. The first one is good." I finally agree once Zayn starts going off into a rant about how some actors and actresses are completely overrated.

He stops his speech and allows for a smile. "And..."

I chuckle. "And the second one is still better."

He shakes his head. "You make no sense."

"Pfft." I have no immediate comeback, so I just go back to sipping my water and watching the movie. Niall texts me.

From Niall:

Has it been too long yet?

I feel a bit bad for him. It has been around 15 minutes now and he is stuck in the car by himself. But I still have to get to the part where I actually confront Zayn about the kiss, but honestly, I am nervous as hell to do it. Almost no amount of Niall's suffering could get me to move any faster.

To Niall:

Not even close, text me a little later

I put my phone away, and soon after, I notice Zayn eyeing me. I sigh and pretend I didn't see anything.

Even though I don't say it, so many ideas run through my mind. I don't want to know the real reason he was looking at me. I choose to believe he was wondering who I was texting.

Or checking me out. I literally shudder. God, I hope not.

"Jessie?" Zayn asks.

My eyes flicker towards him. His body is laying lengthwise on the couch in the most comfortable position I could imagine. Fuck him, he left no room for me to be comfortable. I don't really know how I let him keep me off the couch like this. All I know is that he laid down before I could get on the couch, and he refused to move. I didn't feel like arguing. "Yeah?" I ask.

"I know you didn't just come here to argue over Anchorman movies with me."

My face falls blank. He figured it out. Well, obviously. How could he not? Even an idiot could figure out why I showed up at his house, and Zayn is not an idiot. The whole idea of talking about it makes me nervous, though. I try to keep the conversation as light as possible to delay the coming conversation. "So you think you know me?" I attempt to joke.

He laughs, a bigger laugh than my comment deserved. "I think I know you well enough to know you aren't here to watch Anchorman." I do not answer him. "So what is it?" He asks with perfect innocence in his voice.

Bullshit. He knows why I am here. I sip my drink again to avoid answering.

He waits a second for me to answer, but when I don't, he sits up straight and begins to speak. "Okay. Then at least tell me how you're actually doing."

I know I need to talk to Zayn sometime, but right now I am pissed at him. "Well how are you?" I retort.

He smiles. "I'm great, but we were talking about you."

My phone buzzes, thank God, and I quickly read the text.

From Niall:

Are you getting any closer?

I still have gotten no where. I really need to hurry. I see Zayn staring at my phone, so I turn it off.

"Who's that?" Zayn asks.

"None of your business," I snap. It is none of his business. Plus, he does not need to know that Niall is here. Then Zayn would act so fake. I can just tell that he would put on a show for everyone else to keep this a secret. Whatever this is.

"Sometimes you can be really annoying," he mutters.

"Sometimes you can be a real asshole," I say back.

He snickers and returns to watching the movie.

Silence takes over the room. Anchorman is still playing, but I am sort of sick of it now. I look at the walls in the room. They are decorated with some interesting paintings, some which I am positive Zayn did himself. Some words and paintings are directly spray-painted onto the walls. I cannot figure out some of the paintings at all. They probably have some meaning that I could never understand. Zayn is too deep for me in general. Even though he is a cocky, annoying immature boy-man, he is really deep. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here," Zayn finally says.

"Don't act like you don't know, Zayn."

"Don't know what?" He smirks.

I glare at him. His "deep" facade has disappeared and now I see the immaturity coming back. His innocent act is bothering the hell out of me. "Fuck you."

I cross my arms and move to the farthest edge of the couch. He scoots closer to me and lightly tugs at my upper arm with his hand, trying to get me to open up to him again. "This is about what happened at the party, isn't it?"

"Zayn."

"I sort of knew it was," he speaks while letting his thumb trail up and down my arm. "But what are you trying to accomplish by talking about it?"

I throw his arm down and curl up farther from his body, making him chuckle.

"Just tell me why you did it. That's all I am here to find out. Why did you kiss me?" I talk with desperation behind my words, but I am horribly desperate.

"I'll tell you if you tell me something,"

I roll my eyes. Zayn. He could ask me such a variety of questions that he knows I wouldn't answer, that this seems almost impossible. But I need his answer. "What?"

The corner of his mouth slightly raises. He scoots his body closer to mine, now confining me to the small space between him and the arm rest. He dips down to my ear, pauses, then takes a short breath. "Why did you kiss me back?" he says, hardly above a whisper.

A smile grows on to my face. "Zayn." That shouldn't matter, right? I am only here to find out why Zayn kissed me, to see what he feels for me.

