Something of a dream.

Chapter 50, Part I.

When Molly and I first became friends my senior year of high school, one of things we bonded over was planning our weddings and how we would like our husbands to propose to us. Molly was smitten with the idea of a Disney World or Disney themed proposal, while I stuck by my idea of an unexpected, shock me, holiday themed proposal.

                And for some darn reason, the holiday season was gearing up in the beginning of September and we were going to Disney World. So coincidental.

                In plain English, I was waiting for that proposal. I was waiting to become Mrs. Zayn Malik.

                One Direction didn’t have any more tours planned for the forthcoming years, mainly because the boys were reaching their prime and, although their fan base still existed, the studios and music corporations weren’t looking for middle aged men anymore. Their contract wasn’t ending, but it was becoming more and more clear to the 24-28 year old boys that they were going to soon retire.

                Liam had popped the question to Danielle at their last concert and they were planning a small, quiet wedding in London after the trip to the Florida Keys. Louis and Eleanor had moved in together and had no intention of making it official until Louis was settled and ready. Zayn and I had kept our public, overseas relationship as strong as we could, and Molly had flown off to Ireland for a few months, where she kept close to Niall and as much in the public eye as possible. Harry had chosen the single life and was planning his own expedition to explore the world.

                Now we were reunited and off as the Brat Pack to the Florida Keys.

                Molly would be flying in to London with Niall, and then she, Niall, Louis, Eleanor, Liam, and Danielle would fly straight to Orlando Airport, where I would meet them, alongside with Zayn.

                Or so I had thought.

                Zayn had flown over to stay with me in my apartment for the week before our flight. He got the pull out couch and it had become just like it was when I was studying abroad in England, except for the fact that more and more girls started lining up outside our door and we could no longer just walk on the sidewalk and grab coffee. He had come over to my parent’s house for dinner a couple nights earlier. Although he received a rather bitter welcome from my mother, my cousin, my 20 year old brother, and other family members warmed up to him in minutes.

                On September 2^nd, Zayn woke me up bright and early and got our bags in the big black van that was to take us to Reagan National airport. Our flight departed at 5:30, so I slept on Zayn’s shoulder as the car gently rocked us to the quiet airport.

                Zayn had booked first class tickets, so once again, I dragged my leggings and T-shirt body through an empty queue and into the lounge.

                Somehow I trusted Zayn was getting us to Orlando. But at around 5:15, when I looked up at the clock next to the message board, I saw that we were in the lounge waiting area for a flight leaving to Tahiti.

                TAHITI?!

                “Zayn, wake up, wake UP!” I shook Zayn awake, his heavy head lifting from my shoulder and looking into my crazed eyes.

                “What?” he mumbled, dropping his head on my shoulder, nuzzling me a bit.

                “We’re in the wrong terminal!” I freaked out, lifting him straight up and grabbing our bags, digging through his pockets trying to find our air tickets.

                When I did find them, I saw that the Air Tahiti was picking us up at LAX and dropping us off Papeete’s Faa’a Airport in Tahiti.

                “Surprise?” Zayn shrugged and looked at, a massive smile on his face.

                My emotions were so out of check, I had no idea what to think.

                “Wait, WHAT?!” I was so confused.

                “Eh, I thought I’d get over my fear of swimming and take you jet-skiing,” he said smoothly, putting his arm around my shoulder.

                Still stuck. Still confused.

                “But Orlando… Disney World….I mean, I mean the Florida Keys…”

                “You’re not cute when you stutter, Jess,” he said, putting a kiss on my lips. “Nah, but actually you always are cute, babe.” He gave me a smile and dropped his head on my shoulder.

                “But…”

                He sighed. “Liam and Danielle are going to the Keys and Louis and Eleanor are going with Niall and Molly to the Keys, so it’ll be us two at Bora Bora,” he mumbled into my shoulder.

                Shivers rolled down my spine.

                “No wait, Zayn…”

                “Jess come on, it’ll be us.” He sat up and held my hands. “Jess we haven’t spent time together like this. You’re gonna love this. Promise.” He had that puppy dog face that brought a beautiful smile on my face.

                “Okay, okay, okay fine,” I said, putting my head on his chest. “How long is the flight?”

                “Just 12 hours,” he said, running his hands through my hair.

                I groaned. “It’s doable,” I said, thinking of the 22 hour flights to India that I had endured quite a few times.

                “It is,” he said. Putting a kiss on my forehead, he continued, “It’ll be worth it.”

                We reached Bora Bora at around 2 in the afternoon, right when the sun was beating down hard on the white sand.

                It was beautiful, to say the least. The water was crystal blue, as if diamonds were buried in the sand and the light was reflecting off of it. The sand was white and soft. The sky was cloudless, small, quiet seagulls flying around in the distance.

                Zayn had another car drive us off to our hotel. When we reached there, they gave us a key and directed us somewhere over the ocean.

                “The ocean?” I whispered to Zayn.

                “Oh you’ll see,” he said, a mischievous grin on his face. “You’ll love it.”

                We drove around the border of the island, high up against cliffs where the water was beating down against the rocks, white foam bubbling against the edges. The van took us down a hill and stopped in front of a brown dock that was floating against the blue-white water.

                The dock was connected in a maze of many other docks, which were in turn connected to little huts.

                It then hit me hard in the face.

                Standing on the pavement next to the car with my bags and Zayn, I realized that we were in Bora Bora, we were staying that one hut out in the distance that was floating over water, and that jet ski that was parked next to it was ours.

                My jaw dropped and Zayn put his hand underneath it to stop it from permanently falling off my face.

                “Told you you’d like it,” he said, ruffling my hair and taking my bags with him as we crossed the dock and made it to our single hut.

                It was a quiet, wooden hut decorated with tribal drawings and that floated directly over the crystal waters. There was a big, wide living room with massive windows looking out onto the quiet, rolling ocean, and then a single bed in a big bedroom, overlooking a coral reef that was tucked underneath our big balcony.

                A mini fridge and kitchen welcomed us into the hut, where we filled up on pizza and soda, cranking the radio up and indulging in our own privacy.

                It was weird being that secluded and away from everyone. Here we were, practically floating on the ocean, living inches away from fishes and the natural wildlife of the Tahitian environment, but at the same time, we were international stars (or at least Zayn was).  There were no paparazzi (it should have been very hard for them considering the ocean and all that) and there was nobody else to talk to. If this trip didn’t bring me and Zayn closer than anything, I don’t know what could have.

                I realized, after a few hours, that Zayn had written up an entire plan for the week we were to spend on the Tahitian islands. The activities ranged from cliff jumping, snorkeling, jet skiing, going on a safari, and parasailing. All of these were things I’d never do with friends, but would never have a second thought about doing with Zayn.

                I can’t wait for this week to begin, I thought, snuggling into Zayn’s shirtless body as we both went to sleep under the stars. 

mah guys! :(

i have a really short chapter written. i kinda wanna finish it before i post it.

you okay with a short kinda intro chapter? i can split it!

lemme know ASAP before i go to bed!

ahhhh!

hello guys!

i had a long day at work and i’m not feeling all that well :( just a little sick and under the weather and my tummy hurts and mleh. eh.

BUT

i got my exam results today and they just brightened up my day! i think i’ll sit down to write tonight and post around 9 or 10. 

i hope you decide to sit down and stay tuned for an extremely gushy chapter! :)

lots of love,

jess

Chapter 49.

                “OH MY GOD, MY FUCKING FEELINGS,” Molly yelled out into the crowded DC street as we scrambled out of the Verizon Center and made our way down to the Greene Turtle for a small beer and celebration of Zayn’s and my reunion.

                Molly clutched her heart and held onto me as we pushed through young girls who were waiting for their parents, outside standing on the sidewalk and yawning, trying to hide their exhaustion at 1 am in the morning. With smiles on our faces and huge guffaws escaping our lips, Molly and I stumbled into the bar and ordered tall beers to celebrate the occasion.

                We walked back to my apartment around 2, still laughing and tripping here and there as we found our way it up to my cold, quiet apartment.

                “I mean, but Jessica,” Molly said to me for the umpteenth time.  “Zayn is so romantic and that was too cute and ahhhh!” she squealed, jumping onto the couch and wrapping her blanket around her.

                I swished my hair out of its ponytail and smiled up at the ceiling, checking my phone for texts and tweets from Zayn. Sure enough, there it was, @jesykabrii: so glad to have you back in my life babe.

                Over 400 retweets, replies and favorites had accumulated over the four minutes that he just posted.

                “Come on, Molly, come in my room, you can get the pull-out in there,” I said, waving to her and scrolling through the mentions and tweets that had exploded on my newsfeed.

