Just tell me you hate me (zayn malik fanfiction)

chapter 8

It’s been a couple of days since I’ve moved to London and met Zayn, we’ve barely talked let alone seen each other, he’s been in and out of the house recording their new album, actually whenever I heard the front door slam told me it was 7 o’clock and better get up, I got into a routeing, I’d get up, shower, get dressed, eat, eat, and well eat, oh fuck I really need to get a life here, the fact is that I know no one here and if I don’t do anything fast I’m just going to turn into one of those desperate house wives staying home cooking and cleaning, well take out the cooking, cleaning and the wife bit-

“Slam!”

What the hell was that, I got up off the bed and walked over to the door, taking a quick glance at the clock- “10:13 in the morning, what the fuck is Zayn doing home so early” I mumble to myself with a questionable frown on my face

I grab the handle and slowly peered down the hall way, as I walk out I heard some grunts from down stairs, should I go down?

I wasn’t in the mood to talk to Zayn, all though I haven’t seen him in a while and he might think I’ve tripped over in the bathroom cracked my head and drowned in my own blood, as if he’d care-

Ah fuck it im hungry, I walked through the wide hallway then sliding my hand down the sleek steel rail I walk down the steps into the foyer, from there I heard the faint muffled noises of the television and concluded that Zayn was in the lounge watching Fashion police or some shit,

I made my way in the lounge to go to the kitchen, as I walked through I saw Zayn lounged on the leather couch slumped with a magazine perched on his lap then with his long fingers gliding across the glossy paper gently flipping each page in a repetitive motion with his back faced towards me

 I watched him for a moment, he was dressed in a baggy white shirt and light grey track pants, his hair was styled into his famous quiff and by the looks of things he was totally immersed in his magazine which I could tell by the cover was Men’s Vogue

 I smile at the fact that he reads fashion magazines, that only shows how much of a self-consumed, show bitch he was, bad boy my ass.

One foot after another I walked through the lounge trying not to spark any attention to me what so ever, as I walked around the marbled topped bench I could feel a hard gazed, I looked up only to fine my gaze being interrupted with Zayns deep brown eyes staring back

I quickly looked away searching the cupboards for a bowl-

“Pass my cigs” a beep voice ordered

I looked up again to see Zayn completely focused to what I was doing

I pressed my lips together reached a cross the counter and threw the packet a across the room

As I did so I heard a grunt and realised it struck Zayn right on his temple, I looked down and couldn’t help but to smile quite pleased with myself, only if it had been a rock.

As he got up he then turned around and mumbles

“don’t bother eating, Paul texted me and said we have to have a lunch date somewhere”

I looked up but he had already walked out the sliding door and onto the large patio to have a smoke

Knowing this I closed the cupboards and made my way upstairs to get dressed.

Just about ready I ran into the bath room rinsing my face then taking one more glance into the mirror, semi satisfied with myself I walked out of the bathroom and make my way down stairs

“Could you put on something more god dam appealing?” “Jeusus Christ we want people to think were dating” “they will take one look at you they would think your my relative, not even a retard would date you if you look like that”