Hired For Malik (Completed)

Chapter 11: Together

Lindsay's POV.

"...Don't take it the wrong way, I just can't look at you the same." I choked on the words. The look of hurt covered his face and I had never felt so bad before. He reminded me too much of my past.

He took a step back, his hand reaching for the door. I could tell by his eyes that he wanted to say something back, badly. But I wasn't going to let him.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and half yelled at him,"Go. Before I call security." That's when I heard the door close and I knew he had left for good. I continued to cry on my pillow. All Zayn was doing was caring for me. Ne was generally a nice person once you got to know him a bit better. But after that little scene... I can't help but feel terrified of him.

Mother kept knocking on my door, insisting that I open up. But I couldn't. I kept screaming at her to leave me alone or to just give up. I've never been so rude to her. She gave me life, and this is how I treated her.

My phone had my attention now, and soon an unknown number came up. They were calling me. I thought it would be one of the boys, but then I realized I had all of their numbers.

I pressed the pick up button and put the phone to my ear,"Hello?" I tried to put my voice back to normal, but it cracked anyway.

"I assume this is Lindsay?" It wasn't any of the boys. I had never heard this voice before, at least I don't think I did.

"Um..yes." I was sitting straight up, trying to focus on everything that was about to be said.

"Good. This is Joe, one of Zayn's managers. I understand some stuff went down today between you two?" I rolled my eyes. Zayn was not going to hear the end of this for sure.

I sighed and answered the man,"Yes. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Remember, you still have a year with him. One wrong move and I will take you down."

I gulped and I heard the phone hung up. That definitely brought my mood up. But how did they know about our little argument? There's no way Zayn could have possibly told them in such a short amount of time.

I shrugged it off, not wanting to think anymore. I decided on bringing the one thing out that could make me happy. The one thing that I haven't brought out since I was adopted four years ago.

I threw my legs off to the side of the bed and brought my knees down to the floor. After picking up the sheets, I looked under the bed and pull out a small wooden box. It took all of my courage to open it up.

Inside was a small ballerina, and it began twirling along with some light music. Behind it was small oval shape that could hold a picture. And the picture was of my biological parents, holding me.

They looked happy, I looked happy. That was the one moment where our family was complete; a whole. I smiled just looking at it. Then I think of my life now.

My mother didn't deserve the yelling that came towards her. It was through a door, and all she wanted to do was help. I felt like a monster.

My real parents, Bill and Isabelle, died in a car accident. Where I was the lucky survivor. Sometimes I would lay awake at night, wondering why God had given me a second chance. Why didn't I die with them? At some points in my life, I wanted to be dead.

At the beginning of my career, just starting to get noticed, I began getting hate. Tons of it. People were telling me I needed more makeup to cover up my ugly face. Or I needed to go on a diet. That's what models did, right? No, they didn't. My mother told me that that's what the weak did.

I was strong. Look where all that confidence has gotten me today. I shut the box and slid under my pillow this time. I would probably open it up later tonight before bed.

I swung my door open, rushing down the stairs,"Mom? Mom?!" I looked around her study and the living room, only to hear some noise come from the kitchen. My feet carried me there and that's where I saw her. She was washing her hands, not paying any attention to me. I deserved that.

I ran to her, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind and put my forehead on her shoulder. That position worked because she was shorter than me. I cried softly into her as I felt her turn my body so she was hugging back.

"Mom, I'm so sorry. I was terrible to you." My voice was shaking at that point and she started running her fingers through my hair. She pulled back and wiped the tears with her thumb. One cheek at a time. She gave me a soft smile and pecked my cheek lightly.

"Honey, you're fine. I understand, about everything. I knew you were upset." She squeezed my hand assuringly and started to work on dinner. I hopped up onto the counter, swinging my legs back and forth.

I looked down and back up at her,"Zayn left, right?"

She pulled out a pot and set on the stove, filling it up with water before,"Yes, but it looked like he was about to cry."

My lips went into a straight line. She wanted me to call him, I could sense that. But there was no way I couldn't. Not without telling her about the Ferris wheel and about Brian. I didn't want to bring that up. Instead, I told her some of the truth like I did with him earlier.

"Mom, Zayn and I aren't really dating."

She stopped peeling the potatoes and turned her body so that it was facing towards me,"What do you mean?"

I sighed. It was now or never. I explained to her how we were set up after the concert, to get more notice from fans. It was all for publicity. I told her that we never had real feelings for each other. That we had to pretend for a whole year. She worked silently, still listening.

"Why would you agree to that?" She said back.

I shrugged my shoulders,"I was about to release my song. I wanted it to be popular. That was they only thing on my mind when I signed the contract." She nodded her head, her short black hair moving with it,"But you can't tell anyone, not even dad or Max."

"Why's that?" Her soft voice spoke.

I set my feet back on the ground,"Because if you do, I'll get fired. I'm not even supposed to tell you, but I trust you. Please don't tell, okay?"

She gave me a hug and I knew she would keep my secret. This was the thing about her. I was so glad I was picked by a loving family.

Dad came home just as dinner was done and we ate in the living room, watching a football (soccer) game together. Max was too busy texting and stuffing his face full if potatoes.

How could I ever stay mad at these people? It was impossible.