                Molly tripped a bit and climbed out of the fort that she had created on my couch, her wispy blonde hair covering her now red face. She looked hilarious, but that’s what I loved about her; after a beer or two, Molly was the life of the party.

                I undressed and got into my warm pajamas before climbing into my bed, biting my lip and reliving the “Gotta Be You” scene that had literally just changed my life.

                “Wait!” Molly yelled from the living room.

                “Mollster, everything okay?” I was a bit concerned that she had tripped over something in the dark and hurt herself. I mean…I did it quite a few times myself.

                “I forgot to give you this!” Molly squealed, running and meeting me at my bed, my feet dangling off ready to go and check on her.

                “What?” I questioned.

                “Zayn told me to give you this after tonight and…” she shoved a white envelope into my hand, “just read it!”

                “Erm…” I said, looking at the envelope in my hand.

                “I’ll go to bed, I’ll read it tomorrow,” she said to me, beaming at me and waving me off, collapsing on the pull out sofa in her Peter Pan pajamas, a quiet smile gracing her face.

                Within minutes, Molly was fast asleep and breathing softly, leaving me to myself and that white envelope.

                It was a simple, white, mailing envelope with my name written in the center with Zayn’s curly handwriting. The flap was sealed shut, so I put my finger under the seal and lifted, ripping the paper to pull out the paper on the inside.

                The paper was old and wrinkled, to say the least. It was folded, crumpled, ripped but kept intact, the edges browning and the ink a bit smudged. Written in Zayn’s handwriting, it read:

Jessica,

                I made a mistake. I now realize how much I love you. One week after our break up, here I am, wondering why the hell I left someone like you behind.

                I miss your hugs. I miss your kiss. I miss your smile.

                But I can’t bring you back. I, first off, can’t ask you to come back, because that would be playing with your feelings. And secondly…management…

                I’m a stupid coward. I can’t even stand up for my girlfriend.

                I regret the break up.

There was a line sketched along the bottom signaling the end of that blurb. I continued reading.

                Today is two months after our breakup. Liam is still mad at me. I think he always will be. I’m sitting in the van. We’re squished together and Harry keeps poking me

                Here there was a line, as if someone just shoved Zayn. It read on.

                Anyway, this is the way I think that I have to share my feelings because twitter because the world just wants to know what I’m up to and I only want to know what you’re up to. Who you’re thinking about. What you’re missing.

                If you miss me.

                Harry tells me I miss you. I tell him no. Liam knows that I love you. Louis tells me to move on. Niall reminds me of you because of Molly.

                I want you Jessica. Maybe one day I can give you this.

                But I don’t think that I’ll ever see you again.

                I screwed up bad.

                Another message was scribbled under this, slanted at an angle, apparently written in a rush of emotion.

                Fuck all of this you’ve moved on and I need to too so I’m gonna stop thinking of you and just get out of this funk

                I sucked in as I read it. Did he find out about me and David? If so, how did he manage to find out? And why didn’t I care then about his emotions, like I do now? At the bottom of the page, written in block writing, was:

                I still love you. I still miss you.

                It was dated one year after our break up. I continued reading, flipping the page over and reading the message on the back. This was dated two months ago, and spanned most of the back of the page.

                Jessica –

                Now I know that when I find you, which I will, I will give you this paper to show you and prove to you that I’ve always loved you and made the biggest mistake of my life by breaking up with you.

                You’d think that I’d stop making mistakes like that.

                Penelope was another mistake. I never loved her like I loved you. She was purely for publicity, promise you babe. She just wanted to get in my pants and… I’d remember how you’d never let me into yours.

                And those hook-ups? Mistakes mistakes mistakes mistakes all of them stupid mistakes. I saw you in all of them, just your eyes, your hair, your face. But they weren’t you and I threw them away when I realized that.

                Now Jessica I just want you and your smile and your face and your love.

                Which I definitely don’t deserve right now.

                But the day that you forgive me, take me back, and kiss me, that will be the day that I entrust this paper to someone I truly trust to give you.

                So you know that I never left your side.

                And never will.

                It was signed Zayn Javadd Malik.

                I looked around the paper and saw all the tear smudges and angry rushes of emotion that made Zayn the Zayn I loved. The Zayn that fought for what was real and never turned back. The one that spit it all out and hoped to be accepted in the end.

                The paper had a border of “I love you”s, hearts, “Miss You”s, and “I’m sorry”s. He had put time in this and saved it for me, for today.

                Also in the envelope was the crystal bracelet he had given me way back when.

                Leaning against the headboard of my bed, I picked up my BlackBerry and immediately tweeted back to Zayn, the bracelet glinting the in the minimum light.

                “I’ll never leave your side either, babe. Mwah. Sweet dreams.” Now the whole world would know, and I was totally okay with that.

                Molly’s little snores lulled me to sleep, dreaming of a white wedding with Zayn and a happy ever after that I felt we both deserved.

                Molly left the next morning, leaving me to my own devices of stalking the internet and enjoying the happy support that I was receiving from Directioners all over the world. Some had even captured the moment between me and Zayn, good enough for me to relive it – for real – this time, tears still welling up in my eyes the way they did before.

                My cousin had gotten proactive about defending my relationship with Zayn, shooting down haters on her own Tumblr and Twitter accounts. My twitter was flooding with follower requests and mentions, just as my Facebook was exploding with friend requests. I was getting friendly congratulations and shocking messages from friends that I hadn’t seen or talked to in ages. Thousands of people were trying to get in contact with me because I was now part of the One Direction family.

                Molly had gone through it momentarily, but she and Niall had planned a fake breakup for the media to spin around a bit so that she didn’t have to face paparazzi as much as Eleanor or Danielle. Because Molly was across the pond, it was better having that safety cushion of a breakup so that paps weren’t following her around everywhere. Because god knows that they were doing that to Danielle and Eleanor, and soon, to me.

                Another thing that blew up on the screen was that Molly knew me. That we could possibly have any acquaintanceship threw everyone off their boats. The girlfriends, or ex-girlfriends, already knowing each other? Unheard of!

                Either way, the next couple of weeks brought crazy fans to my door, people following me to work and pictures of me on Twitter and Tumblr. And each of those pictures had me at my best: happy and glad to be with someone who I really and truly loved.

                Zayn kept in contact with me, but it was rough at the beginning. He felt the need to apologize for everything and take it slow, while I was in a big rush to get back to the way things were before. But I soon realized that maybe his method was better thought out, considering the fact that our relationship wasn’t quite stable in the beginning anyway.

                We kept it slow with just direct messages on twitter and sometimes public tweets, when we were feeling totally gushy. Emails made their way back into my system, and I stayed away from Tumblr when I could because I would get sucked in and shut off the entire world.

                My mother was disappointed to say the least, but I got ultimate support from my cousin, my brother and other family friends. Right now, I was just glad that Zayn and I were together and trying to make this work.

                Then, for my 24th birthday, he invited me, along with the boys and Molly, for a trip to the Florida Keys. At that point, I didn’t realize it was code for Disney World. 

next chapter and me!

so guys, the next chapter is a little shorter than normal just because i just wrote it and i kinda rushed it.

i still hope you like it! 

now, i will be out from tomorrow till friday evening. i will have the post queued to post on thursday, around afternoon time EST.

i’m expecting 6 more chapters…i’m nearly over with the fan fic! :’(

—-

other note: i want to reach a goal, and i’m only 21 followers away. i’m planning to put up an about me if i get there sometime soon!

recommend and re-read if you wish!

love you all lots,

jessica :)

Chapter 48.

“Doing well! And you, the boys? How are you all?” That message back to Harry, one I had spent a lot of time figuring out and coding, began a stream of messages between me and the curly headed boy, often mingled with some from Niall and Liam.

                Harry talked to me about anything and everything. The boys were in the middle of their second US tour and were hitting all the arenas in the country, starting off with Los Angeles and eventually making their way back to Washington, DC, after which they would promptly fly out and begin their third European tour. Harry never mentioned anything to me about Zayn, but often talked about how the new girls – “the fake brat pack”, as he called it – was nothing like it was before. Danielle came and left a couple times on tour, now exposed to the fandom that was taking over the world and eating away at everyone’s sanity, while Louis had jumped around from girl to girl, eventually settling back to Eleanor, who he “reconnected” with when they had had some free time back in London. Niall had settled into his relationship with Molly, who occasionally stopped by on tour whenever she could, since she had gotten a new job with a local concert photography center. Molly had spilled the details to me earlier; the job she had landed paid her to take pictures of all kinds of concerts – be it indie, rock, pop, boy band – and they paid for her travel expenses. She, however, didn’t tell me that One Direction was one of the bands that she stalked, probably hiding it from me just to spare my feelings. And Harry, he had just been playing the scene, trying to find a girl that fit his schedule and personality. He told me how he had developed an image in the industry of being the “slutty” one, the one who hooked up with girls and didn’t even remember their names the morning after. He communicated his feelings in the most level way he could, but when I got his emails, I knew that they were an outburst of all the feelings that he couldn’t share with anyone else.

