Paranoia (Zayn Malik) (editing)

Chapter 8: The Room

LUNA

The next morning, the pool of blood that was staining the carpet is gone. I stand in the doorway unintentionally holding my breath as I stare at the empty space. The body is gone too, of course. I imagine Zayn dragging it out of the back door, folding him into a body bag, scrubbing the floor until there is nothing but bleach white cleanness, but I cannot imagine what he would do beyond this. I've watched enough horror movies and crime dramas to know there are plenty of ways to get rid of a body, but I don't want a mental image of him chopping one up, or burning it, or dissolving it in acid. I'd like to forget the altercation ever happened, but I can't.

A man with a knife came here to murder me. I thought I had insomnia before, but now I know the true meaning of it.

Zayn stayed with me until the cycle of me crying and throwing up and calming down only to cry again ended. He cleaned his hands so he could clean my face, ran me a bath and sat on the chair in the corner of my room while I got into bed and started crying again, and I think we formed a trauma bond in the process. At least I did. I'm not sure Zayn felt much of anything in the way of trauma following ending the life of that man, he was only concerned about me. He only seemed to want to lessen my trauma.

I didn't get to sleep last night. I pretended to fall asleep to Zayn would feel OK to leave and the room felt considerably empty after he left. I felt considerably empty after he left.

Afterwards is when I assume he did all of this, return the living room to a state of showroom perfect. I don't want to think about the fact he knew how to do it so well means he's probably done it before.

"You OK?" His familiar voice asks behind me.

I turn to face him in the hallway. He has shaved his head.

"Yeah." I nod, though I'm not sure if I'm telling the truth or not "About last night, I'm sorry. I was a blubbering mess."

"Don't apologise, it's OK." He waves his hand dismissively "I'm really sorry you had to see that, Luna. I know it's fucked up."

I fold my arms into my chest awkwardly "I understand."

"We can talk about it, if you want to, if that would help?"

"Why do people want to kill me?"

He chews on his bottom lip before sighing "I can't tell you yet."

I push out a deep breath from my sternum "What did you do with the body?"

He frowns and looks at the spot on the floor where the body once was and then back at me "I think it's better if you don't know some things."

"So we can't talk about it?" I raise an eyebrow.

"I meant more how you feel about it."

"How do you feel about it?"

He clearly wasn't prepared to be asked that back. He looks at me with a considerable amount of hesitation in his features. He's considering whether to be honest or not.

"What do you want out of that question, Luna? Do you want to know if I feel bad about killing him?" He narrows his eyes "Because I don't. You are here with me because I can do the things that need to be done to keep you safe. He would've killed you."

"You don't even know me, why would you murder for me?"

His tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip as he considers his next answer.

"I owe people things. I'm paying off a debt."

I am not surprised. If he is involved with my dad, he is undoubtedly involved in drugs, though he looks too clean and healthy to be a user, at least a long term one.