twenty-four

                                        

                                              


.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒, 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀
𝗭𝗔𝗬𝗡
The sun bleeding through the windows hit me square in the face. I blinked up at the ceiling like I didn't know where I was for a second, but I did. My own bed. My own sheets.
There was a girl curled up beside me. Her limbs tangled in the white sheets. I couldn't even remember her name. 
I sat up, dragged my hand over my face, and got out of bed as quietly as I could. I wasn't in the mood for morning talk. I wasn't in the mood for anything really. 
Barefoot, I headed downstairs. The penthouse was spotless but heavy. This morning of mine had almost become a routine, as if my life was on autopilot these last few months. Every movement felt mechanical.
I walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, closed it again. Nothing I wanted. I stood there for a minute, leaning against the counter, staring out the window to see the view.
The view of L.A. was bright and cloudless which is complete contrast to what I'm feeling.
There were footsteps behind me, slow and hesitant. She appeared, the girl from last night, her hair a mess, her dress hanging off her like it didn't quite belong to her anymore. She held one heel in her hand, the other half-strapped to her foot.
"Hey." She said softly. "Didn't know if I should, uh... stay or go."
I didn't know what she wanted from me. Didn't know if I could give her anything.
"You can go." I said, not mean, just flat. Honest.
Her eyes lingered on me for a beat longer, searching for something, a sign, a gesture, maybe. But I had nothing to offer.
She nodded once then she turned, slipping into the elevator without another word.
I felt like a douche. I was a douche. But it's a better thing for her than it is for me. It would've been painful. A slow, suffocating kind of small talk, where every word felt more like a lie. A conversation that would kill her before it would kill me.
I learned it the hard way when this routine started. 
It wasn't the wisest idea to call up another girl the night of the phone call, but I'm not a wise guy, so what else was I supposed to do?
"I'm sorry." She whispered. 
"Don't apologize." I replied, though there was a sharpness to my tone. I wasn't angry, not really, well not at her at least, but it was hard to hide the bitterness. "I don't want your apology. I just want you to be happy. If this is what you need, then I'll accept it."
The words came out before I could stop them. I wasn't even sure if I meant them. 
The silence between us stretched longer than it should've, thicker than it had any right to be. I couldn't tell if it was because we had nothing left to say or if we both had too much to say.
I was about to hang up, about to let the call die, but then, it was her voice that broke the silence.
"Okay then... bye, Zayn."
And then, with a sharp breath, I ended the call. I didn't even give myself a moment to think about it. The second the call ended, I was already scrolling through my contacts, searching for the next distraction, the next face that could pull me away.
It's pretty shameful to admit. I probably won't admit this to anyone other than Harry, Liam, Niall, or Louis, but here it is: I've been living like a fucking mess.