We Were Just Best Friends

Zayn's just broken up with Perrie. He's heartbroken... and wasted. There's a lovely lady standing on the corner, beckoning him over. He can't do it though.
Harry could however....
Zayn and Kate become really close, talking almost everyday, even when Zayn's on tour.
he surprises her by not telling when he is back in town. Harry though cannot wait.

btw: i have nothing against Perrie and Zayn :) Or Harry for that matter.


18. A few moons Later

Kate's pov


“Kate?" I was daydreaming again in my routine therapy session. I jerked my head back to attention.

"Yeah?" My voice was dull, and nasally.

"Darling. We've been talking for about a month now. I really am beginning to see the deeper you." Her words were spoken with that sickly sweet tone of sympathy. But I could tell she meant it, it was one of the reasons I'd stayed with her so long. "So, only if you feel comfortable telling me, I'd really like to know about your assault."

I was ready. I needed it out of my system. It could only help . I gulped, clearing my throat.

"I...I had this friend back in London." I began quietly, not sure about the answer. "His name was Zayn." My therapist, bless her, was middle aged and very motherly. She nodded politely and I realized she had no idea who he was to the world. "Right, so we were really good friends and all."

"Did you ever feel anything more for him, a slight bit of attraction?" Her voice was gentle like she understood what was going on.

I shook my head vehemently. "Never. We were just close. Well Zayn left...for a while. Like we had stayed close through it all, talking a few nights a week."

I watched on as the women scribbled something down. "How long was Zayn away?"

"Four months and a few weeks."

"Okay. Please continue."

"He came back from his trip with his friends and I didn't know; he never called me. Which was unusual because, like I 'said we are - we were," I caught  myself, "such good friends. My friend had her birthday at a club downtown and I went."

My throat seemed to close, prohibiting me to tell of what happened next. She stopped writing for moment, but didn't look up: I knew she was trying to give me time. “One of Zayn’s friends were there... only I didn’t know it at the time. I was waiting for a cab. And he came up to me...” My therapist reached her arm out, coming to rest her fingertips on my knee.

“Go on Kate. I know you can do it. Just one more time. Then you’ll be done.”  I tried to smile convincingly, like I was put together.  “It was all so quick, he just kinda pushed me up against the wall, then moved me down....” It’s so different describing it. She stopped writing again, and gave me a hug. Warm and loving, she smelled of homemade food, comforting.

“I’m just going to go...” I mumbled and collected my coat.


Zayn’s contact was was still my emergency contact. It was bright red, sticking out importantly, amongst the black scrolls of other contacts, most of which I’d left behind in London.  Frequently I just opened his contact, looking at his number, losing its familiarity. His contact was blank: Security purposes incase I ever lost my phone, and because I knew if I looked at his laughing face, I’d lose it, and call.

‘Call me.’

‘I’d rather not Zayn, you see your best friend raped me.’ Huh, it really was easier to think about it now, at least vaguely. ‘Now I find him only slightly uncomfortable to be around. I wasn’t going to tell you, but because I’m feeling like crap and probably have the worst flu of my life, I figured I’d call. Have a nice day.’ How wonderful was sarcasm, really.

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