Monsters Inside Him (Completed)

Chapter 52: Cooking

Chapter 52: Cooking

In the three days that Zayn had been staying with me and my family, I don’t think there was a moment where we weren’t together.

In fact, I don’t think there was ever a moment where we weren’t touching each other.

I had just been without him for eight weeks and I couldn’t physically not have him with me. I needed him there, with me, touching me, holding me to remind me that I wasn’t dreaming all of it.

That was my biggest fear: I’d just wake up and he wouldn’t be there.

It had happened before.

I leaned back into his chest and let him wrap his muscular arms around my waist. We were standing in the kitchen by ourselves, but we both knew we weren’t alone. Even if you’re the only person in the room, you’re never truly alone in my house.

Thin walls. Lots of people. Lots of gossiping and open ears.

So we just kind of stood there in silence, enjoying each other’s company. I could hear my Dad arguing with David in the other room. I could hear my mother playing with Frankie and Kristen.

“I love you.” Zayn’s deep voice startled our brief tranquility. I smiled and reveled in the feeling of his hands on me.

“Hannah! Hannah, could you-” My mother came into the kitchen with Kristen on her hip but immediately froze when she looked over my stance with Zayn. A dark crimson arose over her cheeks and she nervously looked down.

“Oh, er, sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Olson.” Zayn replied smoothly, stepping around me but never breaking our contact.

“Oh, honey, please call me Barb.” My mom smiled up at my fiancé but then quickly moved to place Kristen down.

“Did you need something, Mom?” I asked her, remembering how she was calling for me.

“Oh yes, your father, David and I need to run out to deal with something, so would you mind watching the kids? We’ll be back around dinner.” She assured me. I nodded my head, though I was unsure how comfortable Zayn was with taking care of my siblings.

I’ve never seen him around kids.

I guess I’d do most of the babysitting.

“It’s not a bother,” Zayn smiled warmly, “and Hannah and I would love to cook dinner for everyone, if you don’t mind us using your kitchen.” I turned around to look at my fiancé in shock, but my mother’s reaction was to just laugh.

“Hannah’s going to cook dinner?” She questioned in disbelief.

“Well, maybe she can help set the table or something.” Zayn played along, clearly knowing that I have no place in a kitchen, with knives and ovens and whatnot.

“That seems safer.” My Mom agreed. Both of them started to laugh, but I didn’t think it was funny.

“Ok, enough jokes at my expense. Go wherever you need to go.” I ushered her out before she and Zayn could laugh at me about anything else. A few minutes later, Frankie came bounding in.

“Ok, Frankie, take your sister and go watch-”

“Who wants to help with dinner?” Zayn cut me off and turned to look at my younger siblings.

My parents loved Zayn. Like LOVED him. I don’t know if it was because they saw how happy he made me, or if it was because they were just relieved to have him pull me out of my eight week depression.

My older brother took a different approach. He hated Zayn. I think it was a few factors that contributed to his hate, but I didn’t push it with him.

I knew that it was a little bit of the protective older brother who’s supposed to dislike his sister’s boyfriend. And I knew it was because of the way Zayn looked- as nice and gentle as he was being around my family, there was no denying that Zayn was a dangerous person, and David HATED that.

The tattoos.

The leather jacket.

The knife scars.

The stubble.

The looming height.

The muscle.

They all didn’t help diminish Zayn’s bad boy image, but I think what did it was the way he carried himself.

You could tell Zayn was a dangerous person because of his straight back and broad shoulders. His knowing smirk and his constant scowl. His confidence. His strength. But most importantly, his eyes.

His eyes didn’t regard anyone as a threat. He sized up any new person he met and made it obvious. He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes in a way that could make anyone tremble when he was displeased.

I think the most important thing that made David hate Zayn was that he caused my long depression. It was his fault I came home a mess. It was his fault I had visible scars. It was his fault that I didn’t call home when I was away. It was his fault I got kicked out of school. It was his fault that some of my internal fire was dimmed.

And the worst part of it all was that David was right.

It was his fault.

My younger siblings took the complete opposite approach. While Kristen found Zayn intimidating she had the biggest crush on him and said he looked like Aladdin. Frankie, on the other hand, thought he was the coolest most badass person in the world and wanted to be exactly like him.

“I want to help!”

“Me too!”

I wasn’t at all surprised when both my younger siblings rushed forward and began to jump up and down in excitement over helping Zayn with something.

“I hope that you two have a better sense of what you’re doing in the kitchen than Hannah.” Zayn winked at them, making the two children explode into peals of laughter.

“You’re on a roll today.” I narrowed my eyes at him. Zayn only responded with his cute smile, tongue pressed against teeth and all.

“Ok,” he clapped his large hands together and looked down at the two eager munchkins, “here’s the plan: I’m going to need someone to open this box of rice.” Zayn leaned down and held out an unopened container of rice to Kristen, who was more than willing to open it for him.

“Thank you, princess.” He smiled at her when she was done. He then turned to Frankie.

“Ok, big guy. I need you to get me a large pot and fill it halfway with water. Go that?” Frankie nodded before scampering off to fulfill the request. Soon, Kristen was on pot duty- making sure to alert Zayn when she saw bubbles in the water, while Frankie was taught how to pound out chicken breasts and continuously banged on the meat.

“Oh, Darlin’. Can you handle setting the table or is your little sister going to show you up?” Zayn teased me as he came close enough so that if we spoke in whispers, my brother and sister wouldn’t hear.

“Enough with that, asshole.” I snapped at him. That was the third jab about my cooking. I was nearing my breaking point.

