Chapter Seven: Sometimes all I think about is YOU

The last hideous house article was sold and the auctioneer summed it up.



Yes, I fell asleep a few times and drooled.



No, I didn't chew off all my lipstick, The main course came before that.



Following three hours of spending was a mini party. It was around Ten and I was exhausted. I wished the party got cancelled this year. More importantly, I wished the party wasn't at Zayn's house.



"Party at ours" Tessa pumped a fist in the air. Of course she was energetic, her nap was the heartiest. I was too conscious of my makeup to pull that off.



“Yes, Tessa. We all noticed”



“What's got a panini up your strudel?”



What? “What?”



Zayn stole the words from my mouth. I looked over at him, my reserve for an hour.



For those who don't understand, I restricted my gawking for once each hour, though I cheated at each thirty minute interval.



He still looked annoyingly angelic.



And now, I was free to stare—unless he stared back— because Lorraine was gone.



Don't mistake her for Cinderella who ditched at 12, they had and argument and she walked out on him. Zayn chased after her but returned alone.



I jabbed him continuously after that.



“It's a slang” Tessa shrugged,



Zayn gave her a bored glare and slumped into the table. "I need a drink to survive the remainder of this night" He looked extremely cadaverous. I was afraid he would go out cold or Chunder all over my Jimmy Choo's.



"Easy boy. You look like you're seconds away from passing out" I rubbed his back. Zayn looked up and squinted.



"So do I" Tessa sighed ignoring me.



I scoffed. She's fourteen, she doesn't drink nothing but punch and apple juice in solo cups.



“Get your own then and don't tell dad I'm drinking”



She zipped her lips with an imaginary zipper, eyes sparkling.



“You're really letting her drink?”



“It's her life”



“But—”



Tessa intercepted. “Look, they're coming back”



The founding parents of the charity gala returned in a privileged line, smirking at one another. Mrs Walters was also in said line, smirking the widest alongside her grandson.



“Let's go Kids” Mom said excitedly. Everyone was excited for a night to get shit faced without any judgement.



We rounded up, everyone hopped in their cars 8 total and drove to the Davenport's which was a two story residential which allowed the architect to play around a little too much.



I wasn't awed. I'd been there a lot. At some point, it was my after school play pen/ study zone. Zayn and I hadn't discovered the word ‘Hate’ then.



The party wasn't anything special. There weren't decorations. No foundation shaking music. Lots of Alcohol.



It was like a new year's eve party at the Kardashian's.



I was stranded on the island in the large kitchen of the Davenport mansion with a bottle of Diet coke and my tired thoughts for company when a someone walked in, not wearing anything from the waist up.



That was the most I allowed myself to see before closing my eyes. I could tell it was Zayn. No one else was as insensitive as he was.



But a great species I am as a privileged teenager, I uncovered my eyes and stared at him. He was at the fridge, searching with heated apprehension.



The muscles at his back were rippling, constricting and relaxing, robbing me off my sanity.



I made a mental image of his front and bit back a moan. If only it weren't Zayn.



He suddenly stopped searching, hands on hips. His Lanky arms were not lanky to say the least but neither were they ripped but they flexed as he stood.



"Looking for condoms, Harlot?" I asked.



Zayn was very spooked alright.



He jumped, almost climbing the table with me, eyes sparkling with vehement fear. His black locks which were once tame looked nothing like they did, landing atop his head as a mess of curls. My heart fluttered.



"Are you trying to kill me, Mayfield? I know you make up many ways that's achievable in your vast mind but damn, scaring me to death is cruel" He paused. For a moment, Zayn's chiseled face scrunched. It was almost adorable.. "And No, I'm not searching for condoms in the fridge used by both my father and sister"



He rolled his eyes, so did I. "Then what is it? Prostitution?" I gestured at his naked torso, feeding my eyes more than I could hold in. My breathing sped up. Zayn smiled, pulling a shirt I didn't realize was hung over his shoulder over his head.



Well, how would you notice such unimportant things in the presence of ABS.



Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut. The white shirt was loose. Curse it.



"Remember when I said I needed a drink?” I nodded. “I can't find any. Dad’s keeping his expensive whiskey for his guests”



Considering we're still underage, it's a great call. But half the time Zayn returns from parties, he's doused in the thing. His father was probably testing a homestead Rehab.



"Sneak some"



When I suggested that idea to dirty minded, scheming Zayn, I hadn't realized he would want me to indulge in what was practically theft with him.



The smarts of the plot was merely a factor to play not an accomplice!



I definitely didn't see Jail time in my foreseeable future but there I was, in step with the criminal mastermind about to con his own father into handing the keys to His bedroom where Zayn swore on everything he had to his name the booty was.



I should've resisted but I was interested. Not in the Alcohol. A little adverture wouldn't hurt anyone.



"He's quite drunk" Zayn observed the sloppy movement of his father as he conversed with an old couple. "I can get the keys just get ready to be passed said keys and press right ahead to the bedroom, got it?"



