Never meant to be

Chapter 8

Zayn turned and was startled to find me standing there, his eyes widened as he took in my appearance. The blanket only covered so much, my legs were visible and you could catch a tiny glimpse of the tattoo I had slightly above my knee. My hair, damp from before, now hung in loose untended curls on my face. If anything, I looked like a disheveled homeland person. I consciously moved my hand to my hair, uselessly trying to fix it but that only seemed to make Zayn look at me even more strangely. What was up with that?

“You're awake….” He stated rather awkwardly, returning to the stove and avoiding looking at me. I pushed myself off the wall against which I was leaning and followed Zayn, standing beside him as he put various spices in the stew he was making. The smell wafted up my nose and my stomach grumbled . I blushed, realising that Zayn probably heard that sound too.

He chuckled; yes, the Zayn Lyon chuckled and it stunned me. Was there something in the water here? Why were we acting so different than the way we used to?

“Dinner's going to be ready soon. Why don't you go, ummm, change and I'll set the table.” He said all of this without ever looking up from the pot and it was strange for a guy who always looked people in the eye.

“Okay I'll be right back” I said, feeling my words hang in the air.

I quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a light pink v-neck sweater, brushing my hair to make it less tangled and letting it fall freely over my shoulders. I noticed a rosy tinged on my cheeks, something which had been missing for weeks. The sun here definitely agreed with me or was it something else? Was it excitement, anticipation? I had no idea what was going on with me and I didn't want to find out either.

Zayn had set everything up by the time I got back and was patiently waiting for me. This was new, usually he doesn't wait up for me; he'd cook, eat and then go to sleep in a separate bedroom. He's been acting really different today and it irked me not knowing why. I settled into my seat and spooned some of the hot stew into my bowl. I sat in the chair opposite Zayn around the small table of four.

“This is delicious,” I said, repeating my words from every meal and on cue he replied with a curt thanks. We are in silence for a while and I was about to take the dirty dishes to the sink when Zayn stopped me, looking rather hesitant about saying something.

“Can we talk?” he asked and I nodded, feeling concerned. What was this about?

“We'll need to go back soon and when we do I want you to go tell your boyfriend about what happened. Please, it's the least you and I can do for him.” I felt stunned, why was he bringing up Mark again? I didn't like when he talked about him, much less pitied him. I decided to keep my mouth shut, fearing I'd say something inappropriate.

“I've been thinking, just because we were made to sign some papers and say a few words doesn't mean we necessarily have to be in a married relationship,” he said after a while and that got my attention.

“What are you saying?” I asked, my words coming out rather strained.

“I want you to continue your relationship with Mark, irrespective of the nature of our relationship,” he said quickly and again avoiding eye contact.

My heartbeat sped up, he couldn't possibly mean…. No, what he was implying was sick, wrong and immoral and no one in their right senses would suggest that. I was speechless, the right words never coming to mind.

“Amelia? say something,” he said softly and I stared blankly at him.

“You're saying… you want me to… you want me to be with Mark again?” I asked, as if him repeating the words would make it make sense or something.

“In simpler terms, yes, that's what I want,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. He had clearly about this but I couldn't wrap my head around the idea. My husband, the man I was married to, wanted me to be with my boyfriend, or rather ex boyfriend, again?

“I'm sorry…. Excuse me,” I said as I stood up, dropping my spoon on the floor and making a loud crash. I ran away from Zayn as fast as my legs could carry me back to my room. I locked the door behind me knowing that he was running after me. I leant against the closed door, hyperventilating as he knocked repeatedly on the door. I sank to the floor, my head in my hands waiting for the knocking to stop.

“Amelia let me in! What's wrong?” he shouted and I ignored him.

“Stop acting like a child and open the door,” he said, sounding very annoyed and that's when it hit me. To Zayn, I'll always be a child, his fiance kid sister who was immature, someone he'd always looked down upon. That was probably why he felt he could make all these forsaken decisions about me without even asking. Well if he treated me like a child, then a child exactly was what he'd get. I picked myself from the floor, grab my iPod and played my favorite rock song, turning up the volume as high as it could get.

Take that, Zayn.

I avoided Zayn for the better part of the trip while I attempted to ignore him, he made efforts for reconciliation. He would make the most delicious breakfast every morning and leave it outside my bedroom door. When I would eventually come down, he'd attempt to strike up rather uneasy conversations. He stopped going out of town and volunteered to take me sightseeing but I had made up my mind to ignore him. He had to realize the immensity of the mistake he had made. He had likened me to a tradable object; passed from one man to another once they are done. I had been traded to him in place of my family's honour and now he he'd trade me to Mark to relieve his guilty conscience.

What was wrong with all of these people? First, my family. Now my supposed husband? Is that how much of a burden I am to all of them?

First they didn't care about my own life and threw me to Zayn, now Zayn wants to throw me

back to Mark like I'm some bag of garbage!