                Harry told me the boys were heading back to London over Christmas break, and would be doing their show in Washington DC the week before Christmas. Niall had enthusiastically sent me an email asking if I’d like to come by backstage and stay for the concert. They, of course, had the power to hand out tickets like they were candy.

                “It doesn’t have to be and it won’t be awkward, promise,” Harry had emailed me the night before the concert.

                I had unwillingly accepted the front row, backstage VIP tickets that Liam had graciously mailed to my apartment building, which was conveniently located three blocks away from the Verizon Center. But they were too convincing and were constantly nagging me that I had to say yes and give the other two tickets to my cousin and her best friend – so-called Directioners.

                And maybe it wasn’t just the boys. My cousin was adamant on getting me and Zayn back together because, for her, it was a dream come true. A boy from a boy band, hot, desirable, amazing. A normal, masters in engineering student, average looks, petite figure. Together they seemed to defy normal standards of celebrity plus celebrity, or dork plus dork.

                She made it sound so romantic and beautiful, as if it was the royal wedding or some shit like that.

                But it wasn’t, even though all the cakes she delivered to my house were iced with “Zayn + Jessica” or “I need those tickets” or “Get married already” (she did that one with my favorite lemonade jellybeans). After her mom turned down her proposal to save up $200 for not even floor seat tickets at the One Direction: Up All Night Tour, Part II, she came scrambling to me, opening up old Zayn wounds and telling me to help a sister out.

                Ugh. If only my mom denying me Justin Bieber tickets didn’t teach me to be a nice person and help those in need.

                Anyway, the days leading up to the concert brought me bitten-to-the-nub nails, nervous shakes, migraines, and lots and lots of meatloaf, which my cousin often brought over as a sign of her gratitude. Harry and the boys had apparently gotten pretty busy during the tour – especially because this one had lots of signings and interviews – and often missed my emails or replied to them infrequently. My days were spent tripping up stairs, losing hair, and having bad fashion days, all in anticipation of the concert and meeting the boys.

                Molly had tried to ease the tension by coming over and having a girls night with me the evening before, painting my nails and helping me regain whatever sanity I had left in me.

                “I told you, I told you that you still liked him!” she said to me, wagging the tip of the bright coral nail polish brush at me. She had a bright smile on her face, her happiness simply radiating off of her face. “I didn’t even like David anyway…” she muttered, focusing her eyes on my hands that were still shaking, just as they had started to a couple days ago.

                “Aw come on Molly, David wasn’t that bad,” I said, biting my lip. Nerves had shaken my body like nothing else. Khloe Kardashian was talking from the TV about how she wasn’t a bit nervous at her wedding and how she had found it to be one of the most wonderful and relaxing experiences she had ever been through. Kourtney had just finished describing both of her deliveries, and how they were nearly painless. “Fuck Molly, why am I a nervous wreck?!” I brought my hand to my face and began anxiously blowing at the paint to dry.

                “Because you’ve missed Zayn and you want him back in your life and you know he wants you back too,” she replied, matter-of-factly, beginning with her own nails, swirling the coral nail color with her ever famous black metallic paint.

                My heart dropped. “But he… Molly what if he didn’t miss me! Molly he broke up with me, he was the one who ended it, obviously I wasn’t the one who stopped loving him, oh shit what am I gonna do, he won’t even want to get – “

                “Oh shut up Jessica he loves you and he wants you back, trust me,” she said, blowing at her nails and turning up to look at me in my frantic distress. “You just need to calm the hell down, take a breather, and be ready for him to take you back.” She patted my cheek and jumped into the couch, digging into her plate of Nando’s and flipping to find us some dramatic reruns of Gossip Girl and the good ole Gilmore Girls.

                I tried to calm the nerves that were tugging on the last strings of my sanity. The past few weeks gave me time to reassess the relationship I had with my friends and family and how, what I really wanted in life, was to be with Zayn. And now, when I had the chance to stand up and finally claim what was my own, I was chickening out.

                Molly stayed with me that night, helping me pick out clothes and fixing up my hair so my curls wouldn’t be the death of me during the concert. She had picked out a sweet white dress with black converse that were totally Molly, and her accessories would be her massive camera and mermaid long blonde hair. My outfit was going to be simple but sexy, something that Molly said would “bring Zayn back into my arms almost immediately.” She had laid out short, ripped, and faded denim shorts with her own cut out One Direction t-shirt, holes here and there, tied at the hip, with a neon green bandeau peeking out from underneath. To complete the ensemble? My matching black converse that I hadn’t worn since college.

                 We had a small photo op before we left my apartment, eventually donning our lanyards and wristbands, meeting up with my cousin and her friend before we were escorted by security to the back of the venue. It was a dark and creepy alleyway that screamed downtown DC, but the hefty men pushed us through doors and led us through a white bright hallway, where we entered an office like room and sat around a mahogany table.

                My cousin and her best friend couldn’t hold their excitement. They were squealing and jumping and making a scene, texting, tweeting and telling the whole world that Liam, Louis, Niall, Harry, and Zayn were to be in their presence momentarily.

                I, on the other hand, stood off to a corner, constantly rubbing my arms of the goosebumps that had suddenly appeared, while Molly had started getting antsy, trying to find a way out of the room. We were closed in, two black clad hulks guarding the door and white cement blocks closing us off from air and the real world.

                I was hyperventilating, to say the least.

                Then, as if on cue, the boys walked in queue, smiling and waving, led by a solemn and always moody Zayn. Zayn missed me, as I was standing behind the door, but I got quick waves from Harry, Niall, Liam and Louis, before I ducked out into the hallway, trying to calm the beating heart that was trying to escape my chest.

                A black clad guard came behind me, but was stopped by Harry, who gave me a knowing glance with his emerald green eyes and said to the guard, “Take her backstage and let her hang around in my dressing room.” I smiled at him, turning my head to see Molly laying a massive smooch on Niall’s lips and to see Liam flashing a massive smile in my direction.

                The guard led me down the hospital-like hallway onto backstage, which was a whole lot different than we just were. People were scrambling about and getting mics, outfits, and lights ready as the venue started to fill up. The black concrete floor had skid marks from clothing racks being slid off from one side to the other, food carts being wheeled away, and shoes scuffing up as stage managers ran from corner to corner inspecting wiring and technical bits. I stood in the middle of this chaos, even more suffocated than I was before.

                The guard corralled me off to the boys’ dressing room, a massive room with five desks with five names over the mirrors. I dawdled a bit, looking at the combs, pictures, cologne and toothbrushes that were scattered all over their desks.

                “You know, when I did my first singing performance at my school, I got so nervous I was shaking from top to bottom, but I brushed my teeth and it helped me calm down…dunno what it is but it works.” Zayn had shrugged, as he turned away from me and scrubbed his teeth, minty foam bubbling from his mouth.

                I dawdled a bit around Zayn’s table, looking at his hairspray bottle, favorite perfume and lotion. He didn’t have pictures tacked around his frame like Liam did; Zayn’s was bare, almost dusty.

                Right when I was turning to go and sit on the velvet couch that was in a corner of the room, I saw, in the corner of my eye, a polaroid picture peeking out from under his various products.

                My heart began to pound as I tugged the corner of the picture and saw the same picture that I had tucked into my diary. With the same quote. But without the tear stains.

                It was crumpled, wrinkled and torn at the edges. But the image remained intact, obviously taken everywhere and anywhere, across the globe, always with Zayn.

                The door clanged outside and I dropped the picture, stashing it underneath the bottles and concealing it as best as I could. I swallowed the rock that had formed in my throat and sat down promptly on the couch, acting as casual as I could.

                “Well you’ll get to see the show later!” Louis was saying, obviously trying to shrug off the meet and greeters who were tagging along behind him. “Go now, it was nice to meet you all!” He slammed the door and let out a sigh of relief, the boys relaxing in the chairs and Molly giggling behind them, snapping pictures and trying to make eye contact with me.

                I was bent on trying to find Zayn’s eyes, before Harry attacked me and laid a massive kiss on my cheek. He tightened his arms around me, his curls flapping in front of my face.

                “Oof!” I said as Harry squeezed even harder. “I missed you too, Harry, now let go!”