"This isn't some heist, okay?" Our motives weren't to join the cast of Oceans 8. "Just grab the keys and walk away, you don't need to give them to me"



"But our objectives are the same so get in character, partner and it makes us look cool" He smirked devilishly.



"Stealing isn't cool, it's a crime, one that could land us in juvie. If we get caught, I'm selling you out"



"You would never" He pronounced boisterously pulling me along with him.



I didn't know why I was in Cahoots with Zayn Davenport nor did I know why I nodded at the plan bound to fail.



Rule One in theft and Conniving: Don't get Caught.



We split and bombarded the group from different angles. Harrison Davenport barely noticed us as we took our designated positions.



My gift of starting smooth conversation with old people came into use with the old couple—which I recognized. The woman was old, her alleged partner not so much.



Carson was smirking while Mrs Walters nudged her grandson with enough efficiency to cause a fracture.



“Hello darling, I can see you're still interested in Carson. I'll leave now”



She was gone so quickly. I glared a big hole right through Zayn's head. On his part, he was making progress, his drunk father hadn't noticed the hand in his pocket.



“You like me?” He looked smug.



“Nope”



“Then explain why you're here, Looking for my attention?”



Zayn, the son of the owner of this house has evil plans to rob his father of all the alcohol he has to his name.



“I'm waiting”



Carson was enjoying watching me fish around.



Don't say the truth at all costs.



“Fine. I like you. I'm in love with your charm and charisma” I batted my eyelashes.



Carson's smugness was growing. I was impressed that he believed me. More so, I was scared that he believed me.



“Woah, Milan. Let's take it easy” His smirk died. “I see you as a sister and it doesn't matter that we met about three hours ago, I don't feel the same”



What a relief. I feigned a pained look, too bad I couldn't gloss my eyes by command. “I really thought we would make a great couple”



From the corner of my eyes, I could see Zayn approaching. “We can always try again next year”



Zayn came upon me at the last word, literally. His entire scent was in the air around me, entangling with Carson's earthy one.



His hands fitted rightly in mine as he passed the key.



The entire plan made no sense. He could transport the keys to the room all by himself without my interference but the logic in the scheme was little.



And he was gone almost immediately.



Carson had a look as he assessed the situation. “What's happening?”



“Nothing” I sprinted away, Leaving a dazed Carson behind. I didn't have time to explain neither did I want to.



At the large door of the Master bedroom, I could breathe again.



I have good news and bad news. Good news: our plot unfolded seamlessly. Bad news: I will be mortified when next I see Carson.



Well, at least it's not Tonight.



Zayn zipped down the hallway. "We did it Millie" He boomed, grinning like a rehabilitated druggie. Ignoring the fact that he spooked the thoughts out of me, I returned to staring at the oakwood door.



"You're definitely an alcoholic" I stated flatly and extended my hand offering him his reward.



"And you're definitely fit to win best supporting actress" He reached and claimed the keys.



"Supporting?" I cocked my head. "Please, I have an alleged crush on Carson now and all you did was steal"



Zayn barked out a laugh, working the door. "For all I know that may not have been acting, maybe you like him. He's your type right?”



Carson was tall and stupid. No.



"He's not”



“Then, what's your type?” The door was wide open. A suffocating gust of air freshener bathed the hallway. I grimaced.



“Zac Efron”



“No shit” Zayn frowned. “You're one of those girls who has oppas?”



Not necessarily. Zac was just a god with an awesome voice.



“Zac is my only oppa, there are no plurals” I smiled, entering the room.



Enough air had gotten in the room to saturate that air freshener mist that I could breathe and not grow oranges in my lungs.



“What's your type?”



Surprisingly, Zayn and I had never had the conversation before. We were too busy making our academic beef the substance of our lives.



“I don't know”



Not the stereotypical ‘my girlfriend’ But confusing nonetheless. I let the topic die like that.



“So, you were wrong”



“What about?” He ran a hand through his hair, sitting in his father's pristine bed.



“There's no alcohol” As insufferable as it was knowing I put my reputation on the line for that escapade, I felt relieved. "Even the heavens don't want you to drink just give up and drink some water"



"Alcohol has water in it" Zayn shook out of his bankness. A smirk tugged at his lips as he cat walked over to a door, smaller in size than the initial one. With a twist of the knob, the door flung open and I was met with a neat, bar–like room. An alcoholic's heaven. "This, darling, is why my father keeps his door locked"



Darling???



"I'm not your darling you alcoholic whore" My sobriquets were limited and darling wasn't one of them. I was cringing so hard.



Zayn looked taken aback before he burst out In maniacal laughter. Mrs Davenport's gonna catch us, 100%.



"Grab a bottle Mayfield" Zayn instructed.



I really had no intention joining Zayn in his Carousing when I made the decision of helping the boy so I shook my head. "Drink alone, you earned it"



"You're definitely a nerd" He laughed. Zayn had called me a nerd so many times even when I was the farthest from one.



I own a car and don't live in a library people!



"Aiming for outstanding success doesn't make me a nerd" I flicked his chest.