He exhales a small laugh, releasing warm air on my neck that raises goosebumps. "Jess."

I scowl. He is serious. Now he has brought up an entirely different factor, the one that I have been trying to avoid. I do not plan on letting it out now.

"Zayn, I don't have time to play your stupid games." I push him away from me and get up off the couch. Where is my purse? I shouldn't have come here. This has gotten no real results.

He gets up from the couch and blocks my only way out of the living room. "It's not a game. It's a question. Just answer it, and I'll tell you whatever you want."

"Zayn." I am begging him to not make me answer, but he does not budge.

"Jess." He silently draws his hand to mine, and lightly holds onto the ends of my fingers. I step back, and he quickly follows my action, not letting any additional space come between us.

I bite my lip when I realize I have to answer him. He will not let me leave any other way. I let my anxiety come out as anger. "You want to know why I kissed you back?" I fume.

"Yes." Damn him for acting so calm.

"I kissed you... because you kissed me."

I wrinkle up my forehead and mentally curse myself. Does that even make sense? I have no clue, but it is the only thing I could think of. I kissed him because he kissed me, and that is basically it.

He cocks his head slightly. "Really?"

"Yes. I think so." He let's go of my hand, subjecting it to the cold air, and brings his hand up to his chin, dramatizing his thinking.

"So you kissed me, because I kissed you?" He starts to gesture, like he is adding up some stupid math problem in his head and he has to count all the factors.

"Yes." I growl.

"So, if any random guy on the street came up to you and kissed you, you'd kiss him back?"

"No, that's not what I said."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

"Then what did you say?" His voice spells out complete distrust. "I'm almost positive that I told you you didn't have to kiss me back." He furrows his brow and stares into space, slowly nodding his head. "I think that's what is bothering me most. I didn't need you to kiss me back. So when you did, I thought-"

"You thought wrong."

His determined eyes fly up to mine, easily able to destroy the weak barricade mine have. I can hardly keep my ground with him interrogating me like this. Every time he looks at me, I want to break apart, or run away. I just do not want to face the truth. "Did I?"

I shake my previous thoughts out of my head. I can't defend myself with all of that guilt playing over. "Even if you were right, I'm still with Harry and you're still with Olivia. So nothing could happen anyways."

"I broke up with Olivia."

My mouth drops.

Was it because of me? I almost let my tongue slip, but I already know I know. Even Niall told me at the party. He said that Zayn didn't really like Olivia, but I had no clue why Zayn would stay with her if he didn't like her. But now it makes sense. He stayed with her so that he could get to me. Without looking so suspicious, of course.

But she was so sweet, and he just broke up with her.

Because of me.

I am feeling sick. I look back up to Zayn, who has without my awareness, cornered me to the wall in the living room. I still have to stand my ground somehow, even though I feel like throwing up. "It doesn't matter. I'm still with Harry," I rush out. It is the only defense I have left.

He smirks. "But with the direction you guys are going in..."

I can hardly believe what he is saying anymore. "I hate you," I say. My words seem to have little effect on him; his smile disappears for a second, but just as quickly, reappears twice the size.

He steps closer to me, destroying the small gap that he initially left between us. I try to step back, but the wall keeps me from moving any farther.

"No you don't," he whispers in my ear through a Cheshire-cat grin. He is dangerously close, his face mere inches away from mine. I can't answer him. I physically cannot answer him. His hands play down to my hips, keeping me locked against the wall and his body. I can't move. I can't think.

"Yes I do." I stutter. He won't believe it. I hardly believe myself, I sound that weak.

"Tell me why you're here," he instructs, leaving me no power to decline. He playful bites my earlobe, then begins a trail of kisses down my jawline. He lightly kisses at the sensitive skin, no biting or sucking. He just leaves soft kisses, delicately coercing me into answering him. I tense up and try to retreat against the wall, only wanting to get away from the feeling.

He will not let me. I feel flustered in the worst way possible, not even able to catch my breath. I can hardly believe what he is trying to do, what he is trying to suggest. He wants to blind me from our argument, my guilt, from Harry. He wants me to think about just us, but I can't.

I struggle to move back, but his hands on my hips stop any further regression. I fight against his weight, pushing back at his shoulders with all my strength until I figure out his little game: He won't stop harassing me until I answer him.

He begins moving down my neck, and I unwillingly gasp at the new feeling. He takes my gasp as encouragement and continues to lightly suck on my skin, producing pulses that spread through my body. My knees are getting weak. I am losing my strength. I sink my fingernails in his chest, desperate for him to stop, shutting my eyes tight to try to answer for why I am here.