                “Yes, sorry, I missed you!” he said, as he released his arms and grabbed my hands. “Welcome back babe.”

                A massive smile crossed my face as I stood up and greeted everyone, Zayn’s eyes following my every move.

                Liam gave me a pat on the cheek, as if in “well done” and gave me a tight hug. Louis slapped my butt and said “welcome back”. Niall poked me in the stomach and I ruffled his hair, a common salutation between the two of us. We all smiled at each other and waited for a seated Zayn to stand up and make his way our direction.

                Instead, he stood up, looked at me, nodded, and walked out of the dressing room. We stared at each other, while Molly took the proactive decision to go and follow him out.

                I sat down on the couch with the boys on either side of me trying to come and convince me that Zayn still loved me and that he was just being stupid about all of this. Liam patted me consolingly on the back and Harry told me that Molly was going to go and fix everything up.

                Molly met up with me again later that night, in our front row seats that were directly underneath where the boys were performing. It had eventually gotten so loud and crazy that I didn’t even notice Molly until her blonde hair was flapping around into my face.

                Half of me was into the concert and the other half was still drifting a bit between the polaroid picture and Zayn’s practical denial of me. The boys were almost done with their set; there were only 2 songs left.

                The lights dimmed and the boys’ frames began to glow on stage.

                “Girl, I see it in your eyes you’re disappointed…” That wasn’t Liam singing, who was it? My eyes searched the dark stage, but I couldn’t find whose lips were moving.

                “Cause I’m the foolish one that you anointed with your heart, I tore it apart.” Why was my heart beating so hard? I clutched my chest, my head twisting and turning, my eyes trying to find a hole in the dark.

                “And girl what a mess I made upon your innocence, and no woman in the world deserves this…”

                Molly held my cold, shaking hand in her own, a smile clearly illuminated on her face.

                “But here I am asking you for one more chance.”

                The music stopped and the lights came on, Zayn’s lanky profile emerging from the dark amidst cheers and screams of young girls. He walked over to my side of the stage, held eye contact with me and stopped, dropping onto the ledge and sitting there, swinging his legs back and forth.

                My heart was beating harder than ever and my breathing had become shallow. My ears had blocked out of the sound of the girls screaming behind me and it felt as if Zayn and I were the only two in the room. Molly was holding me up straight; if she wasn’t there, I would have definitely been on the floor, melting through the ground.

                Zayn lept off the stage and came toward me, grabbing my hands and looking at me, his eyes going over my hair, my eyes, my entire face.

                “Can we fall one more time?” He brought my hands close to his heart.

                “Stop the tape and rewind?” He wiped a tear that had rolled down my cheek.

                “Oh and if you walk away I know I’ll fade,” he paused.

                “Cause there is nobody else…” He brought his lips to my hands. “It’s gotta be you,” he whispered into my hands.

                He put my hands on his face and kept his eyes locked with mine, tears flowing like a river, body shaking with tremors.

                I smiled a smile and lunged in for a kiss that I had only dreamed of months before.

tawnywwe asked: Do you have a page where you can just upload the links to your fan fic from part 1? Because I'd love to read it from the beginning!

on the side bar there’s an option for “organized chapters”. that’s where all the chapters are, in order, from the first until the most recent chapter (i updated this morning!)

here’s the organized chapters link :) http://zaynandjesyka.tumblr.com/chapters

and i wasn’t able to write today due to alot of chores, so maybe i’ll try tomorrow. all of you guys, send me inspiration! i’m a bit dead there…

Chapter 47.

                It caught me off guard when Harry decided to email me one sunny October morning.

                I had just moved into a brand new apartment in downtown DC, very close to the hustle and bustle of the tourist center, and also very central to my new government come lab job. Everything was smaller in DC, just like it was in New York, so when I turned from my freshly made bed and nearly bumped into my computer screen, I saw a pop up email floating on my background of David and me leaning against the Washington monument.

                In literally a year, I had turned into a DC city girl and was no longer the stuck in the suburbs like I once was.

                harrystyles@gmail.com had sent me a short message: “Babe, long time no talk, what’s up?” sent from my iPhone read a tag at the bottom of the note.

                First, how could Harry be the only one with that address?

                And second, how did he remember me now, randomly, nearly three years after I had broken up with Zayn? Or Zayn had broken up with me? Or whatever that break up was?

                I shrugged off the message and put on my nude heels, click clacking my way out of my apartment and into the cool fall breeze that DC was almost famous for. Every time my mind started to drift off into the wonderful harvest smells that emanated from holiday stores around the block, my mind would rewind and return to the message. And Harry. And then Zayn. And then his girlfriend, Penelope.

                It had come into my mind enough that my heart was numbed by it, that I didn’t feel the emotion, but I could constantly think of the deception, the sadness, and the heartbrokenness that came with the breakup.

                3 years later and something still connected me to him.

                I didn’t like him, I thought, as I stomped through the morning rush of people who were sipping pumpkin spice lattes and eating cranberry scones. Zayn forgot about me, and I forgot about him. Now I liked David. But not as how I once loved Zayn.

                Then at the same time, Zayn never came into my dreams. Sure I had the nightmares following the breakup, the recurrent fantasies after I met David… but now it was all gone. The pictures were deleted, the memories erased.

                But he still had that weird niche in my heart that I couldn’t seem to evict him from.

                Which was stupid because he had forgotten about me and moved on to be with some fake blonde who wore fake eyelashes and piled on makeup like it was free.

                “You know, thinking too much isn’t good for you,” a husky voice said to me, lining up with my stride and handing me a cup of coffee. “Get rid of those creases, they don’t look good on you.”

                David and I worked in the same building, so we’d often meet up for coffee (okay fine, almost every morning) and walk to the metro together. He lived a couple blocks north of me in an apartment he had rented out a few months before I had made my permanent shift to DC. It was almost perfect – we didn’t see each other too much, just enough for us to make do.

                “Mm, thanks babe,” I said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

                “Anyway, what were you thinking about?” he asked me, his big brown shoes trying to shorten its strides to match my dainty, nude pump steps.

                “Nothing,” I said, sipping the dark roast coffee and dodging morning office goers. The coffee was a bit too bitter for my taste; three sugars and cream seemed to not cut it for wherever David got his coffee.

                That’s another way we were different. David could have his black coffee straight without sugar or cream, while I couldn’t manage to swallow that medicine without my azucar y leche.

                He helped me onto the metro and we ended up standing, our hands gripping the silver poles in the middle of the train, surrounded by late season tourists and even more office goers. He didn’t say anything to me; his brown hair was combed back like David Muir’s (the ABC newscaster), his suit perfectly fitted against his body, a newspaper in his hands. It was quite unlike him to not keep a conversation with me in the mornings.

                When we parted ways at the office, I found that my mind had escaped the Harry message from the morning and had covered itself with paperwork, filing, and lab results.

                David texted me that we’d be riding together on the metro in the late evening after he finished his workout. My face lit up – that usually meant dinner, and around this time in our relationship, I was hoping for something special.

                After two years of being together, I had a feeling that he was going to eventually propose. It was going to happen. The way that he interacted with me, the way he had gotten stingier with his money…it all pointed to a diamond engagement ring.

                My mother and family also approved of my relationship with him, because he had a high paying government job and was considering taking his bar exam and finally becoming a lawyer. An economics major and a lawyer. It was my mother’s dream. They had only wished he was Indian.

                Oh well, you can’t have everything in life, can you?

                Either way, I was waiting for a proposal and I was sure he was planning for around the holiday season. And BAM, we were in the holiday season. Or nearly into it.

                All the time I spent thinking of planning my wedding made me think even more about how Molly and I had planned our ceremonies and receptions down to the most minute details. Then I’d remember how Molly and Niall were still going strong, and that Niall was friends with a man named Zayn, and how that relationship had completely failed and had no hope of resuscitation.

                It was like traveling on a road where every sign reminded you of the mistake, or hopeless decision, you had made miles and miles ago.

                But that dinner made me make a u-turn and take my time to realize what I really wanted in my love life.

                That night, David had told me, over steak and wine, that he was done with our relationship. That he didn’t find meaning in it. That he felt that I was taken by someone else, and that he couldn’t have someone who was already had by someone else.

                “But,” I had retorted, my voice breaking. “He doesn’t love me.”

                “There’s a he, Jessica”, David had responded. “And that he isn’t me.” David had put my hands in his and looked into my brown eyes. I lost myself in his blue, ocean-like eyes. “You know you love him. And I’m letting you go so you can go and chase him. And have him. Because you deserve him.”

                I had put my hands in my lap and turned my head away from him.

