Bad Blood (h.s.)

Part Nineteen

Part Nineteen

It was something about the concentrated gaze he holds while drawing. The cautious and delicate fingers that move along the drawing paper; the scruff of his beard accenting his jaw; his constant soft eyes while watching me.

Two days.

Two days I've been here, isolated to the point I have only talked to Zayn. My pleading heart begs for Harry to come to me, but I have had no communication with him, leaving me alone with a kidnapper. He is the only boy to touch me and feel electrified; Zayn's touch, there's nothing.

I sit in front of Zayn, my left leg hanging over the ledge of the window sill. His eyes focus on the sketchbook in front of him. He looks up at me and smiles, a smile appearing on my lips as well.

"You have a really white smile," I tell him, a small laugh escaping both of us.

"You have a beautiful smile."

A light blush creeps on my cheeks from his compliment and he puts the pencil down. He shows it to me and my jaw drops. It honestly looks like I am looking in a mirror, my dark hair falling over my shoulder, eyes a light color.

"Zayn, this is amazing."

"You asked if I could draw something, so I drew the most beautiful thing I see."

I smile and he sits closer to me. I slightly move away but he pulls me closer to him, arms wrapping around my waist. I cringe away and he laughs, sucking on my neck. The all too familiar thoughts of our first encounter coming back into my mind.

"Harry won't stop me now."

He picked me up and threw me onto his bed, climbing on top of me. I close my eyes shut and feel his hands wonder my body, my limbs limp in his hands. I freeze and he presses his lips to mine, mine maintaining a straight line and his moving, trying to get mine to move with his.

"Kiss me back or I'll kill you," he groans, my eyes tightening and opening my mouth slightly, his actions clearly taking advantage.

"Let's have some fun, yeah?"

~

I hesitantly sit up, Zayn's bare chest and nearly naked body standing in front of me. I quickly cover my chest, seeing as he ripped off my bra, and hold myself in caution. I have been molested and tortured by him, my breasts stinging and hurt by his biting, his rough fingers circling my underwear in the most uncomfortable feeling. To say I am scared is an understatement.

"You can shower while I get you something to eat. But don't be too long, I am going to need a little help with this," he tells me, signaling to the massive buldge in his tight black boxers.

I nod and he leaves, shutting the door and hearing the lock behind him. My arm shields my chest as I walk to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. I walk to the shower and turn it on to the hot water, shedding my underwear and stepping in.

I wash away every touch he placed on me, the memories pained in my mind as he constantly pushed me. I move my body under the water, my face hit by the steamy water, washing my face and holding myself together by the last string.

I use his shampoo and wash my sweaty hair, my whole body feels like it is covered in dirt; Zayn's touching was dirt to me.

I shut the water off after standing in the hot water for what felt like hours. I step out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my body. My nipples are bruised, hard and tender to the touch because of his hitting and beating.