Chapter 55 Kind But Distant

Chapter 55 Kind But Distant
I stare at him. He's fighting it.
I can see him fighting it, but there's a laugh threatening to break through.
"That's not true," I say slowly. "We both got our asses beat." I narrow my eyes. "And are you serious right now? You're laughing?"
Zayn presses his lips together, shaking his head. But his eyes, those dark eyes, are lighter than I've seen them in weeks since he kicked me out of his room.
"Leave the brawling to people who can brawl, Ashleigh," he says flatly. "Me."

I lost it, a laugh bursting out of me. It hurts my jaw, but I can't stop.
Zayn starts laughing too.
"You should see your face," he chuckles. "You have scratch marks. You look like you lost a fight with a cat."
"Hey!" I smack his hand, laughing.
It's the first time we've laughed together in a while. "I had her pinned. Twice."
"Yeah, for like three seconds," he teases. "Before she turned it into a wrestling match. You're lucky I got there when I did. She was about to go full WWE on you. The whole pay-per-view event."

I roll my eyes, wincing when the movement pulls at my split lip. "She fights dirty.
"So do you, apparently." He tilts his head, pretending to study me. "Didn't know you had it in you. Little Ashleigh Grace Richardson, plant nerd, secret street fighter."
"Stop."
He squints, "Is that a bite mark?"
"It is NOT." I lean toward the rearview mirror, twisting to see. "Where? If she bit me, I'm going back to finish the job."

"Relax, I'm messing with you."
I slump back in the seat, glaring at him.
"You're the worst."
"The worst got you out of there before campus security showed up," he points out. "You're welcome, by the way."
"Thank you," I mutter, not meeting his eyes.
"What was that? Didn't catch it."
"I said thank you."
"A little louder, please. For the people in the back."
I shove his arm. "Shut up."

Zayn laughs again, and God, I missed that sound. I missed him.
This version of him. Not the cold, distant one who told me his room was off-limits.
This one.
I lean my head back against the seat, still smiling.
For a moment, we sit there, both of us catching our breath after the laughter fades.
"We should get you to the hospital. Have your head checked." He says, clearing his throat.

"No need. I'll be fine." I mutter.
Slowly, Zayn reaches out to touch my chin, tilting my face toward the light so he can see the damage. "No more getting into fights." He says gently.
I nod in agreement.
Pulling his hand back, he starts the car, beginning the drive home.
I wonder if this means he's not mad anymore. Because if I'd known all it took to win him back was getting my ass beat by Maya in front of the whole campus, I'd have found her the day he stopped talking to me.

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††

I was wrong. Zayn is still mad at me.
He just cares about me not getting hurt.
When we arrive home, he takes a look at the back of my head and cleans the cut on my lip while I sit on the kitchen counter. His movements are way too clinical, like he's tending to a patient instead of the girl he used to kiss.
"Hold still," he murmurs when I flinch.
I do.
He tapes a small bandage over the scrape on my temple, then steps back to study his work, still frowning.

The humour we shared in the car earlier is gone, like it never happened at all.
"Try not to touch your face too much," he says.
"Since when did you become the expert, Dr Zayn?" I try joking, but instantly regret it when the frown doesn't budge.
"Okay," I mutter.
He moves to get me a glass of water, then sets it beside me, before handing over a bottle of aspirin.
"I'll order us lunch," he says, sauntering away.

My chest squeezes.
"You don't have to keep acting like this," I say quietly. "We were doing fine in the car, and then suddenly you're all cold again."
I pause for a moment. "I said I was sorry."
Zayn tenses for a fraction of a second, then slowly turns around.
"Sorry isn't a magic word that'll make everything that happened suddenly disappear, Ashleigh."
"True, but…" I jump down from the counter. "I don't know if I can keep up with this. If you're going to keep treating me like a stranger, then maybe I shouldn't stay here."

Zayn stares at me briefly before giving a nonchalant shrug. "Fine," he says. "You can leave if you want to. I won't stop you."
My entire body freezes in shock, and I watch him walk away.
What the fuck?

I can feel the panic brewing in my stomach, slowly crawling up to my chest.
I don't want to leave. I was merely bluffing to see his reaction.
These past few weeks spent waking up without his arm over my waist, or his breath warm against my neck, have been quite difficult.

"I don't want to go." I blurt out quickly. "Unless you want me to."
"Ashleigh, please. I don't have time for your antics. Do whatever you want."
Suddenly, I feel a dull throb at the back of my head, and the kitchen spins.
"Whoa…" I reach for the counter, but my fingers slide off the edge. My knees fail, and within a second, the floor is rushing up to meet me.
Zayn catches me before I hit the tile. "Ashleigh?"
His voice sounds panicked.
I blink, trying to focus, but his face keeps splitting into two versions of itself.
"I'm fine," I mumble, even though I'm not.

How hard must I have hit my head during the fight with Maya? It didn't seem that serious back then.
"Bullshit." Zayn lifts me onto the counter again, brushing my hair aside as he checks the back of my head.
"She slammed your head into concrete, Ash. You're not fine. We should've gone straight to the hospital as I suggested earlier."
"I just need to sleep it off."

"No. We're going to the hospital." He grabs his keys, then carries me to the car without another word, setting me in the passenger seat.
I think I fall asleep, or maybe I just lose time. But when I surface again, I'm in a hospital bed.
Zayn sits in a chair by the window, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when I shift, then rises to his feet.
"Easy." He says, not touching me, but staying by the edge of the bed.
The Zayn of before would've given me a forehead kiss or something. Now, he's maintaining the space between us.
"You suffered a mild concussion. The doctor wants you monitored for a few hours before you can leave."
I sit up slowly.
"I already got your prescriptions." His voice is flat, stinging in ways that can't be described. "We'll go when you're steady enough to walk without falling."
Then he returns to his chair before I can reply and picks up his phone.

I watch him, speechless.
He's here, making sure I'm alright. But he's not really here.
He won't kiss me goodnight, or pull me against his chest and tell me I'll be fine.
And he won't look at me like I'm the only thing in the world worth protecting.
I don't know how to earn that back. Or if I ever will.