"You’re a woman too. Don’t you understand how scared she must be in a situation like this? And yet, to take care of your emotions, she’s trying not to trouble me! Why can’t you be kinder to her?"
His words struck me like shards of glass, sharp and cruel. My chest burned with a thousand tangled emotions—anger, betrayal, heartbreak. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.
As Zayn continued to rant, utterly oblivious to my pain, I forced myself to move. Ignoring the searing agony in my broken leg, I crawled toward him. Every inch forward felt like an eternity, but I didn’t stop. Finally, I reached his side and yanked his bag open.
Inside, I found what I was looking for—my phone. He had confiscated it, locking it away so I couldn’t call for help, all to ensure he could rush to her aid without my interference.
How absurd.
This man, the one who claimed to love me, had left me stranded in unbearable 50-60 degree heat with no way to escape. If I hadn’t smashed the car window with a desperate burst of strength, I’d have been a lifeless, shriveled corpse by now. But even then, he had taken the phone back.