One Direction Imagines/Preferences :) (REQUESTS CLOSED)

Zayn Imagine for @R_Irena

Zayn Imagine for Irena. Again, let's not discuss how late this is :)

***Irena's P.O.V***

There it was again. Another picture of Zayn and some random girl who has her face covered. Lately, in every article on websites and in magazines alike, there was some article about Zayn and a “mystery woman.” There was usually a picture too, but the only thing the photo revealed was that she had raven-black hair; Her face was always obscured.

I skimmed through the article I just encountered in my magazine. Zayn Malik seen at the grocery store with mystery woman. Blah, blah, blah. They looked pretty comfortable together, laughing and talking constantly. Yada, yada, yada.  Spotted in the jewelry section looking at beautiful heart-shaped pendants.

Halfway through the article, I slammed the magazine shut and threw it to the opposite end of the table. Huffing, I crossed my arms and legs simultaneously, glaring at the empty patch of table right in front of me.

How could Zayn do this to me? We had been dating for a little over two years. Was I not interesting anymore? Did he lose affection? What happened to us?; I thought we were pretty strong. Zayn knows me better than anyone, except for maybe my mother. He knew how sensitive I was about lying. I absolutely hate lies; they’re pointless, mean, and only lead to more trouble. Zyan knew this. Why would he go and lie to me and go behind my back then?

I don’t how long I sat like that before I heard the front door slam and Zayn grumbling in the hallway as he took of his shoes and jacket. Normally, I would skip into the hallway and hug Zayn, letting his warmth overwhelm me. But right now, I was pissed, and judging by the huffing and stomping just outside the kitchen door, so was Zayn.

Zayn entered the kitchen seconds later, his eyes finding me sitting at the table, glaring at him, and he rolled his eyes. “Great, first I have to deal with some asshole at work, and now I come home to the Wicked Bitch of the West,” he mumbled.

“Excuse you!” I gasped.

He shrugged carelessly, yanking the fridge open and taking out a beer. “So what’s wrong with you? What did I do wrong this time? Or better yet, what do you have to complain about next?” Zayn spat, slamming the fridge door shut.

“You know, just because you have a shitty day at work does not mean you can come home and take it all out on me,” I retaliated, shifting in my seat.

“Whatever. What’s your problem today?” he rephrased, gulping down a large sip of beer.