I flutter my eyes open.

"Because I need this to end, Zayn!" I say when I can come up with my answer. I shove him away with all the strength I can collect. It doesn't work. He stumbles slightly, but he won't move away. In fact, he moves closer.

"You expect me to believe that you came here, alone, dressed like that-" he looks me up and down. "To stop whatever we have? Babe, I'd say you're here because you need me as much as I need you," he smirks. He pulls me close to him by my waist again.

"Zayn, stop! Just stop already!" I yell.

He stops trying to force me to him. He takes a few steps back and drops his hands. When he lets go of me, my hands are trembling. My heart is racing. My legs are locked in their position, and I can hardly think of breathing. But Zayn doesn't notice. Or he doesn't care to notice.

"Fine. Then tell me what you think about everything," he says, more frustrated than any other emotion I can pin.

"Fine," I whimper. I do not know what to say. I am so shaken, and I now know he can read straight through my lies, but I still don't want to tell him the truth. I mentally battle with myself before deciding that I am obligated to be honest. "Ok. There was something there. There really was. I really had something for you." I start to remember how we were before the night of the party. All of the times we would text, I have to admit, I loved it. It was so refreshing to talk to Zayn. "But none of that matters. I am still with Harry. I still love Harry."

He scoffs. "I'm sure you do."

Anger washes over me. All of the anxiety and shakiness disappear in an instant when I remember how much of a dick the boy I am dealing with actually is. "I do!"

"I said that I'm sure you do," he hisses.

"Then explain the sarcasm?"

"Because you made out with me and lied to Harry about it, even though you say you love him and even though you say you don't have anything for me."

I do not want to admit it, but he has a point. And the point hits me hard in the gut. I know I have no argument left. But I did not come here to argue with him about how I may have liked him once. I am here to end everything between us, and it needs to happen now.

"Zayn what do you want from me?" I cry. Am I crying? No, but I am so close to it. "I can't have you doing this to me anymore. Can't you see you're hurting me, and your best friend? Harry is your best friend!"

"You can't have me doing this to you anymore? Right. Don't you even realize what you're doing to me?" He shouts. We are shouting now. "Jess, I had you first, remember? And I seem to recall that you wanted me, too." He tries to grab my arm again. I do not let him touch me at all now. I run past him and finally escape the corner he put me in. I do not want to leave just yet, though.

"How can you act like this? You're trying to get me to do the same thing to Harry that Perrie did to you, and you're okay with it?" I ask.

Immediately, his insane look of frustration dissipates into vulnerability. He says nothing in response to my question.

I feel like I must have hit some horribly soft spot for Zayn by mentioning Perrie. I remember Niall told me something about how bad he was hurt after she cheated on him, but I don't know about how huge she could have been in his life. He still does not answer me, so I continue. "Don't you care for Harry at all? Or me, even?"

"Who told you about her?" He chokes.

It looks like I've lost Zayn. He isn't even looking at me anymore. He is focused straight through me, and I now am wondering how much of an impact this girl had on him. "Who? Perrie?" He glances back up at me when I say her name. "It doesn't matter," I say.

"That was different." He says, taking a step closer to me.

"It was?" I stare him down, and this time, he is the one who can't keep the gaze. "It doesn't matter, I have to go." I speed to the front door. I walk towards the door, and Zayn finally begins to come back to real life.

"You're not leaving yet," I hear his voice after me.

"Want to stop me?" I scoop up my bag and skip out of the door, almost sprinting down the street.

Niall is out of the car walking towards the apartment until he sees me. "Is everything okay now?" he asks as I run past him.

I tear open the car door and jump in. He is taking too long in walking back to the car. I need to leave.

"Jessie, what the hell happened?" He asks after he opens the car door.

"I'll tell you in the car, let's just go."

Zayn comes running out his house, but stops as soon as he sees Niall. He casually drags his hand up to his hair and runs his fingers through it. "Hey, Niall."

"Hey." Some small stare down happens between the two of them, and I desire deeply to be no part of it. I try to spy on Zayn inconspicuously in the mirror. "We were just leaving, so I'll see you soon," Niall says.

He smiles. "Okay, see you guys." Then he walks back to his door and into his apartment, acting like he does not give a fuck. I knew he would pretend that nothing is going on between us.

Niall finally gets into the car. "What just happened?"

"Can you just drive?"