Forced to marry him! Completely re-edited

Chapter Two: Meeting Him

All my hope, my prayers, my everything was for nothing! Nothing at all because I WAS getting married whether I liked it or not, whether I gave a shit or not! In no more than eight months months I would be tied down to the perfect hot arse of a fiancé -zayn Malik.

Life sucked, family sucked and especially this whole marriage things sucked.....

I was so pissed.

So pissed I had beat my pillow about a zillion times wishing that it was zayns face so I

could get it demented and pick out the flaws.

Stupid Zayn, with his stupid perfectness and stupid attractive looks that make me all hot an bothered!

Great now I don't only want to beat the sh*t out of him but also spread my legs for him. I'm a mess and it's all thanks to stupid Malik who I've never met face to face.

I was not only pissed off at Zayn but also at my parents -especially my mother- for giving me this god forsaken curse. I couldn't imagine the pillow was her face, she'd beat me to pulp if she ever found out and well she's my mother, the one who brought me into this world blah blah blah....

So I set to giving her the silent treatment, I only communicated with her through Chloe. And what's worse she didn't even suspect a thing! Yeah that's right, she didn't even KNOW I was MAD at her! She just spoke freely to me not even sensing my anger.

Psh and she thought I was the oblivious one.

I tired not to answer her questions and half the time whatever she said went through one ear and out the other. I WANTED her to sense my anger without me having to TELL her!!!!

And -if possible- I'm even more pissed off today. Because today ladies and gentlemen is when my "fiancé" -which I'm forced to marry- is coming to meet me. Yes and I'm not wearing this cream coloured dress that exaggerates my boobs for him.

Nah uh don't you dare get that wrong. Psh I'm not some slut that's ready to please her fiancé....or am I?

Why the f*ck am I dressing up for Zayn. Who do I think I am, some hooker.

I set the comb down and tugged at the end of my shirt pulling it swiftly above my head.

I've got to get this Malik boy out of my head, I haven't even met him and yet he's got a toll on me. I grabbed my tight jeans and a simple tank top and threw them on feeling immensely better with myself.

See I'm no whore now!

I could hear some unfamiliar voices booming from downstairs and I cursed at these non-soundproof walls. Then a second later I heard my mothers sugar-coated voice from downstairs calling me down.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance and placed my eyeliner down which I was applying. To prevent me from acting like a slut that I thought I was I didn't do a once over in the mirror, instead I refrained to fidgeting with my bra strap whilst making a beeline downstairs.

Ugh don't you just hate it when there's a bra wire sticking out and it's SO uncomfortable!?

I swear once I get this bra off, I'm going to beat it to pulp and then burn the remainder in the fire just for my satisfaction because this bra wasn't acting like a bra, it was just annoying and irritating like my stupid conscience that still wouldn't shut up.

Like what the hell have I ever done to it? I've always given my head rest by sleeping to the late hours in the morning and when it was cold I would put a wollly cap on top -so why the hell does my conscience go against me. Why?

I was so distracted with the stupid rant in my head and the bra wire which I was still fiddling with that I walked straight into a wall -a soft but firm wall.....hmmmm our walls aren't this soft or warm? -I know this from experience.