Like I Love You: A Zayn Malik Romance

Trinity Ross has always been a fan of One Direction. Not a superfan, but a fan. And she gets the chance to meet them--on accident. Bumping into Zayn Malik on her journey to fame has been the best thing that's ever happened to her. But complications due to fame have risen. Will they stick it out? Or will everything come crumbling down?

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16. From Great to Horrible

 

"Hey, London, how you guys doing tonight?"

Massive screams.

"You guys ready for the best show of your life?"

Some people were crying. I smiled out at them.

"Okay, well, tonight's gonna be something different. Braedyn?" I turned to face the backstage entrance, where Braedyn--my assistant--came out, black outfit, clip-on microphone and all, with a stool. She set it down in front of me, then gave both me and the audience a wave and smile. "Thanks," I told her.

I settled myself down on the stool and placed my guitar in its proper position. I quietly played random notes for a second before putting my hand on all six strings, stopping the sound. I whipped my hair out of my face and looked at the crowd again.

"So, before we start, I wanna tell you guys a story," I began. I heard a question from a random girl in the front row, and I smiled at her as I replied with my lips pressed to the microphone, "And no, it is not about Zayn." There was laughter among the crowd.

I looked back up so that I could see them all--at least up to the spotlights.

"Actually, it, uh . . . it's about an ex-boyfriend of mine." 

There were so many people screaming after I said that. Well, I did say it was going to be different, did I not?

"You see, before I met Zayn, before I made an appointment with my manager, before all of this," I added, swiping my hand across the stage beside me; I then used it to adjust the microphone, "I had been working on this song that I, um, that I wrote about one of my previous relationships." There was another question, and I answered, "Two." 

"Uh, so there was this song," I continued. "And . . . and I think it's pretty awesome, I don't know, you guys might not. But, uh-hum," I laughed. "I--I like it. It's acoustic, though, so. But trust me, it'll sound way better when I record it officially." I put my fingers on the strings, then thought of something. "It's perfect for the holidays, too," I said with a slight smirk. I leaned back again and whipped my hair once more out of my face before starting on the song.

 

 

"Told me I was lucky

To have my chance with you

Now last year's summer romance

Is this year's winter blues

I treated you so nicely

To jewelry and champagne

But you left me empty-handed, yeah

You left me feeling play-ay-ayed . . .

Now I hope you're happy with yourself

Cause I'm not laughing

Don't you think it's 

Kind of crappy what you did this

Holiday

When I gave you my heart

You ripped it apart like

Wrapping paper trash

So I wrote you a song

Hope that you sing along

And it goes, 'Merry Christmas,

Kiss my ass!'"

 

 

I winked at the camera hovering far above me as I heard the audience's laughter.

 

 

"You say I'm losing my mind

I thought that for a while

I tear down decorations, they

Remind me of your smile

I hate that mistletoe, it makes me

Think of our first kiss

You bit my lip

You pulled me close

And then you taught me how to quit

Now I hope you're happy with yourself 

Cause I'm not laughing

Don't you think it's 

Kind of crappy what you did this

Holiday

When I gave you my heart

You ripped it apart like

Wrapping paper trash

So I wrote you a song

Hope that you sing along

And it goes, 'Merry Christmas,

Kiss my--

So sick of calling

You won't telephone me

No, fuck you, boy, I'm going out

I gave you my all,

But our love hit a wall, now

I'm jingle belling

And everyone's yelling

We'll drink till the bars shut us down

Ain't that just what Christmas is all about?

And I hope you're happy with yourself

Cause I'm not laughing

Don't you think it's 

So damn trashy what you did this

Holiday

I gave you my heart

You ripped it apart like

The wrapping paper trash

So I wrote you a song

Hope that you sing along

Here it goes:

Merry Christmas,

Bitch!

Kiss my ass!"

 

 

I stopped strumming, then laughed along with the audience. They cheered so loud for me. I couldn't stop smiling throughout the whole song. I was tempted to flick off the cameras, but I had an image, especially for the little kids.

Well, that song . . . just a one-time thing, yeah? Definitely.

"Sorry, guys," I laughed. "Just letting you know what I'm feeling. The ex-boyfriend is bothering me now, and I don't like it. Especially not with Zayn."

Collective 'Awww' and I'm blushing.

"So," I said, standing up and handing my guitar to Braedyn, who conveniently showed up just then. "On a brighter note--"

"I don't think you can get brighter than that," a brunette fan called from front row as she held up her camera.

I laughed again. I loved my fans.

"On a brighter note," I continued, "let's get this concert started! Or, the beginning, since I'm only the opening act."

Not for long, my brain told me.

I sniffled, ignoring it. I started my second song of the thirty-minute set.

"There's still a little bit of your taste, in my mouth . . ."

 

 

I watched as he paced around the room, checking everything out--the guitars, microphones, basically all stage stuff. My arms were crossed, and my eyes watched his every move.

