Wildest Dreams | z.m, t.s

It's funny how a love affair can turn into a song

Songfic, based on the song Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift.
I do not own most of the characters in the book, they are real people.
Book is entered into the competition 'Fanfic Royale'
Cover was created by me, using the website called 'Picmonkey'

Copyright ⒸKevin_et_moi™2015


5. [5]


  I remember vividly, 400 km away from Justin's apartment, stood a small yet luxurious town. Not many people knew about it except of course, the billionaires, or even if they did know about it, no ordinary person has ever visited the place because they would get bankrupt in less than an hour.

   That is exactly where Zayn took me.

   It was nice I guess, a four hour drive and various flirting moments throughout the whole trip and we were there. A huge hotel stood in the center of the town. Various mini shops of Gucci and Dior brands were situated in its lobby and of course a huge casino with a couple hundreds of drunk men playing poker. 

 It was not exactly my scene but at the moment I like it. To be honest I liked everything when I was with Zayn. His appearance, character and himself just made it all much more enjoyable.

   I hate myself. I hate myself for being such a stupid woman, who acted like a love struck tenager when she was suppoosed to be in her mid 20's. I groaned and threw the towel on to the floor and let a hand pass through my hair. I was leaning over the sink and I started to feel sick. I took long and deep breath to calm myself down, my lips slightly parted open and my chest was moving up and down at the phase of my heavy breathing.

   I hate myself for having mixed feelings about Zayn and still following him behind, falling for his Middle Eastern and British charm. I hate how I used to be so love struck and saw life through pink tinted glasses when in reality everything was black. Plain and black. But some people may see black as a happy colour right?


   And that was something I tried to make myself believe in.

   Black is known as a neutral colour. Some people may see it as happiness while others might see it as nothing but sadness. 

   Zayn was black. He was the real black. The one people see as darkness, sadness and depression. Yet I, tried to change a rule which is unchangeable. It's like a law of physics. It's unchangeable and nothing can change that. It's something simple which I tried to complicate - naturally.

    "What about a night walk around the city?" Zayn asked as we left our stuff in the posh hotel room. I smiled as the image of him and me popped into my head walking around the tall buildings. It was a nice image and I liked it so I agreed. 

    Naturally, Taylor Swift always likes things to be complicated. 

    I hated how much I loved and hated Zayn at the same time. I hated how much I wanted to slap the reality into him with one of my 'Bad Blood' moves and throw him down a well. No wait, forget 'The Ring' let's go back to 'Bad Blood', and make him come back to reality yet I always loved the image of his hands in my hair. 

    I stopped right then and there. 'His hands in my hair.' I nibbled on my bottom lip and then smiled to myself.  "It's not as bad as I expected it to go." I tell myself and share a small laugh with my reflection. 

   Heading away from the bathroom and switching off the lights I try to figure out the way I will write this small sentence I just came up inside of my head. 

   His hands are in my hair

   I wrote in the middle of a new white page. Figuring out that the beginning of my song is in present, the second verse should also be in present which will make the listener imagine my story better. It's the way I like it.

  Zayn and I shared a room. When the thought of him and I, lying in bed  struck my head, I liked it. Actually I was looking forward to it. I was looking forward to his hands running up my body and my legs intertwined around his shirtless torso. I was looking forward to Zay's touch and his soft lips on mine. In fact I was looking forward to tonight.

  I do not understand why I see every memory so clearly, as if it has happened yesterday. As if Zayn and I just came back from the small trip we had and simply parted ways. It's a weird feeling. It's a mixture in between hindsight and deja vu. 

   At 20 p.m Zayn wore a white crisp button up shirt. Black jeans and his hair was slightly wet from the shower he took right before leaving the hotel. 

   "You ready?" he wined for the nth time as I slowly applied a layer of red lipstick onto my thin lips. Zayn turned around and watched me through the mirror. He smirked and brought his hands to his hair tagging slightly at a straight stand which fell out if the whet slimy mess. 

  "There is no need to apply 'so much' lipstick on." he mumbled seductively hiding a small grin. I raised an eyebrow at him and he smiles. "It will not be there anyways, before the night even ends." and at the end of his sentence, he licked his lips.

  I don't know why, but this child like sentence got me laughing. I threw my head back, holding my red lipstick away from my face and just laughed. Our laughs filled the quite yet huge room. And when we stopped laughing, I could feel the tension between the two of us, slowly wear away. We just stared at each other through the mirror and then, Zayn had to break it, yet it was beautiful, that small moment we shared.

 "Should we go?" he extended his arm for me to take. I took it quickly and followed him behind, as we slipped out of the room, and went to experience what this night will bring us.


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