“Or else?” He pressed me, letting his hands rest on my waist as he tugged me closer. I braced my hands against his chest and looked up to glare at him.

“Or else I’ll beat you up.” I threatened. He raised his eyebrows and let out an amused chuckle.

“Mmm? Did you forget who you’re talking to, Darlin’? Just because we’re not in my territory doesn’t mean I’m not still in charge.” His voice spoke like velvet, but I heard his words clearly.

So nothing changed, then?

He left me for eight fucking weeks and he’s still going to treat me like this?

“I haven’t forgotten, I just don’t particularly care.” I retorted, stepping out of his grasp. I felt Zayn pull me back, but he let me go again as soon as he landed a kiss on my cheek.

“Don’t get pouty with me.” He mimicked the angry pout I wore on my lips. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the kitchen so he couldn’t see the smile that crept on my mouth.

I begrudgingly set the table while Zayn gave my siblings odd jobs to help him with dinner.

It actually shocked me at how good he was with them.

I mean, who would’ve seen that coming?

Fearless gang leader of London likes kids. What the fuck?

It definitely got me thinking about our future. Of course, I said yes to Zayn when he proposed. I wanted to be tied to him in any way possible. I was his girl. We loved each other. But that wasn’t enough. I needed to be legally tied to him, on a piece of paper, so that he wouldn’t be able to leave me again.

But we couldn’t tell anyone yet.

Part of it was because I didn’t have a ring due to the unconventional and unplanned proposal, but I didn’t mind. Our whole fucking relationship was unconventional and unplanned, so it kind of fit.

The major part of it was because Zayn needed approval from his gang.

Whenever a member wanted to get married, the top five met and voted on the marriage proposal. I think it was based off of the fact that the woman would technically be marrying into the gang so the top five would get to decide on the new member.

In our case, it would be me. I would be the new member.

I didn’t exactly like the idea of being a member of One Direction, but it wasn’t like I would really be in the gang. It was more like an honorary position that would just associate me with them. I wouldn’t actually be a member.

Zayn said that it wasn’t often that they had to vote on marriage. Most guys liked their bachelor style, or didn’t think marriage was in their future. The few times they had gathered to vote, it was usually a unanimous decision.

If the woman was obedient and understanding of the gang lifestyle, the marriage was permitted.

If the woman was disobedient and disrespectful, the marriage was denied.

Guess which category I fell into?

The whole thing was fucking stupid, and I told that to Zayn quite frequently. He told me to shut up because it was beyond his control. Bullshit. But whatever.

The whole thing was so fucking confusing.

On the off chance that our marriage was approved, I wondered whether or not we would have kids. I mean, seeing Zayn with my siblings made me want it, but I didn’t know if that would be realistic for us.

I couldn’t bring kids into the gang.

I couldn’t even take the chance of Zayn potentially hurting my kids.

I couldn’t let them be subject to kidnapping like I had been.

“What do I do now?” Frankie looked up at his idol for guidance. Zayn carefully leaned over him to see what he had done so far.

“Ok, now take this little spoon and carefully drizzle some sauce over the rice and the chicken.” He said slowly, demonstrating carefully to my little brother who watched him closely.

“What about me?” Kristen came over from where she had been charged with scooping rice.

“You can fill the glasses with water.” Zayn patted her head gently, which caused her to break out in an ear to ear grin. She hurried over to complete her task.

When everything was done, Zayn sent the kids off to wash their hands. We had about twenty minutes before the rest of my family came home.

Of course, that resulted in Zayn cornering me in the kitchen and showering my neck and shoulders with light kisses. I tried to push him off, worried my little siblings would walk in on us. And Zayn seemed to realize that.

“They’re watching TV. Relax.” He cooed in my ear. That did settle me a little bit but I still felt a little tense. His fingers ran up and down my arms until they reached my shoulders. He tugged me to him gently and let his arms wrap around me tightly.

In the time he had been cooking with my siblings, I missed his touch.

I craved it.

I was like an addict.

Without the feeling of his hands on me, I started to go through withdrawl.

“I love you so much, Mrs. Malik.” He murmured against my jawline. I gripped his hair between my fingers and smiled at the new name.

“I’m not Mrs. Malik until I pass the stupid gang voting thing.” I return smartly. I didn’t realize that I jeopardized the moment by potentially pissing Zayn off, but luckily he only chuckled and pulled away to meet my eye.

“Well, you’ve already got my vote.” He smiled. I cocked my head to the side playfully and let my fingers travel down from his hair to his neck.

“Really? And all this time I thought you didn’t like me.” I teased him. I flexed my fingers out, suddenly longing for a ring to mark my engagement finger. I wanted everyone to know who I belonged to, but we had to wait.

“I mean, not really, but you’re fit as fuck so I figured what the hell.” His hands came down quickly to my ass and squeezed both cheeks harshly. I held back my small gasp by covering it with a giggle.

“Is that the only reason?”

“No, I also love your cooking.”

“Enough with that.” I tried to say it seriously, but I couldn’t help but smile through my words, even though they came out snappishly. He pressed me against the counter and pressed our foreheads together.

“And I guess I love you.” His nose rubbed against mine softly, his lips so close to mine.

“I guess I kind of love you too.” I whispered back. Our lips connected before our banter could continue, but I didn’t mind.

His kiss was to die for. So soft and gentle, yet hard and dominating at the same time. I crumbled under his control and let him force his tongue in my mouth.

Whether or not we got approval to marry, one thing was for sure: I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man.