"So," he said cheerfully. "How's the fast life?"

I nearly choked on my spit; he starts with this question? Not even a hello?

"Um . . . great, I guess--"

"You guess," he nodded, still not looking at me as he picked up a mug, leaning away from it a bit. "Funny, if I was in your shoes, I'd--"

"I don't want to know what you'd do," I interrupted grimly.

Finally, he looked at me--his grey eyes pierced right through mine. I could fully see his face now--over the past few months, he hadn't changed one bit. Same brown hair, same lip piercing, same everything. Ugh.

After all this time, he decides to show up. After all he'd done. I was sick; sick of him, sick of his family, sick of everything having to do with him. He thinks he can just walk back into my life like nothing ever happened?

He smiled. "What's wrong, Tree?"

I seethed, my arms dropping to my sides and my fingers curling slightly to resemble claws. 

"Don't call me that," I said through clenched teeth.

"Why?" he asked playfully. "Am I not allowed to?"

"You have no right," I snapped, leaning forward slightly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Well, tell me who does, then. Is it your mom? Your sister? Your pathetic excuse for a boy--"

"You have no right because you're not a part of this family anymore!" I yelled, leaning even more for emphasis.

"I'm your cousin!" he yelled back.

"That's no excuse! You walked out of this family, did you really think I was just going to welcome you back like nothing ever happened, pretend everything you did is nonexistant? You were my cousin, you're not anymore because I don't consider you to be after all you've done. You think it's okay to just leave your family behind when they were struggling because you wanted to live the big life? I didn't, and that's why I'm here and not you."

"What do you know?! This music you're making, it has no meaning, no soul, nothing! It's all, oh, look at me, I'm the happiest person in the world, but you know what, Trinity? Not everybody wants to hear that lovey-dovey crap. You pretend you're on cloud nine, but I know what you're really like. And for the record, I did make it big-time. How the hell else would I afford to get here on my own?"

I laughed bitterly. "I don't know, maybe you stole it. You seem to do a lot of that lately," I added venomously.

"I wouldn't have to steal if you'd've just given me the chance to--"

"Get the hell out," I spat.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at me with wide eyes. "W-what?"

"You heard me," I repeated louder. "Get out of my arena and don't you dare come back or I'll have security force you out."

He laughed menacingly. "Typical you."

I didn't answer; I knew that if I did, he'd never go away.

"Fine," he said, beginning to turn on his heel. "But know this: when everything comes crashing down on your pretty little head, the only person to blame is yourself."

And with that, he walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Fucking lunatic psycho, I thought, shaking my head and opening my eyes.

But I still couldn't believe what he said.

I know what you're really like.

He knew; of course he knew. He was always there--before he walked out, of course. One of his reasons for leaving was the same for my dilemmas.

One night in particular. January 24th. It was warm in the house, but freezing outside--it was winter and snow, after all. I could never forget that night.

It was just a few weeks before he'd walked out on us. I was home alone, the rest of the family out to dinner with some neighbors. They--the neighbors--had offered to pay, and because our family had no money, we'd gladly accepted. 

I didn't want to be a bother to the neighbors--with me, there'd be an even higher bill--so I told them to go without me, that I'd be fine. My sister saw that something was bothering me, but, being the good sister she was, she kept quiet about it. I was still grateful to her for that.

That week had not been well for me; my first boyfriend had broken up with me, my dog had died, and my parents weren't getting along very well. And to top it all off, we were broke and losing everything we had.

Quite some time after they'd left, I found myself sat in front of my bed, on the floor, feeling extremely numb. There were tissues all around me, some of them blood-stained, some only bearing makeup. The makeup from my face, the makeup from my arms.

I was just about to apply pressure to my wrist with the industrial razor I'd found in my parents' room when my door burst open.

"Trinity, are you--oh my God."

I didn't feel the wetness of my face. I didn't feel myself being shaken violently, I didn't feel the razor being ripped from my grasp. All I felt was nothing. Not even my own breathing.

The voices inside my head sounded like they were coming from the far end of a tunnel, travelling back and forth through my mind. At different intervals, they got louder and softer, until they faded altogether.

The next thing I knew, I was on a hospital bed in an empty room.

To this day, I still was not sure how I'd convinced my parents not to send me to therapy. I was never left alone, though, until I showed enough improvement to my parents. 

And then I met Zayn.

He'd literally saved my life. Because, though my parents thought I was fine, I really wasn't. Somehow, Zayn had completely erased all thoughts of self-harm or suicide. I wasn't quite sure how, or why, but I owed him my life. I felt as though nothing I could ever give him would ever be enough.

He's more than anything I ever imagined I deserved.

And I love him.

 

 

 

 

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hey guys <3

i may have said wait one week but honestly i couldn't resist uploading for you <3 you seriously do not know how much your reads mean to me, like legit.

Happy Halloween, bitches!! <3

Love you, stay sexy, and give a hobo a shoe. xx

 

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