My Beautiful King

Chapter Three

"I said: that will be another £5.99, please!" the shopkeeper repeated angrily.

"Sorry, sorry!" I rushed, snapping out of my daydream. I pulled out eight coins and handed it to him receiving a penny and a receipt back. Grabbing my shopping bags, I left the supermarket and began to pace my way home.

I'd constantly been thinking about Zayn ever since that first day he'd arrived. Every single day that he had been in our school so far, he caused trouble; talking back to teachers, refusing to do work, chatting constantly and he even got into a little fight. He was so arrogant. I mean, how dare he mock me, get my name wrong and then ditch me for Becca Thomas? How dare he ignore for 2 straight days? How dare he let me fall for him and not be prepared to catch me?

I'd apologised to Bridget and Maria as soon as I had arrived back from my sobbing in the girl's bathroom. They'd forgiven me but insisted that I never talk to Zayn again. "He was trouble", "I shouldn't let myself fall for him" and "He'd only break my heart". But what did they know about anything? They'd never even spoken to him; I was the one who spoke to him. I was the one he was so rude to... and yet still I was willing to try again with him, as soon as I mustered up the confidence. Whenever that was.

I made sure to walk carefully as I passed the alleyway near the supermarket. The area I lived in was peaceful, but this area was different, especially in the alleyway. People had got robbed, stabbed; someone was even raped down there. Dad said that the only people who hung out there were creeps, druggies and alcoholics. But even so, I couldn't resist looking in to see if it was that bad...

Zayn.

It was Zayn.

Zayn was in the alleyway!

He was leaning against the dirty brick wall, clad in a grey hoodie and dark jeans, cigarette in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other. Damn, he looked good but it was so wrong. Smoking was disgusting, not that I'd tried it before, and it should make a person look disgusting too. But for some reason, when I saw Zayn standing there drawing on that cigarette, he made it look like the most attractive thing in the world. This was my perfect opportunity, to confront him without a thousand of other girls and boys surrounding him wanting to either be him or be with him. It would be just me and Zayn.

I marched over to him making sure to grip my shopping bags tighter, just in case. I was pretty sure that he had seen me out of the corner of his eye but instead he chose to take a swig of alcohol, rather than to acknowledge my face. Feeling really brave for a second, I coughed loudly to catch his attention.

But then he looked at me.

His eyes of green and hazel seemed to penetrate right through me, eradicating every spark of confidence I once had whizzing through my body. Suddenly, I felt miniscule and stupid. Who was I to walk over to Zayn and demand his attention? It was clear who had the upper hand in any situation with Zayn. It was him. It was always him. A part of me almost felt timid enough to apologise, but there was no way my ego would let me. So I stood there in front of him, our faces less than half a metre apart, saying nothing.

"Why are you standing so close to me, Angela?" Zayn spoke, his voice deep, husky and intoxicating.

I gulped, and tried to shake off the light-headedness I was experiencing. "My name is Ashley," I breathed, attempting to get my wits together. "And I um, well... earlier this week you said I wasn't interesting and well, I'm trying to interest you!"

Zayn laughed a low rumble of a laugh. "Interest me, huh?" he smirked. "You sound like a desperate prostitute."

I flushed a deep crimson red from my hairline down to my fingertips. I tried to protest but all that came from my mouth was a petty stream of incoherent sounds.

"See, that's the thing with you people," Zayn began to almost growl at me, using four fingers to hold the neck of his beer bottle, and the index to point at me. "You think you're all so bloody amazing because you're smart and let teachers dictate everything you do, but outside of class you're worth nothing. You can't even think of a single thing to say to me now. And you wonder why you don't interest me?"

"T-That's not fair!" I spluttered. "You can't judge me, you don't know me, just because I don't make a nuisance doesn't mean that I can't be interesting..." but my voice began to fade off, when I realised he was right. I didn't play any sports, didn't belong to any clubs, I didn't hang out with my friends often; I didn't know how to have fun. Maybe I was boring. Maybe that's why the in-crowd didn't want me...

"Prove it," Zayn muttered, taking a long drag of his cigarette and consciously blowing a smoke ring into my face. "Do something to interest me!"

Without thinking, I snatched the lit cigarette from his grasp. Suddenly aware of what I was doing, I stopped horrified. Zayn's eyes twinkled with amusement, slowly daring me to do it. The effect Zayn had on me was so powerful already; it was like he could make me do anything. And I would, as long as it impressed him. Pushing my morals to the back of my head, I crammed the cigarette between my lips with a trembling hand and inhaled deeply.

"Eurgh!" The taste of nicotine hit me putrid and strong. I began to cough gutturally and spit frantically to remove the bitter taste from my tongue.

Zayn exploded with laughter at my pathetic attempt at impressing him. Even though I was doubled up, taking a shot at puking my guts out, I couldn't help but notice how cute his laugh was, even the way he crinkled his nose.

"Nice try, Ashleigh!" he called, as he made his way down the alleyway, leaving me alone in the dark backstreet with my shopping bags on the floor.

Ashleigh.

At least he was trying.