What the fuck?
My eyes have landed on the couch where my file full ofnotes for the Hope House fundraiser lies open, seemingly discarded in a rush with papers half hanging out of sleeves.
“What’s wrong?”
I look over at Zayn, who’s shoulders have tensed under his suit jacket.
“My folder,” I say, my throat suddenly dry. “I came home after Hope House today and left it on the bench. I was in such a hurry to get to work I didn’t even go into the living room.” I look at the folder now laying on the couch. “Someone’s been in my apartment.”
“Wait here.” Zayn’s tone leaves no room for argument as he strides away and starts searching my home. A chill has spread over my skin, and I start to shiver, goosebumps coating my arms like lots of tiny little ant hills. I place the glasses down carefully and, ridiculously, try to remember whether or not I made my bed this morning. Zayn’s in my bedroom now, mybedroom,searching for a fucking intruder, and all I can think about is whether or not my bedroom looks presentable to him.
It takes only a minute for Zayn to check my entire apartment and come back to give the all clear.
“The lock hasn’t been tampered with,” he says upon his return to the kitchen, where I’m still standing, staring at the offending folder. “Who has access to this place?”
“No one. I changed the locks when I moved in.” It was the first thing I did to ensure Daniel couldn’t come in when ever he pleased and help himself to what he thought was his by right.
AKA me.
“If you say someone has been in here, then they must have a key.”
He stands right behind me and I turn on shaky legs to face him. His strong, immovable chest is like a shield,protecting me from what ever lays beyond him, and in this moment I’m so grateful that he’s here.
Someone was inside my fucking apartment. Oh my God.
“It had to have been Daniel. There’s no other explanation,” my voice has raised a few octaves and I sound borderline hysterical to my own ears. “He must have got his hands on a key. But how?”
“Has he been left alone with your keys long enough to make an imprint?”
Zayn has turned into full lawyer mode, and I’m glad for the stability of his calm collectedness because I feel like I’m about to lose my shit. Sensing I’m on the verge, he places one steady hand on my shoulder and the other under my chin, gently tilting my head back to look into my eyes. “It’s okay, Gianna, we’ll sort it out.”
“No, he hasn’t -, oh,yes he has been!” I say, remembering the day he sprung me at family lunch. “He could have done it at my parents’ house. I leave my keys in the foyer and he knows that.”
“Okay,” Zayn says slowly, before a dark threat enters his voice. “Is there a specific reason you had the locks changed when you moved in?“
If my heart wasn’t hammering before, it certainly is now. My skin grows clammy.
“I just didn’t want Daniel to be able to waltz in whenever he felt like it.”
Zayn stares at me for a long moment, a storm of magnificent fury building behind his eyes. He clenches down on his jaw and everything on his face grows firmer, yet he still cradles my chin with the gentlest touch, as though I’m made of the most delicate crystal that could shatter easily. Perhaps I could.
“Gianna. You need to tell me what happened,” he sayscarefully, as though it’s taking every effort from him to keep his composure. “If he did something, I need to know so I can help. I can get an Intervention Order today to make it so that if he enters this apartment it’s against the law.”
Flashes of the night I left Daniel interrupt my vision. In place of Zayn’s beautiful face, I only see cruel, blue eyes. A humourless smirk that taunts me, calling me vile things. The weight of a gold Rolex against my throat, stopping me from screaming. The excruciating pain of a forced entry between my legs.
My legs start to shake as I attempt to push the memories down into the dark recess they’ve been buried in for nearly a year. But it’s like Zayn’s presence acts as some kind of incendiary to my memories and I can’t shove them away.
There’s pressure at the back of my head and it takes me a moment to realise Zayn’s fingers are threaded into my ponytail, holding me steady, and I blink a few times to clear the images from my mind and see Zayn’s stunningly furious face staring down at me.
“Nothing happ-”
“Gianna,” he cuts me off gently but firmly. “I know you’re hiding something.”
He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, the fury is gone. It’s replaced with a softness, a plea, that I can’t ignore any more now than I could when I was sixteen. I feel safer right now, in Zayn’s arms, than I have ever felt before, and for the first time since it happened, I find that Iwantto tell someone about it. Not just anyone, I want to tell Zayn.
“I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it.” Byit,I mean my sexual assault, which of course was a huge deal. But I don’t want to take it further. Daniel would have squashed my claims then, and he’ll squash them even more easily now.
Zayn doesn’t confirm nor deny my request, and I start to shut down. I want to tell him, but I won’t have him making a circus out of my trauma, which I’m perfectly fine to keep buried away for the rest of my life.
