“What do you want, Zayn?” she asks again. Her body is trembling and it’s all I can do not to pull her back into my arms and hold her like I often did when we were kids. It takes monumental effort to keep my distance when all I want is to close the gap and end this fucking torment for good. “Zayn, what do you want?” And I know she isn’t talking about the here and now, she’s asking about the future, about what’s really in the depths of my fucked-up heart. You. God fucking damn it, I want you, Pen.