                “Jessica. Just know that he does love you. And if it doesn’t work – which it definitely will work – know that I will always love you. That’s why I’m letting you go. My heart will always be connected with yours and you will always be mine in some kind of way.”

                He folded his napkin, gave me a pat on the head and left me that night in the restaurant by myself, my fingers playing with the silver fork and knife.

                My left hand kept removing my Sacred Heart class ring off my right ring finger and putting it on my left ring finger. My mind was blurred, my heart hurting.

                “Maybe one day we’ll get married,” Zayn whispered into the crook of my shoulder.

                “Zayn, I’m –“

                “I know you’re 19 and you don’t want to get married.”

                “Well we’ve only been going out for 2 months –“

                “But what if we did?” he said, lying back on the ground and putting his hands under his head. We were sitting in a quiet English field, the black sky glittering with millions of tiny stars that were lightyears away from us. “What if, one day I was waiting at the end of the aisle, watching you come down in your white dress, flowers in hand, beautiful as ever?”

                I didn’t stop him from fantasizing. All I did was lie down next to him, snuggled against his warm skin, and dreamed with him. At 19, the prospect of marrying my wonderful boyfriend seemed beautiful and realistic. Like a life filled with happiness and joy.

                “And if I walked down in my white dress,” I said, my hands clumped in the warm fabric of his sweater, my head on his chest. “What if you stood there and waited for me, waited for those vows, waited for that kiss?” I whispered the last word onto his chest.

                It was silent for a while, a smile flickering on Zayn’s face, my hands trying to hide one that was evident on my own. The wind whistled through the trees, echoing our affection, and the stars shone brighter than ever.

                “Jessica,” Zayn said, his hand combing through my hair.

                “Mmm?” I hummed.

                “I’ll wait for you to get married. I want to marry you. And you only. And that’s never going to change.”

                My heart beat harder and harder that night, thinking about a diamond ring on my left ring finger, a white dress to pick out, flower decorations and invitations…

                Did I think the same? Was Zayn going to be that guy?

                “Me too,” I said involuntarily, my fingers tracing the wrinkles his shirt was making against his abs. “You’re going to be the man I marry. Promise.” I touched my heart and fell asleep there, dreaming that maybe fairytales did come true.

                Now, looking back on it in retrospect, I realize that I was a stupid, foolish 19 year old girl. Now, at 23, I was ready to make my own decisions and see the world in its total and complete reality. The world is harsh and cruel. Fairytales don’t exist. And even if you do, and you screw ‘em up, there’s really no going back.

                But if you try really hard…if you try to remedy those mistakes…if you forgive and move on…

There may be a chance.

                And that’s what I was going to do.

                First, patch the relationship with the boys. Message back to Harry – sent, with a couple smiley face emoticons and a few tears in my eyes. Text to Molly, asking about Niall – sent, a heavy hope sinking in my heart, praying that I could make peace with Molly’s choice in a boyfriend.

                 Second, talk to Zayn.

                Third, tell Zayn I love him more than I could ever think. That he never left my heart; I had just overwritten him with someone else. Someone who made me feel like Zayn was never there. But when that someone left…there Zayn was.

                Would be.

                Will be.

                Forever and for always. 

Thoughts.

They stayed apart for 2 years.

                Zayn was broken and destroyed by the breakup the following weeks, but took it with a grain of salt and moved on just as quickly as Jessica did. He washed his clothes of her scent, buried the velvet box in his sock drawer in London, and deleted her text messages. He put on a new shirt and took the world by storm, the boys along with him for the ride.

                Liam stayed with Danielle for the European and American tour, and when she stayed back in London, he made it a point to webcam her every other night. Zayn would often walk in on them and wonder if he could have done the same with Jessica.

                But he knew he couldn’t. Because he was lazy and he wanted his job. He didn’t want to take risks and lose two of the most important things in his life. He didn’t want to lose a career that was practically waiting on his doorstep just for a girl that had walked in his life four months before.

                Because honestly, for Zayn, this career would probably have lasted longer than his relationship with Jessica.

                Zayn didn’t have hope. Or at least not the same hope that Jessica had. Jessica saw something more in this relationship, and that may have been her own wishful thinking, but Zayn saw it as a road with a stop sign. No forever for him.

                But to think that Zayn was heartless…he wasn’t. He was just in the wrong situation at the wrong time, with a massive decision to make, one that was aided along by the manager. A little help couldn’t hurt could it?

                Zayn and the boys were on tour for too long. They garnered a massive fan base in the UK, New Zealand, and most especially the United States. When they played at the stadium in London, Zayn had to keep his mind off of the curly, black haired girl that had stolen his heart a few months ago. When they handed him coffee during the morning talk show interviews, he had to forget that another girl used to sip that same coffee with him. When they shot a music video at the same lake he had spent an afternoon with Jessica, he had to stop thinking about how the lake air would blow her waves out of her face and into his.

                Everywhere he went, she was there along with him. Even when he was making out with that girl who shockingly had the same petite figure, all he could think about was the way he’d curl Jessica’s hair with his fingers and tickle her stomach.

                The boys eventually realized that Zayn still loved Jessica with all his heart, but that his mind was telling him something else. They saw him bring back girl after girl into his apartment, girls who had hair reminiscent of Jessica’s, eyes framed by fake eyelashes that could not match Jessica’s, girls who had a smile dimmer than Jessica’s. They were worried for him; or at least Liam and Niall were. Harry’s concern was eventually overshadowed by his annoyance toward Zayn, and then completely eclipsed by the immediate and rough fame that had just slapped them in the face. Louis joined Harry in the “taking on the world”, bringing home girls every night from concerts, from street corners, from coffeeshops – just enough to let them know they were loved and to, honestly, fulfill their pleasures. They’d say, “We never see girls. Let’s have some fun with them.” It was an excuse, but a beautiful one for the boys – one that gave them more than they’d ever imagined.

                Harry and Louis then became the loose One Direction boys, with one girl one night, another girl another night. Liam became “Daddy Direction”, the one who stood by the fans, twitcammed, talked about Danielle, and told stories. He was the kindhearted and jolly one, his own conversations fueled by Niall’s quite often drunken stupor. Niall hit a lot of the bars while on tours, joining club scenes but never bringing the party home. He would slump off to his room and hopefully make it onto a bed.

                And Zayn played a little of everything. He played the girls. He played the party scene. But he refused to be with the fans. He kept to himself, diving deeper and deeper, trying to find someone that didn’t exist.

                But Jessica knew what she wanted and went with it. She finished her senior year of college with a bang, a beautiful, tanned economics major on her right, helping her hold up her diploma in her hand, the blue and orange bands flying around in the wind. She entered graduate school with a focus on medicine and engineering, retreating back to her academic and confident self, hoping to keep the relationship with David alive and well.

                David didn’t remind her of Zayn at all. Every time she hugged him, she didn’t feel the bony body that she had once loved before. But she didn’t miss it. Every time she kissed David, she would point her toes and lift, unable to touch the lips that were once so easy to reach. Every time she grabbed his hand, it wasn’t the small delicate hand that once used to lead her home.

                And she was okay with that.

                Jessica worked the lab on the weekends and kept a government job during the week, raking enough money for her to save up for her new apartment in town. It was one that was quite similarly decorated to the one in London: quiet, homely, and filled with memories.

                Just the way she liked it.

                Jessica’s father died at the beginning of the year, just when news broke that Zayn had begun a relationship with a fellow British singer Penelope. Jessica tried not to feel torn about it as she lay on David’s shoulder, inhaling his sweet smell and running her fingers through his curly black hair. And then her mom called, a sense of urgency ringing in her voice.

                “Jessica, dad’s been taken to the hospital.”

                David held Jessica’s hand tight as he pulled her into his BMW and raced off to the local hospital, just to see her whimper at her father, who was laced in and attached to wires trailing from his nose to his feet. Blood tubes were everywhere, needles were injected, and the cloth was finally pulled over his face, signaling a death well fought against.

                Jessica wasn’t strong enough to give the eulogy that day. She stood up at the pulpit, a final squeeze from David still warming her hand. And she looked out at the crowd of people who were sitting there, tears in their eyes. And she looked at the black casket that was adorned with red roses and white carnations.

                But one more bouquet was added, a redder, bloodier one that was definitely brought by a man named Zayn. A man that was sitting in the back in the last row, wearing his black suit and black tie. A man whose hair was matted down, eyes as depressed as her own.

                She didn’t feel anything. She ran into David’s arms, thankful for the hug that he could give her. She saw Zayn make eye contact with her and retreat to his black SUV, which drove him to the graveyard and back to the airport, where he was due for the South American tour.

