I finally focus on Zayn who is glaring at his uncle. “Jeb, I need you to look at me,” I say to Zayn, barely holding onto my disgust for his part in this charade. There’s a firmness to my voice that’s sharp, lethal. To feel this way towards Zayn isn’t something I’m used to. Hurt and disappointment, yes, but never disgust. Feeling like this cuts me deeply, and I want to hurt him back.