"Sure it doesn't. Because I do that but being non existent socially and keeping your little nose in books 25/8 makes you one" Zayn flicked my nose.



I don't do that.



I rubbed the tip of my nose, glaring.



"Drink your alcohol Davenport, speaking to you kills my brain cells" He only grinned like his blood relative the Cheshire cat and dived in. Zayn returned with a bottle of sparkling gold Champagne.



My taste buds wiggled.



As soon as his prying fingers could displace the lid, he took a large swig and groaned deeply. "This is what good alcohol tastes like"



"That's what every alcoholic says" I singsang. Whatever reply Zayn thought up in his block head was met with my naked back. I turned away from him, taking in the astounding amount of alcohol stocked in the shoebox sized room. "Is this room dedicated to alcoholism and Kidney disease?" I inquired.



Zayn laughed but dread swirled in his eyes. "It was for my mom"



My heart clenched. Curse my stupid inquisitive mind.



The air In the room suddenly became thick, dense and unforgiving. I remembered Zayn's mom, like a memory from yesterday: the woman was Beautiful but a blatant cheat—mom’s words not mine. She was everything everyone wanted to be until she cheated on her husband and eloped with a man 15 years younger.



Mr Davenport didn't love anyone again.



Zayn took another big swig of his Champagne at the elongated silence. "What for?"



"Her stuff I guess" I could see Zayn preferred ingesting his alcohol without the painful reminder of his unfaithful parent. "I never really come in here, except for the alcohol. It hurts..."



Zayn caught himself, looking up and staring hard at me. I felt see through, like he could hear my thoughts and feel my heartbeat.



So I did neither, or so I thought—you can't really stop your heartbeat without dying.



It was either peer pressure or my compassion that propelled me to grab the bottle wrapped in his hands and take a swig of my own.



I sent hygiene the bird, pressing my lips against the warm bottle. The liquid passed down my Oesophagus—to my surprise—with ease, the burn that followed after was quite satisfying.



"Who's into alcoholism now?" We both laughed.



I felt the punch of the alcohol, roaring to life in my stomach. "How many percent alcohol is that?" I asked for the sake of humanity but I'd already drank a chipmunk mouthful.



"It says 25%" Zayn grinned lopsidedly. The arrogant cretin was already inebriated. What a lightweight.



At the time, the numbers he said were the least of my problems. Zayn and I collapsed to the ground at the foot of the bed soon after, alcohol in pulsing in our veins. We alternated the bottle between ourselves until the entire thing and three more bottles were gone.



"We should get out of here" Zayn staggered to his feet. I was shocked his gentlemanly skills had survived alcohollsm when he extended a hand.



"Shouldn't we get rid of the bottles?" I asked taking said hand.



I doubt after we exited the alcohol smelling room with handfuls of bottles, my hand left Zayn's, if he noticed, he didn't say a word.



But I noticed. He was probably bluffing at not feeling us holding hands.



We disposed of the keys somewhere Mr Davenport was ought to find them (Zayn tossed them down the staircase) and staggered to his bedroom.



"Zayn" I called innocently, pressing my ass up against his desk. Zayn hummed an answer. "What do you really think of my dress?"



Zayn looked passed out—or dead, sprawled on his bed with a pillow over his face.



He uncovered his face. How could he still look this good?



I was a fat mess in a nice dress. My makeup had large pothole—my makeup artist will lock me up in a zoo for such poor maintenance. Lipstick was drunk along with the alcohol. My hair had frayed and lost it's silkiness.



But all that didn't matter because I was drunk. Hippie life is the best.



"You look..." He stared at me. My confidence skyrocketed as his eyes swept over everything. I internally highfived myself for the judicious choice to stand while Zayn slumped on his enormous bed. "...Absolutely breathtaking in it"



He sounded breathless as the words left his lips. A cringe blush captured me coating each visible angle of my face in a deathly scarlet.



Zayn sat upright on the bed I almost thought he wasn't as drunk as I was. Once more, midnight blue eyes caressed my body.



"You're Beautiful Milan" He slurred.



Davenport had mentioned my name in countless banters being jolly and unserious but this time, the calm and breathlessness with which he pronounced each syllable gave the entire 70 pounds of my body tingles.



As previously stated, I was inexplicably drunk and alcohol being my new driving force instead of my brain, I sauntered over to the bed and sat beside him.



"I feel just the same way about your alcoholic self" I said and tapped his nose. "Mind taking off my shoes? They're killing me"



Zayn chuckled darkly. I heard clothes crinkle as I waited expectantly for his hands to touch me. When they did, I blushed like the prude cretin I was. Soon enough, I was stripped of the monstrous weapons for shoes and lay comfortably on the bed.



Davenport's handsome face came into view as he took a comfortable position of his own.



"Goodnight Davenport" I placed a hand on his cheek, fulfilling my desires of touching him.



I've always wanted to do that.



"Goodnight Mayfield"



He leaned up and pressed his lips against my forehead.



And that, Ladies and Gentlemen was how I drifted to sleep with Zayn, a repeat of Last year.