                David handed her a small piece of paper. “Niall told me. I’m sorry.” It was scribbled obviously by Zayn.

                No I love you, no if you need anything. No nothing.

                Mere formality.

                Jessica escaped Zayn as well as she could, running away from their posters that were adorning teen magazines and t-shirts. She succeeded, resorting to what she knew best: family and friends and education.

                She didn’t need anything else.

                Molly was still there but she was hurt by Jessica’s decision to date David seriously. Jessica was with David for a year and almost a half, but Molly could see that Jessica was only trying to love David the way that she had once loved Zayn. Molly wasn’t necessarily trying to get Zessica back together… but she was hoping for the day that they’d realize how much they needed each other in each other’s lives.

                Because they did. Even though they were better off without each other…they really needed the heart, the soul, and the being that was once a part of their relationship.

                Even if it took time, they needed it back. Desperately. 

hello loves!

i’ve missed talking to you guys SO much! i’m still getting back to business after this power outage, but i WILL get back to all these messages! feel free to send me more, i LOVE talking to all of you!

love you all lots! :)

jess

Chapter 46.

  The next couple of weeks were confused and suffocated. After my collapse, Molly and Niall had succeeded in helping my teary body off the floor, while Harry, followed by a concerned Louis, chased down Zayn. Liam paced quietly in the living room, calling Danielle and occasionally checking in on the boys.

                My brain refused to think, to process emotions, that night. Niall had expertly lifted me off the floor and I had put my head on his shoulder, inhaling his sweet young smell, wetting his shoulder with my tears. Molly had her hand on my head, her fingers combing through my hair, quietly hushing me and promising me that everything would be okay.

                But you see, that was the problem. Everything would not be okay. Zayn had been my connection to the boys, to these friends, for the past four months. He was everything that I had ever wanted in life, from a boy. He was the most beautiful thing that had happened to me. He had latched himself on my heart, fueled my emotions, taught me how to give of myself freely and completely – and now he had just ripped me to shreds, burned the remnants, and told me to move on.

                And I couldn’t do that.

                I couldn’t give up what I had been living for. Every breath I had taken had some importance to Zayn. Now every tear I shed…those would also be important, those were for Zayn.

                Because that is what happens when you give someone your all. When you dream of love and hit the jackpot. When expectations are met and then destroyed.

                He couldn’t do this to me.

                I muttered that over and over again as I sat on the bed, in our hotel, my eyes focused outside on the window on the waves crashing against the shore, foam lightly dotting the distance. My eyes slowly moved up onto the black night sky, white stars sparkling and glistening. And just one glinted a bit more than the others.

                “When you wish upon a star…” I sang quietly, my lips quivering as the tears stuck themselves to my cheek. My hands pulled at the warm pajamas I had slumped into, tears completely bleared my vision.

                “Makes no difference who you are…” My heart was in the song. My dream was in that song. Who I was… that was in the song. My voice was shaking, raspy and scratchy.

                “Anything your heart desires will come to you.” Molly finished, her own voice sad and wobbly, a warm cup of tea in her hands.

                She sat her tiny body across from me on the bed, her legs criss cross applesauce and her mermaid hair tips tickling the top of her legs. She was effing perfect, draped in flawlessness, a gorgeous boyfriend by her side… and here I was, completely messed up and hopeless, depressed and alone.

                We just sat there looking at each other, her face filled with pity and sadness for me, a small white hand on my knee trying to calm my emotions.

                “I bought you some tea, but I know we’re both coffee girls…Liam insisted on it,” she said in a low whisper, putting the mug on the side table.

                My eyes were averted from Molly’s concerned gaze; I was still humming the tune, low, so that she couldn’t hear me.

                “Jess,” she said.

                Sobs completely took over my body and I dissolved in a pile of tears, my body convulsing under emotions and my lips trying to form sentences, but blocking the passage of words.

                “You know, Jess, sometimes it takes a while for dreams to become a reality.”

                Another wave of emotion took over my body as I held my fist in my mouth and bit down, trying to stop the shivers that were rolling all over my skin. Tears had wet my face to the point that tissues were futile, sad reminders at what could have been stopped a long while back.

                “And sometimes, they are reality. Sometimes you dream a dream so big it becomes your life. Then you have to say goodbye to it, and that hurts,” she continued.

                I stared at her blankly, a few tears still welled up in my eyes. My face was beginning to dry out, the mask of tears starting to set in.

                “Yeah, I know, I’m not good with these sermons, because honest to fucking goodness, I wouldn’t even know what I’d do if I was in this situation.” She dipped her head back and looked at me. “I’m gonna try Disney instead.”

                A smile crept up on my face; this was gonna be a great show.

                “So Wendy and Peter Pan. Well, you know…I’ve wanted to tell you this; remember when you told me you were staying on Bloomsbury Avenue in London for study abroad? Well funny story, that’s where Wendy and the boys lived… but anyway, what did Wendy do?”

                My face was blank. “She went to Neverland?”

                “No, Jessica…well yes, okay fine, but she dreamed. And didn’t her dream come true?”

                I laughed.

                “Shut up Jessica, I’m trying to make this as genuine as possible.” Molly was lost in her Disney world, and I felt like the wrong person to cut her out of it.

                “Jessica, Peter never grew up. I don’t want you to act like you have to grow up from this experience. Zayn’s always gonna be there, just like Peter always was. Don’t be Wendy and grow up and stop believing. And you know, you might have a couple stumbles along the way, but it’s gonna be like Eric and Ariel. Ariel never stopped loving Eric, even though she lost her voice and was convinced she’d never be with him. She always knew he’d be there for her, and she fought, she fought like hell.”

                “Molly. Life isn’t a fairytale. Zayn just broke up with me.” Okay, I had to cut her out of this. She was getting a bit too delusional for my taste.

                “Yeah, well it doesn’t mean that life can’t be a fairytale. Jessica, we’re all entitled to our own dreams and wants, and for you, for me, that’s gonna be falling in love with our prince, being taken away like a princess…”

                “Yeah, but what I’m saying is that it obviously isn’t realistic…”

                “Well you need to shut your realistic ass self up,” she said, irritably.

                My face lowered a bit as sadness once again took over my body.

                “Aw, Jess, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Just, I don’t know. Don’t stop hoping. The kid loves the heck out of you. Aladdin for example” – I let out an annoyed sigh – “he loved Jasmine and he did the whole Prince Ahmed bit…and you know what, Jess, why don’t we just get a whole crap ton of Disney movies and sit her and watch them all night long?”

                I launched myself onto her, hugging every bit and letting out a couple sobs in between.

                Niall ran out that night and grabbed as many DVD’s as he could scrounge up, and we spent all night and morning stalking the internet and giggling over Captain Hook, Smee, Sebastian and the Genie. By the next day, I didn’t even realize that Zayn was gone. That I hadn’t seen him since the hallway incident. And honestly, I didn’t really care where he was.

                My final days in Los Angeles were spent with the boys, excluding Zayn, but I made a greater effort to go outside by myself and enjoy the beach and what it had to offer without them. Molly had kept tabs on Tumblr, Twitter and other websites, updating me on whether it was safe for me to go out and chill like I had originally wanted to. For the two days following the split, there was no way I could go out without being attacked by four or five paparazzi who wanted to be the first to report me and Zayn’s former secret relationship. They would be the first to tell the world that we had been together against management rules, for about a month, and had called it quits right before the boys were to announce their American tour.

                My teary, messy face had graced the pages of British teen tabloids the day after the breakup. One Direction Member Breaks Up with Secret Girlfriend, One More Single Lad in One Direction, American Girl Stole Heart of British Heartthrob.

                Honestly, who even had the time to write these things and worry about me? Really? Wow.

                Then my Twitter blew up with teenage girls who had found out everything about me – the fact that I was graduating from a top ranked US University on full scholarship, that I had studied abroad, that I was majoring in biomedical engineering. That I was planning to graduate early at the age of 20.

                How they figured all that information out within 8 hours of the breakup is beyond me.

                Molly had taken my cell phone and internet access so to prevent me from reading up on disgusting magazine articles that were thankful for our split, from reading twitlongers that talked about how Zayn deserved someone better than me, from seeing my teary face on Tumblr, dressed up with a stethoscope and a graduation cap.

                A lot of the messages were kind and sympathetic, sorry that Zayn had left me and trying to help me get through this massive funk I was in. But at the same time, there were really nasty and hurtful messages from “fans” who were happy to see Zayn single and with people who deserved his love. As if I was a piece of trash that really didn’t deserve to be loved at all. Like I could survive without love, like I totally didn’t need it. They’d talk about my lack of fun, crazy behavior; they’d rustled up some pictures of me from high school, found my Facebook, and had begun the hate as soon as they possibly could have.

