I don't hear anyone come in. 

I do begin to pick up on the sounds of people moving through out the house, though. I just lay there, very still, not really caring who it is. 

I had fallen asleep in tears, I woke up the same way. My stomach was in knots and being awake had turned into the most impossible task, I wanted to be asleep and not feel anything at all. 

"Is she awake?" I hear a woman speak to someone else, not me. I don't move because I don't care.

Heavy footsteps approach the bed and I curl up, looking up at the man who stood there. "She is."

I sit up immediately, pulling the covers up to shield me. The woman appears concerned, she inches closer until she's sitting on the corner of the bed. The man makes no efforts to get closer, retreating towards her instead. 

"Who are you?" I ask quietly, my own voice not trustworthy.

The woman speaks up first. "I'm Cara, I'm Zayn's stepsister. He made arrangements for us to come get you, to take you home."

The mention of his name is enough. It all comes crashing back. This was real life. "Z-Zayn sent you?"

She nods. 

"We mean no harm, we just want to take you somewhere better. He's arranged for you to stay at the house he has in London."

"Will he be there?"

They exchange a look. I know that means he won't be, I know he won't, but a part of me just clings to this hope. It's silly really. Living in denial has never worked out in my favor but I know that the next days will be hell, pretending is so much easier than accepting reality.

"He's going to try to contact us soon, it's best you're where he wants you to be, Ana."

I frown at the man, "My name is Anastasia."

Cara smirks. "Anastasia, got it. This is John, he's known Zayn since he was a kid."

My eyes widen. "Really?"

I notice her eyes are drawn to my ring. I extend my hand out so she sees it and she takes it, observing both the giant diamond and wedding band. 

"You're married to Zayn?"

I nod. 

She looks sad for a minute and perks up immediately. "I'll help you pack your things and Zayn's. We'll get something to eat on the way to the train."

I make a face of disgust, I can't think about eating right now, the thought of food makes me sick.

Cara shakes her head in disapproval. "He told me you were underweight."

"I'm not and I don't want food."

"He'd want you to eat," John says casually.

"And I'd want him here."

I throw the blankets off me and I feel their eyes on my bruised legs and blood soaked shirt, the dried liquid sticking to my skin and my hands. "Can you get out? I need to change."

They exchange a look and leave with, thankfully, no further commentary. I peel the shirt off and reach in the open drawer for Zayn's clothes. I quickly put on a pair of his sweats and his shirt, ignoring how much I'm crying and how messed up I feel. I can't even bring myself to feel numb, or achieve some sort of acceptance.

I find a suitcase with my clothes in it and immediately begin to stuff all of Zayn's in it. I don't care how heavy it is or how stupid I look. I wipe my cheeks stupidly, almost missing the crunching sound of another envelope. A manila envelope wrapped up in jeans and a shirt.

It's heavy in my hands though weightless. I don't understand it at all, but it was hidden and clearly there for me to find.

You will be safest with Cara. Everyday after this one will be safe. There will be no more blood, no more loss, and no more hiding. On October 30th, you will receive a phone call. Answer, just listen. Do not trust anyone except Cara and John. Do not let yourself be persuaded by outsiders, please wait for me on October 30th. Understand that I love you and have ultimately done this so we have a chance at a life. Enclosed are documents, real ones, who's authenticity you can confirm with a lawyer or any members of your family. Please trust me and forgive me, my love. I wouldn't just leave you.

Yours, Zayn.

I grow anxious as I stare down at his hand writing, my brain was exhausted and it all was so hard to decipher.

I unfolded the documents and to my surprise... They were the proof I needed. Emails, leasing agreements, bank statements, letters... They were all there. As I scanned through them all, the only name I regretted seeing was Harry's. Letters from my father addressed to Zayn, notarized documents proving the accounts receiving checks belonged to him, bank statements... Proving there had been an attempt to transfer money from my accounts into an account in Berlin.. On the day we arrived. Oh, god. I was high out of mind when I agreed to sign an apartment lease in Berlin...