Chapter 9

I couldn’t sleep.

Not even if I wanted too, even in the safe, comforting arms of Zayn. I could tell by the way he was breathing, he was restless too. His head inched back so he could see my face, and I closed my eyes pretending to sleep.

His arms disappeared from around my hips as he climbed out of the bed, tiptoeing to the bathroom next to the small closet in the corner of his hotel room.

After fifteen minutes, he still wasn’t out, not that I was counting, I just felt more restless when he was gone.

Was he okay? Did he like, die in there?

I got up and made my way over, trying to think of the nicest way to intervene. My knuckles gently met the wooden door three times and I heard rustling on the other side.

"Zayn?"

"What?" he sounded… nervous? Scared? 

What do I say? Do I ask if he’s alright? No, he’s just going to the bathroom.

"Um, I have to… pee." I lied, deciding not to add any more pressure to all that he has gotten lately.

"O-Okay, I’ll be right out." I sat on the edge of the bed, resting my chin on my fists, waiting for him to come out and give me that perfect smile of his. 

To tell the truth, I like him. A lot. Maybe it’s just because I know he is there for me, wait, it is because I know that. That is one of the most important things to me; knowing they are there.

The lock clicked and he stepped out, adjusting the long row of bracelets on his left arm, then the other two on his right.

"Thanks." I whispered and he nodded, not even attempting to meet eyes with me. I made my way into the bathroom and the wonder scent of his aftershave filled my nose, not that I was sniffing the bathroom,  but it was obvious. 

I did what I said I needed to do and went to wash my hands. I pressed the soap nozzle and the cold, sweet smelling liquid spread across the palm of my hand. I switched on the water and scrubbed all of the germs off of my hands, while taking a look around the room. 

It felt odd, like something was out of place, or just not right. My eyes landed on Zayn’s razor, the handle was clean, but not the actual razor itself.

Blood.

There was blood on it, I couldn’t tell if it was wet or dry, but it was defiantly blood.

He probably just cut himself while he was shaving, no big deal.

I shut off the light and made my way back into bed, facing Zayn, who was still wide awake. I studied him, trying find where his razor had attacked his face, but there was nothing.

He was still perfect.

I wrapped my arms around his torso and he did the same to my shoulders, my eyes growing heavier by the second.

I fell asleep to Zayn whispering the lyrics to ‘All Back’ in my ear.

The next morning, I woke up with the sun shining in my eyes through the glass doors that led out to the balcony. I turned on my side and saw Zayn still sound asleep, his arms sprawled toward me. I just loved looking at him, taking a mental picture of every inch of his face, body, or note of the way he spoke, his personality, everything.

My eyes followed down his arms, to the bracelets that I didn’t even question. They were father up than they were last night and I could see his arm underneath them.

Thin, red lines were carefully lined up his forearm.

Thin red lines.

Zayn cuts himself.