                Like I said, Molly had done a good job of taking them away from me and pushing me out of the apartment when it was safe to do so. If I sat there all day looking at those messages, I wouldn’t be able to begin my “moving on”, which Molly and Niall themselves had suggested.

                Niall’s reasoning behind moving on and hitting the playing field again was to incite jealousy.

                “He’ll realize what he’s missing out on,” he told me, shrugging. “You’re amazing. He’s not gonna find someone like you.”

                Molly and I hit the actual beach when the boys were doing interviews during the day. We pulled out the bikinis and strutted down the boardwalk, towels slung on our shoulders, our shorts dipping on our hips and our dark sunglasses adding sexiness.

                I felt much more confident. Reading some of the messages and hate mail, I realized that I did have to move on. And not to incite jealousy, but to just move on. To realize that life gives us so many opportunities and it’s just not worth sitting on one horrible screw up and pass up all the awesome chances that come our way. If you sit here all day and wonder what you did wrong, you won’t have the chance to go out and do something right.

                The new confidence brought out a person of risk and adventure within me. Molly and I went parasailing, though I was almost so scared I shit my pants, and we would spend a couple hours each day chatting up volleyball playing shirtless guys on the beach. My wardrobe had gained variety after a successful conversation with a tanned, fit, brown haired, blue-gray eyed, engineering major at a local University. Molly would sometimes hang back and chat with Niall via iPhone texts, or grab her own beach chair and lounge in the sand, while I would play some volleyball and eventually grab a smoothie with Patrick. Bikinis changed colors, shorts got shorter, my tan got darker and my hair got more and more fried, but good ole Molly never left my side. Because she could understand how broken and hurt I was on the inside. She wouldn’t leave me to my own demons. Never.

                Patrick hadn’t bought up the idea of wanting a girlfriend which made me feel much better about what I was doing; he wasn’t going to be my rebound and that’s just that. I didn’t need a rebound. Fine, maybe I did, but I was going to initiate the process.

                He clearly didn’t have a girlfriend, because his hands would somehow venture to my back pockets just the way Zayn’s used to. He would clear the hair from my face with his big hands that were quite similar to Zayn’s. His eyes made me lose myself just the way Zayn’s used to. And the way his body was toned and perfect…he was everything that I had wanted.

                But at the same time he wasn’t.

                He didn’t understand me the way that Zayn used to. He didn’t know what I was thinking or feeling, something that Molly had also noticed when he and his friends had taken us out for drinks one evening.

                But then he’d ask me questions about myself; he wanted to take the time to get to know me and who I was. He wouldn’t listen, but he’d try to keep the conversation going. The night before my flight back to DC, he took me out to dinner and we stayed for fireworks on the beach, his hand enclosed around mine for the first time. The hand-holding…that was the one privilege I had promised Zayn. Now it was given to Patrick.

                And we sat there. On the ledge, our feet dipping into the sand. We talked and we talked and we talked. We talked until the morning.

                My mouth was moving and words were coming out but my heart was crying out to Zayn. It remembered the two times we had come here, the way that they were both so different.

                Patrick finally gave me his number the next morning when Molly and I had gone for a morning run on the boardwalk.

                “How did you not have his number this whole time, Jess?” Molly had hissed at me, a bit of confusion in her voice.

                “We weren’t… I… not that interested Molly. I didn’t need his number,” I replied, wrinkling the piece of paper and shoving it in my back pocket.

                “What, do you not bang and tell?” She smirked as we rolled our suitcases out of the hotel room and into the van that was taking us to the airport.

                “Molly, I didn’t bang him. I didn’t even kiss him. I don’t know what that was. It was weird.” I was nodding my head and dying to get my hands back on my Blackberry.

                “Well do you like him?” she asked, taking a swig of her water bottle. Molly had achieved a beautiful tan, something she was very thankful for.

                “I don’t know,” I said, playing with my hair, trying to get it to sit in a bun on the top of my head.

                “I mean, I figured with all the bikini flaunting and hand searching, you had a thing for him,” she said, looking at me with her blue eyes.

                I stared back at her.

                “Plus the kid was interested in you. And yum, he was so hot,” she continued. “I don’t know, Jess, he seriously had a thing for you. And so did most of his friends, just in case you don’t like Patrick…”

                “Molly I can’t move on this fast. It’s been a freaking week. I’m not a slut.”

                “I’m not saying you are. But this guy has the hots for you. Go for it. Zayn…it’s gonna take him a while to come back.” She shrugged and looked out of her window as we merged onto the fast pasted freeway.

                Everything about me was confused. Patrick was a fun guy to be around. He was great. He listened. He talked. He didn’t want anything physical (yet, I felt that it was time before he’d ask to make out, good I left before that). But Zayn…I thought he was coming back. One part of my heart tugged onto Zayn, telling me to just wait it out and see what would happen. Maybe he’d come crawling back, his hands clutching a bouquet of roses and another black velvet box with the diamond bracelet. The other part of me was telling to move the hell on, to take another chance, and even if it does mean entrusting another with your delicate heart…do it. Because you can’t expect the one who broke your heart to fix it afterwards. 

new chapter!

you guys ready? ;)

Chapter 45.

                The waves beat the shore even louder than they did before, the wind attacking my face with such sudden force. The air felt colder, the sand harder than it was earlier that night.

                “You’re breaking up with me.” My voice was steady and set. There was no emotion behind it; no sadness, no devastation, no heartbrokenness.

                The wind lashed at my face with cruelty.

                “Jessica –“

                “Don’t even give me that right now Zayn.” I stood up and looked down on him. “I thought that we’d give this a fighting chance, but now I know it wasn’t even worth it because you’re gonna break up with me just because someone told you to.” Anger was racing through my veins faster than the sand slipping through my fingers.

                “Wait, Jessica,” Zayn said, grabbing my wrist.

                “No, Zayn,” I said angrily, ripping off his bracelet along with his hand. I opened his hand and deposited the glinting diamond bracelet into it. “You can give it back to me when you’re ready to man up and figure out what you want in life. Or you know what?”, I added, closing his fingers around the bracelet, “You can just keep it.”

                My feet stomped through the cold sand fast and hard, tears involuntarily coming down my angry face.

                “Jessica, stop!” Zayn called after me. He made it to my side in a matter of seconds. “Hear me out.”

                I can’t believe this, I thought, pushing him off of me and walking toward the hotel.      

                “No, Jessica –“ he continued.

                “Shut up Zayn!” I yelled, gritting my teeth and slapping at the tears on my face. “Just go away.”

                “Listen to me, Jessica,” he said, latching onto one of my hands and pulling me to him. I resisted, but he was too strong for me; he grabbed the other hand and held me there, writhing against his strong arms.

                “Let… me…go,” I muttered, tears wetting my face and my teeth chattering in the cold. My knees were beginning to buckle under me; I knelt in the sand, my hands in my lap, tears coming down strong and hard.

                “No.” He sat down in the sand across from me.  “I don’t know how to say this –“

                “Zayn,” I said, my eyes on my hands. “Zayn, please don’t do this to me. Please no.” I was begging. Pleading. Asking for a second chance.

                “Jessica, I don’t want to do this,” Zayn said to me, his eyes droopy and depressed. He was holding back his own tears.

                “Well you’re doing it now.” I whimpered, staring him straight in the brown hazel flecks of his eyes.

                “I couldn’t do anything –“ He said it almost indifferently, which drove me over the edge.

                “Huh, well forgive me, I can’t seem to believe that,” I laughed, shaking his hands off of mine. “You had the opportunity to stand up for me and say that I was your girlfriend, that you weren’t going to leave me behind. You had that chance, Zayn.” My tone was developing into anger and irritation.

                “No, I didn’t,” he said, dejectedly. “I would’ve done whatever I needed to keep you. To save you Jess, I love you, you know that.”

                “Oh, don’t lie, Zayn.”

                “I’m not lying, Jessica…” A crystal tear rolled down his cheek.

                “Oh no? Well what about Liam? And Louis?”

                “Louis broke up with Eleanor as per management rules.”

                “And Liam?” I jabbed.

                Zayn just looked at me and then at the sand covered concrete, mumbling, “They’re still together secretly.”

                “Ah, I figured. And why can’t we be together? How is it that Liam can keep his relationship with Danielle, but we can’t stay together?” My eyes kept trying to find Zayn’s, which were avoiding mine as well as they could.

                Zayn stayed silent before he looked up again. “Jessica, I’m not Liam.” He shrugged and dug his feet into the sand.

