Tuning Heartstrings

“Damn it,” Billie muttered under her breath, grabbing her keys and wallet while slipping on some shoes. “How the hell did I forget to restock on toilet paper?”

Nature had called at around one in the morning, and it was then that Billie realized that she had run out of toilet paper. She had groaned aloud, decided to hold off on using the bathroom, and wasted no time in getting herself ready to depart for the local twenty-four hour convenience store. They would – hopefully – be stocked with at least a few rolls of the stuff so she could then return home to do her business.

After arriving at the first floor of the building and walking out towards the street, she could see a small commotion taking place by the curb. A taxi driver was attempting to carry a drunkard into the structure by slinging an arm around his own neck while grabbing onto his waist. The other was wobbling about on his two feet as if the legs they were connected to were jello, his head rolling around on his shoulders while he laughed aloud.

“Fuckin' hell, c'mon!” The cabbie exasperated in frustration, clearly having enough of having to deal with someone so far gone.

“Mate, lighten up, would you? You're ruining the fucking mood!” The other laughed in his drunken stupor, that voice sounding all too familiar to Billie.

Are you serious? She thought, slowly approaching them and noticing that it was, in fact, him. “Zayn?”

Both of the blundering men seemed to stop in their tracks as if they had been caught doing some sort of crime. Zayn resumed his laughter, the cabbie looking from the deranged boy in his hold to the confused girl before him.

“Do you know him?” The driver questioned quickly.

“Uh, yeah...” Billie hesitantly replied, “he's my neighbor.”

“Great! The tosser threw up all over the backseat of my bloody cab!” He huffed as he walked over to her, pulling Zayn along and not even caring about how sloppily his movements were. He then settled Zayn's other arm over her shoulders and quickly darted back to his car.

“H-hey!” Billie called after him, not believing he had just stuck him with her. “Get back here! Don't leave him with me!” The man started the engine and the car shot off as fast as it could. “I have to pee, goddamnit!” She could then only stare helplessly in defeat at the red taillights of the vehicle until they were swallowed up by the darkness of the night, her knees beginning to buckle from under the weight of Zayn's body.

As she realized she'd have to get him up to his flat, she was then struck by her sense of smell. She gagged at the foul stench of vomit and the strong scent of hard alcohol that lingered and mixed together to form a toxic cloud. The vile aroma was enough for her to let go of him, the male falling to the ground on his back and landing upon the pavement with an unpleasant thud, a groan of pain emanating from his mouth.

“Oops,” she muttered, fanning herself in an attempt to clear the air around her.

Billie stared at him and at how pathetic he looked in that moment. His raven hair was askew, his face contorted into different expressions that varied from pain to feeling – and looking – deathly ill, and the fact that he was clearly far passed being shitfaced didn't help either.

“How am I going to do this?” She questioned aloud, trying to figure out how she would manage getting him up to his apartment. “I guess... let's just go for it.”

The brunette approached him slowly and sat him upright. “Zayn, can you hear me?” No response. “Zayn?” Silence. “Well, fuck.”

Throwing his arm around her shoulder, she groaned and gathered all the strength she could muster as she brought him up from the floor. After almost losing him to gravity once or twice, she was able to wobble towards the door with Zayn tagging along beside her. Entering in the code to unlock the door proved to be a challenge, though it wasn't impossible, and as the unlikely pair made their way down the empty corridor and towards the elevator shafts, she breathed a sigh of relief when they were halfway there.

Once the doors slid closed after they had entered the lift, she quickly let go of Zayn to push the floor number and recaptured him before he was lost completely. As they traveled upwards at a snail's pace, she crossed her legs uncomfortably.

I've gotta pee! She mentally cried, biting her bottom lip as the urge was growing. She figured that all this unusual movement and heavy lifting was causing her to have pressure upon her bladder. Just how in the hell had she come to be in this sort of comedic predicament?

Billie wasted no time in struggling towards his door with him in tow, the girl having to set him down against the wall to search him for his keys on him and unlock the door. Once it was open, she decided that dragging him inside was fine and that there was no need to go through the trouble of actually picking him up again.

“Fuck, I've gotta go!”

Quickly slamming the front door shut, she ran towards the hallway and found the bathroom, throwing herself down upon the porcelain throne and finally doing her business. She looked to the side and sighed, “At least he has toilet paper.”

She cleaned herself up and washed her hands while looking around his restroom to find it in a rather horrid condition. Scattered across the sink's counter were small hairs of chin stubble, his electric shaver and a few care products placed randomly across it, with smears and droplets of dried water being smeared about the mirror. When she was finished up in the bathroom, she headed back out into the living room where she had left Zayn, and she grew concerned almost immediately.

