Perrie
"Didn't I tell you to clean the flat? It looks like a bomb has detonated here!"
Before I knew the word of it, Zayn's rough palm made contact with my already bruised cheek. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the living room. Blood rushed to my face. My head snapped back due to the force of the blow.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them away, couldn't let him see he made me cry. He'd just make fun of me, maybe even slap me again. Zayn didn't care whether he hurt me or not, he didn't care about anyone but himself.
"Look at me!" Zayn shouted furiously.
I refused.
"Are you deaf? Look at me, bitch!"
Zayn wrapped his fingers around my wrist. He buried his nails in my skin. On purpose of course, to cause me pain. I had to bite my lip in order to keep myself from screaming. I couldn't give him the pleasure to watch me suffer. He didn't deserve that.
Hatchi circulated him as he growled. He showed his teeth and his ears were pinned all the way back. It was clear as day he planned on burying his teeth in Zayn's leg. A part of me hoped he would, while the other hoped he'd stay back. Zayn had hurt Hatchi before, and he would do it again without a second thought.
Knowing he'd do something else to hurt me if I didn't do what he told me to, I fixated my eyes on him. A shiver cascaded down my spine when we locked eyes. He did look terrifying, like a monster straight from the nightmares you used to have as a kid.
"Why didn't you clean when I told you to? Huh? The boys are coming over in an hour. I can't let them inside when our flat looks like this" he said coldly.
"It's not my job to clean up after you. It's not my clothes or my empty bottles of vodka on the floor. It's yours. Why would I clean up after you?" I argued.
"Because we are engaged, Perrie Edwards, we're planning a wedding. You're going to be part of my family once you say 'I do', meaning you do exactly what I tell you to. Clean up the mess or I'll lock you up in the bathroom and tell your stupid friends you won't make it to the studio tomorrow. Do you hear what I'm saying?!"
Afraid of what he might do if I refuse to obey, I nodded my head. A smirk spread across his face. He seemed so goddamn pleased with himself. Ugh, what a fucking jerk. If only I had the courage to run away and tell the girls what went down behind closed doors, I would. But Zayn would beat me until my heart stopped beating if I did. I had to keep my mouth shut and pretend everything was okay in order to stay alive.
"Okay, I'll clean up. There's pizza in the fridge if you're hungry."
At the mention of 'pizza', Zayn let go of my wrist. He bolted to the kitchen, where we kept all our food and drinks. Releasing a deep sigh, I started cleaning up the mess my fiancé had caused. I picked up the empty bottles of vodka from the dirty floor and put them on the coffee table.
I'd picked up over seven bottles when I slipped on a wet spot on the floor and accidentally knocked over a bottle. The bottle fell from the coffee table, landed on Zayn's white Ralph Lauren t-shirt, and broke. In a matter of seconds, the white t-shirt was drenched in alcohol.
Uh-oh, if Zayn sees this, I'm a dead woman. A dead woman!
Absolutely terrified that he'd see what I had done to his expensive shirt, I got up on my feet. I was just about to pick up the broken pieces of glass when I heard his venomous voice call from a distance. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"What was that?!"
Zayn came running. His eyes widened when he saw his white shirt was drowning in vodka. He picked it up from the floor, eyed it. I swallowed the lump in my throat, prepared myself for what was about to come.