                “I’m not saying you are. I’m just asking for what I deserve. It’s not a lot. Liam did it for his girlfriend and I thought you could do it for me.” My voice was starting to falter; I was losing my anger and irritation.

                He dropped his head and turned totally away from me, his eyes directed toward the unforgiving ocean.

                “Zayn,” I whispered.  “After everything. After the farewell. After the dinner. After the bracelet.” I rubbed my wrist gently, remembering its once cold presence on my skin. “After I promised to make this relationship the most important thing in my life.” My throat was getting sore, and my voice was beginning to break. “Zayn, you’re the one person that makes me want to wake up in the morning. I wait for your phone calls like my life depends on it. I read your emails over and over again just to know that you sat and wrote to me.”  I stopped. “Zayn don’t do this to me.”

                At this he turned around and looked me in the eyes, his own wet with tears and desperation. “Jessica, I’m not strong enough. I love you so much,” he said, bringing his fingers up to my face. I moved my head away, but his eyes lingered on me. “But I can’t do what Liam’s doing and I know – I know – I’m a horrible boyfriend. And I do want to spend my life with you. But with…but with everything…but with this job, with the world, with everything changing,” he put his hand in mine, but I wrenched mine away. “Jessica, don’t do this to me.” He was starting to blubber.

                I stared at him, almost forcing him to keep explaining to the point where I determined his excuses justifiable. At this point, anything and everything he said was not a valid excuse for a breakup.

                “Jessica, life’s so different. I want to keep you, trust me, I do. But you couldn’t even handle the long distance relationship –“

                “Wait, what?” I angrily interrupted. “I couldn’t handle the long distance? I couldn’t? Oh, so you could?”

                “No, I didn’t mean that – “

                “I’m sure you didn’t miss my kisses or my hugs or anything, right? And everything that happened last night, yeah, you didn’t miss that, right?” I was furious.

                “Jessica, I take that back.” He stood up to level his eyes with mine; I had suddenly gotten up without even knowing it. “But how realistic…like how could we keep this relationship secret? We both need each other too much. And you’re not gonna come on tour with me and I can’t always stop by and…think realistically, Jess!”

                My heart was pounding in my chest. “I’m sorry that you can’t trust me in this relationship and that you feel the need to take all the decisions without asking me. If you’d even asked me –“

                “Jessica, I didn’t need to ask you to see that this isn’t going to happen! Jessica I’m the weakest boyfriend in the world, I know that, I’ve accepted it; you don’t have to tell me. But what I know, I definitely know this: I’d rather be without you than have to cry out for your presence every hour of every day.”

                The wind whistled through the palm trees and the waves quieted against the shore.

                “Okay then Zayn. I’d rather be without you too.” My heart had been cracked and destroyed; there wasn’t any more hope for this relationship.

                “Wait, I didn’t mean that Jessica, please, Jessica stop,” I heard Zayn cry out, his voice broken with tears. My throat was swollen, tears were pouring down my face.

                “Jessica, I love you, don’t take that the wrong way, but it’s not right now, we have to take a break, I know, but Jessica, I love you, don’t do this, we’ll just… we’ll figure it out, Jessica!” Zayn was rambling, following in my tracks, pleading for me to come back to him. And as much as my heart wanted to stop and go back for him, I knew it wasn’t worth it.

                My legs burst into a run as I pushed through previously unseen photographers and paparazzi. I shoved through people on the boardwalk who were eating ice cream and singing songs. Tears were barreling down my face and my vision was blurred. I didn’t know where I was going; I saw the sign on a hotel that said Hotel Erwin and pushed the doors, somehow making it up to our suite.

                Zayn was hot on my heels, still yelling at me to stop and think again. I collapsed under the same window that we had made out at the night before. There was no way I was walking in on Molly and the boys. I didn’t have the guts for that.

                “Jessica, give me another chance.”

                I shook my head, my body completely paralyzed by sobs. “I gave it my best chance. It’s too late for you to have yours.”

                He groaned and slammed his hand on the wall.

                The door opened to our suite, and out came Harry and Louis, both of them stunned to see me on the floor and Zayn angrily stomping off to the elevators.

ZAYN’S POV

                “Paparazzi caught you last night. Do you know that girl?” Our manager had asked me to stay back in the studio for a conversation, while the boys were already heading off to Molly’s and Jessica’s for dinner and a party. I just wanted to hug her, kiss her lips, and feel her hair curl on my fingers. I could smell her peach and pear fragrance and her coconut shampoo. I didn’t want to talk to this old, wrinkly manager; I wanted to get the hell out of here.

                “Mr. Malik, I asked you a question.”

                The idiot had to cut me out of this wonderful daydream. “I do know her.”

                “Have you known her? I find it hard to believe that you’ve scored a girl already, we’ve been in the city for only two days…and I’ve only let you out during night,” the manager continued, his snakelike eyes trying to unravel my own secrets.

                I kept silent, leaning back in my seat and poking around on my iPhone.

                “Mr. Malik. I asked you a –“

                “Yes, I know you asked a damn question, I know what you asked me thank you.” I responded irritably. He obviously didn’t understand that I didn’t want to answer the question.

                “I don’t appreciate your stubbornness…”

                “Well I don’t care.” Jessica was going to be mine no matter what. But I didn’t have the guts to tell him that. This plan seemed fair enough: ignoring, acting like a smartass…yes, I’d played this game before and it had worked.

                It was silent for a few seconds before the manager continued saying, “Mr. Malik, I hold your future in my hands. Don’t make me ruin it for you.”

                I continued to ignore him.

                “You can play this game however you’d like, but you need to break up with her before you make your first appearance at a radio station. That’s in two days. If you don’t…well there are only four members of One Direction and one had to drop out because he wanted excess fame that we couldn’t grant him.” He twirled his pen with his fingers. “We can make the excuse even flashier, we can work it whichever angle we want it.”

                My heart dropped. Regardless of what I had thought earlier, this was my dream. I couldn’t say goodbye to it. “You can’t do that…”

                “Yes, I can, and I will. Do you want this dream or not?”

                I looked him straight in his green, snake eyes.

                “I take that as a yes. Say goodbye to her and I promise everything will be okay. You’ll probably have more fun without her anyway.” He folded some papers and stuck them in an envelope, stamping the flap closed.

                If you play her, that’ll be the worst, most pathetic… I had to tell her tonight. No matter what.

                Liam had been disappointed in my decision. They had left earlier than me in their own van, but Liam had left me texts telling me to rethink it, to give our relationship a chance, to take a risk if she meant that much to me.

                And she did. She meant the world to me. But I couldn’t stand up for her, and if I couldn’t just be a good boyfriend, then what would happen after we are overseas, travelling, on tour? I couldn’t just take her through everything and give her false hopes; I wasn’t sure if I could give her what she deserved.

                Then to think that I had actually planned out the whole speech in the van. Or at least what I had wanted to say to her.

                “Jessica. You mean the world to me. But right now, I’m not strong enough to stand up for you. And one day I will be. I just don’t want to drag you through everything and not give you the attention someone as beautiful as you deserves. I will always love you, but right now, everything is going to be different. I’ll be torn without you, when we’re overseas I’ll just want to touch you, to kiss you, to love you, to make you smile…and when you aren’t there, I’ll feel completely alone. Right now, I’d just like if we’d take a break. This doesn’t mean I don’t love you – it just means we need some time away.”

                Then of course it didn’t go that way.

                Damn it to hell and back, I thought as I pushed through hideous paparazzi that were apparently lurking behind our palm tree.

                “Jessica, I didn’t mean it that way!” There was no way I could get through this mess or clean it up. It was so screwed up, a miracle would be required to fix it.

                As I ran up the stairs and through the hallway, I thought about how horrible I must have made her felt. How I broke her heart so cruelly, how I forgot to think about how she’d feel after everything I had said.

                Her little tiny figure was wobbling down the hallway, where she collapsed under the window, tears shaking her body and curly hair flowing down her face. How she could manage to look so beautiful despite the situation…she was amazing.

                Then I opened my mouth and said something about having another chance.

                Then she said something about it being to too late for me to have my second chance.

                Shit why did I have to screw this up? I said, slamming my hand on the wall as hard as I could. My palm was beet red, but it didn’t even begin to describe the emotion I was feeling rushing through me.

                The door creaked open and out came Louis and Harry. But of course they would. They were the last people I’d ever want to see.

                Well they could see my angry body stomping off to the elevators. Cause I didn’t want to talk to their high and mighty selves. 

chapter 45 is ready!

i’m not a fan of it. at all. probably my worst writing ever.

maybe…i’ll….post…

just warning all of you,

there is some drama in the next chapter.

brace yourselves.