A sweat had begun to accumulate on his brow, his breathing shaky and shallow, and his face contorted into a mask of agony. He had had too much to drink – way too much, and it was now taking its toll on his body.

The first thing Billie did was sit him upright against the couch and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. She didn't need to leave it there for long to know that he was burning up and running a high fever.

She found a few small hand towels stashed away in a drawer in the kitchenette and ran them under cool water, wringing out the excess before returning and placing them onto his forehead. The chill the towels spilled out seemed to immediately alleviate him, his expression relaxing and his body beginning to slump comfortably against the couch.

Her hands then placed themselves onto the black leather jacket he was sporting, slipping it off his shoulders and placing it onto the furniture. His white shirt was stained with throw up, and she shook her head in disapproval as she removed that too, placing it onto the floor so as to not get any on the sofa.

Billie racked her brain for what she could possibly do for him. She knew that he could throw up again, but maybe since his stomach had done so before in the cab it wouldn't happen anymore? Then again, she didn't want to take a risk on it, and so she placed him down on the floor.

She shook her head and groaned while she cupped her face delicately. Billie had never been in this sort of situation before. She had never needed to take care of someone who was so incapacitated before. It was stressing her out a bit.

“Get a grip. This isn't anything big. Just gotta watch him.”

Her eyes darted to his haggard form. His skin was sickly pale, his hair was now more shaggy than simply askew as it covered part of his closed eyes, his posture was continuously slumping further and further, and his breathing, while slightly better, was still shallow and ragged.

Why the hell does he drink like this?

For the first time since entering the apartment, her eyes surveyed her surroundings. His living room consisted of a black bisectional sofa with a coffee table right before it, and on the wall hung a white, large plasma that contrasted nicely with the deep red walls of the room. The floors were made of a soft white carpet that continued on into the hallway, but ended at the kitchen. However, parts of the carpet weren't visible at all due to trash and empty beer bottles being piled up in certain places.

And while Billie had to admit that Zayn's home was nicely furnished and put together (with the exception of those beer bottle eye-sores), she thought the place he called home was rather lonely. No sort of memorabilia or anything else that could be taken as an item of sentimental value could be seen, making it appear as if no one had ever lived there before.

How does he live like this?

Billie's body rose to her feet, not even thinking as she began to go around the room and pick up the trash that was scattered about. For the next half hour, she cleaned and was very meticulous about the living room, even wiping down things that were beginning to gather dust.

Zayn groaned and she stopped her purification of the room to allow her head to snap in his direction. Billie approached him cautiously, whispering, “Zayn? Zayn, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

A groggy and low voice replied, “I don't... feel so good.” The young man began to cough.

Immediately she slung his arm over her shoulder and then carried him off hurriedly to the bathroom, afraid of what that statement could imply. Luckily they had at least made it to the lavatory before Zayn's stomach had decided to revolt, its contents spilling onto the tile floor a bit before she could set him beside the toilet. Her own stomach gargled unpleasantly at the sight and smell of the throw up, but she told herself to suck it up and began to rub his back comfortingly to ease his own sickly state.

When he had finished, she sat him up against the tub and flushed the toilet, looking back to him and worrying. His arm was upon the side of the tub with his head propped up on top of that, his face was scrunched up from what had just occurred, another sweat already beginning to accumulate on his brow, while his breathing was hard and fast. Billie was unsettled even further now.

“Zayn,” Billie whispered, “I think I need to take you to the emergency room.” There wasn't a response given, and so Billie decided it would be alright to do so. “C'mon, let's get a shirt on you so we can go.”

He growled and shook his head. “No...” he groaned. “I'm not going. No.”

“Zayn, we need to.”

“No...”

“Zayn, I—”

“—Please...” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don't make me go. I don't want to worry, mum.”

Billie could feel her heart and stomach sinking to the soles of her feet. She was torn. She wanted to desperately take him to the hospital, to make sure he would be well, but hearing him plead with her was enough to make her backtrack and think again.

“I've already hurt her enough... and the guys will never forgive me...” he confided softly. “...I'm so sorry, guys...”

Those seemed to be his final words before his breathing evened out, his facial features relaxing as he seemed to knock out. She shook her head and she just knew that she couldn't do it – she couldn't bring him to the hospital, not when he was like this.

Billie was just going to have to take good care of him. Things would be alright then, wouldn't they?

Taking a washcloth from the drawers she combed through, she dampened it up and began to clean him, wiping down his mouth and then wiping up his chest that had a bit of the vomit that had probably dribbled down his chin when it had happened.

For being a drinker, he didn't have much of a beer belly. It was the opposite, actually. While he did have a bit flab around his abdomen, the faint outline of his toned muscles could still be clearly seen. Maybe when he wasn't out getting smashed he could be found exercising? Who knows?

