Just tell me you hate me (zayn malik fanfiction)

chapter 18

We pulled up alongside the path of Iving Street. I clamber out of the front seat of the ridiculously low, black Porsche.

 Zayn is dressed in a faded jeans and a baggy leather jacket, I take a few glances at him trying to stifle my smirk at the fact his is wearing a knitted beanie, and black ray bans effectively shading his eyes from the bright light caused by his hangover.

With the click of the button he locks the car with two high pitched beeps, I start to walk along the path. Its midday and it feels like six Oclock on a cold winters morning, the weather is cold and crisp, but at least the sky is clear giving the streets this airy feeling, I’m glad I went with my kaki trench coat and simple black jeans, however before we left Zayn did comment on the lack of makeup and hair products, I did what I always do, replying with a dry comment on how much he looks like an old nines rapper who everybody forgot about, and plus he kept on complaining about his god dam headache in the car and how the radio station never plays the right music, then whenever a loud rock song came on he told me to turn it down as if it was my fault, I then ended up getting pissed off and turning the radio off, apart from the dirty look and small bickering everything was fine, however something has change, but I can’t pin point what that is exactly.

Walking ahead I take in my surroundings and realise, I’ve never really gotten out and seen London yet, yeah sure I’ve been around to the nearest libraries and shops but I’ve never really looked up and taken notice of how old and pristine the London streets are, I think this is the first time I’ve actually gotten out of the car and walked around this area, everything is so pretty, it holds this unique, grey, serene, elegance, and is a change from seeing the tall sky high skyscapers in New York, maybe someday I could come and sit on the bench and draw the old marbled and brick buildings.

I turn my head to the other side to find Zayn next to me taking long steps, keeping the same pace as my small quick strides, how long has he been there for I ask myself. I look up at his face but I can’t see his eyes, however I can see a ghost smile playing on his lips, what are you smiling about, I frown at the thought. His hands are deep within his jean pockets-

“Are you trying to run away from me or something?”

“Why would I want to do that”- I say bluntly

I look up at him from with my peripheral and I can see his lips curved into a slight smile, oh thank god, his not pissed

“Lead the way then.”- he swings his hand out in front of him, I think he’s laughing at me

“I don’t know where I’m going”- I muffle under my breath while looking away down the busy street

He then slows down the pace of his strides making him slowly fall behind, I turn my head sharply to see him glancing up at the tall pillars of the buildings I was admiring before, with his ray bans now off and stuffed somewhere in the pocket of his jacket, his eyes fall back onto me-

“Stop walking so fast, I’ve got-

“Your’ve got a hangover I know” I roll my eyes coming to a complete stop to wait for him

“If you were so drunk last night why the hell did you drive us home?” – his eyes were no longer looking at me instead they were cast on the tilted ground as if he was tracing each crack in order to avoid me

“Because I wasn’t drunk then”- wait, what? He wasn’t drunk at the club, he wasn’t fucking drunk

By the time he said that the look on my face was priceless however he wouldn’t look up at me, instead he kept his eyes cast down, this doesn’t make sense

“It doesn’t matter, you were off your face and I saved you form ending up in that guys bed and your face all over the morning newspaper” – oh he thinks I was drunk this is why he hasn’t mentioned the bit when he was in the fucking hall way inches away from kissing me!