Chapter 62 Still My Safe Place

Chapter 62 Still My Safe Place
Zayn doesn't come check on me.
I restlessly lie in bed for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of his footsteps in the hallway.
He's too busy having fun with the rest of them; I can hear their laughter from here. And I hate how much it hurts.
The wind carries their voices.
Eventually, the exhaustion wins, and I drift into a restless sleep.
But sometime later, the weather changes.

It is the low roll of thunder that wakes me up.
My eyes snap open at the noise.
Another boom suddenly shakes the house, and I jolt upright, clutching the cover to myself.
Lightning flashes bright enough to turn the room white for a split second.
My heart starts hammering aloud.

Get yourself together, Ashleigh, you'll soon be 22. Stop being such a child.

I scold myself as old fear claws up my throat.
But this terror doesn't care about my age; it's been sending me running to Zayn's room since I was little. And it won't stop now.
I'm not supposed to go to him tonight.
We're fighting.
He told me to give him space. And I am respecting that.
I have this under control.

Another crack of thunder splits the sky, so loud it rattles the window, and I fly out of bed to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
I do not have this under control.
I want him.
I want to crawl into his bed, press my face into his chest, and let his arms block out the storm like he used to.
But I can't.
Not after everything.
God help me tonight.

I stay where I am, starting to hyperventilate, counting the seconds between flashes and booms like I did when I was a child.
The storm gets worse.
Rain lashes the windows. Thunder rolls continuously now, one crash blending into the next. Lightning strobes across the room so brightly that it hurts my eyes.
I'm shaking.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe through it, but every new rumble makes me smaller inside.

Suddenly, the door flies open.
I cover my ears instantly, squeezing my eyes shut so tight because for one silly, but terrifying second, I think it's Uncle Sean coming for me.
I'm six years old again, hiding in the dark closet while his angry voice boomed louder than the thunder outside.
The footsteps come closer.
I press my hands harder against my ears, trying to block out the storm, the memories, everything.

Zayn's voice cuts through the mayhem brewing in my mind.
"Ash, hey."
He gently pulls my hands away from my ears. "I'm here."
I open my eyes.
He's right in front of me.
Dark hair messy from sleep, dark eyes full of concern, silver piercings in his ear and the ink on his neck and arms.
To anyone else, he might look scary as hell, almost dangerous.
But to me, that's the face of solace.

I fly into his arms, burying my face in his shoulder as fresh sobs tear out of me.
Zayn catches me, his strong arms wrapping around my back.
"I'm here," he murmurs against my hair. "It's okay. I've got you now."
He stands, lifting me and carrying me back to the bed I'd abandoned in fear.
Sinking with me, he pulls the covers over both of us, cocooning us in softness and darkness.
His hand strokes my hair while I snuggle into his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears.

The thunder still rumbles outside, but it feels farther away now.
It feels muffled.
My heartbeat gradually slows, matching the steady rhythm of his. And my breathing evens out.
Zayn doesn't say anything else. He just holds me — one arm banded around my waist, the other still gently combing through my hair.

I press my face harder into the crook of his neck, breathing him in — clean skin, faint cologne, the warm, grounding scent that has always meant safety.
What would I do without Zayn?
He's been my protector through every storm, literal and otherwise.
Another boom rattles the windows, and I flinch in fear once more.
Zayn holds me tighter, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
"It can't get in, remember?" he says softly.
I nod slowly.
We stay like that for a long time, the storm raging outside while something quieter begins to settle between us.

"Why'd you come?" I ask. My voice sounds small and squeaky in the dark.
It's a silly question because I already know the answer—that he's here for me.
He wouldn't leave me to my fears even though we're not exactly cool, and I'm happy about that.
Though some minutes ago I'd doubted he would actually come.
Zayn's arms tighten around me." 'Cause you needed me," he replies.
I go quiet for a few seconds.
"I thought you'd come check on me when I left the beach earlier," I whisper, "But I guess you were having too much fun with Melissa."

He lets out a soft, dry guffaw.
"The same way you were having fun with Fareed, huh?"
Fair enough.
I press my face deeper into his chest, breathing him in. I could remain here forever and be content.
"Thank you for coming," I murmur against his T-shirt. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
I pause briefly, then add, in an even softer tone, "I know you hate me, but…"
"Ash," he cuts in gently, "I don't hate you."

The relief is so sudden it almost hurts.
"So you're not mad at me anymore?" I ask, pulling back to look up at his face.
He exhales slowly, his dark eyes looking into mine.
"Please don't be mad at me anymore, Zayn," I continue, the words tumbling out in a shaky rush. "I'm tired of this. I know I promised I'd give you the time and space you needed, but I'm a fucking mess without you. I don't know if you've noticed."
My voice cracks, but I keep going.

"I can't sleep most nights. I can't concentrate in class. When it's time to go home, I'm not even excited anymore because I know I'll just go straight to my room and lie there alone. I don't know how else to show you how sorry I am… but I am. I'm so sorry. Please… just give me another chance."
Zayn is quiet for a long moment.
His face is hard to read in the darkness, but I make out the tightness in his jaw first.
Then the smallest smirk hooks the corner of his lip.
"Ashleigh Grace Richardson's a yearner," he murmurs, in a teasing tone, but there's something warmer underneath it. "Who would've thought that?"

I smile sheepishly as he continues stroking my hair.
"Go back to sleep, baby. I'm not going anywhere," he says.
"But you've not answered my…"
He gives me a look, and I go silent, leaning against his chest.
He just called me baby.
Maybe that means I'm forgiven.
Scratch that, it does mean I'm forgiven.
A smile curves across my lips as I shut my eyes because I recall he also said that he's not going anywhere.
And when Zayn says he's not going anywhere, he isn't going anywhere.

Wrapped in his warmth and listening to the comforting beat of his heart underneath my ear, the storm outside slowly loses its power.
My eyes drift shut again.
This time, when sleep comes, it's peaceful.
And it's not just because Zayn is here.
It's because he's back in my life.