After he was cleaned up, she began to clean the floor and pushed through her own wave of nausea that hit her when doing so. When that was said and done, she sat beside him and stared at nothing, waiting for time to fly by when it was only creeping along at a snail's pace.

Every once in a while, the male brunette would groan and shift miserably against the hard tub. Whenever he did so, Billie wouldn't breathe for a minute as a tense air would surround and suffocate her, her limbs stiff as she watched to see if he would vomit more or just continue sleeping off his intoxication.

When Zayn's neck was craned against the hard material awkwardly, she cringed and knew he would wake up sore. Her hand did as it desired, pulling him gently towards her and leaning his head against her shoulder. While she could still smell the beer and throw up that radiated from him, she didn't mind as much after having been around it for a few hours already.

Zayn's head shifted about while resting upon her shoulder, searching for a soft spot to call its own, and when it found none, it managed to slip off her shoulder and fall into her lap, Billie jumping up from surprise and waiting for him to wake up. When he never did and, in fact, made himself comfy on her lap, she relaxed and let out a yawn.

Sleep was quickly catching up with her. After a long night of typing up a paper for her literature class, she had knocked out at around eleven to be woken up at one later that night. After checking her clock and finding it to be nearly four in the morning, her body would soon go against her and take away her consciousness all on its own.

It happened all too quickly as her head rolled to the side, her eyes slowly shutting as a soft snore soon came from her lips.

Never before had his head hurt this badly, his mind throbbing in its skull irritably as he began to come to. He was partially on the cold floor, only his head and part of his shoulder being supported by something that was rather soft and a little inviting.

What the fuck happened?

He had never gotten so drunk to the point where he would black out the entire night and wake up on the floor. There had always been at least a sliver of consciousness to get him to his bed, or the couch at the very least.

As his senses started to come together, he could taste it – the stench of foul throw up. Goddamnit, I'm not drinking again for the rest of the fucking week.

His hands cupped his face and then rubbed his tired eyes in an attempt to start them up. They reluctantly opened a few seconds later, the blinding light from the ceiling causing them to close for a few more seconds before the lids split apart once more.

The first thing that caught his eyes were wavy strands of brown hair that hung partially over his head from one side. His pools of brown seemed to make their way up her feminine figure, glancing over her gorgeous features of lightly tanned skin, long dark lashes, and small, plump lips until he could finally put all these things together.

Billie James was sleeping against his bathtub with him in her lap.

Although he still wasn't completely collected with his body still somewhat limp and mind a little hazy, he found new energy in his body when he saw her beside him. “What the fuck?!” He hollered, trying to jump to his feet and away from the girl that gave him the scare of his life, only to end up falling backwards onto his ass as he grabbed his head from his immense hangover.

He stared at her in confusion. What the fuck was she doing her? How did she even get into his apartment? What the fuck was going on?

Zayn's loud yelp appeared to have stirred the brunette from her sleep, the girl moaning tiredly as she began to sit upright and gently rub her sore neck. “What's going on?”

“I should be asking you that, James. What the fuck are you doing in my flat?”

Her eyes were squinted as she looked about her surroundings to remind herself of where she was and how she ended up there. When she recalled the previous night's events, she looked to him with a bit of concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Proper hungover, that's how. Now answer me. What are you doing here?”

“You really don't remember anything?” She questioned, soon smacking herself lightly on the forehead, muttering, “Of course you wouldn't remember anything, you were drunk off your ass.”

“James,” Zayn growled.

“I went out late at night and some cabbie was bringing you in. He told me that you threw up in his backseat, shoved you on me when he found out we were neighbors, and then took off. I had to carry you up here and take care of you.”

“Why didn't you just leave me?”

“Because he said you had thrown up and you looked like total shit,” she retorted, an attitude beginning to make itself present when she saw how he was acting. “You ended up throwing up a second time and then knocked out for good. But I guess it's time I left, seeing that you're all better now since it's not your health, but your personality that's shit again.”

And she left. Her tired form stomping out of the bathroom and slamming his front door with such force that he could feel the walls and even the floor slightly tremble.

Zayn didn't even think about biting back. He was just left there, silently stewing over everything.

He knew that she was probably telling the truth, that she wasn't the one in the wrong. It was him. It was always him. He was always the dickhead that had to go and make an ass out of himself.

How could he be such a dumbass and go home so shitfaced? Why did he have to be such a jackass to Billie when she had done him no wrong? What was he going to do when they met next?

“Shit...” he mumbled, running both hands through his hair and shaking his head in disappointment.

I fucked up. I fucked up big time.