ZEVIAR
I stood in front of the mirror in my private bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink hard enough that my knuckles went white. My reflection stared back at me. Pale, with shadows under my eyes that hadn't been there a month ago.
I looked like hell.
I felt worse.
The pain started in my chest three days ago. A dull, persistent ache that spread through my ribs and settled deep in my bones. Zayn was quieter than he'd ever been, his presence in my mind dimmed to barely a whisper.
We were dying.
And I'd done it to myself.
Two weeks. Two weeks of avoiding her. Telling myself it was strategic, that distance would give me clarity, that I could figure out a way around this that didn't make me look weak.
Two weeks of being a coward.
"Go to her," Zayn said, his voice so faint I almost
