Bad // zaynmalik [on hold]

Chapter Seven

 I was hesitant to go out with Zayn tonight for three reasons:

One, he might be a killer.

Two, I'm sick.

And Three, I don't own anything 'slutty'. Even if it was just a joke.

Around 8:10, I pulled myself off my couch, and decided to get ready. My dad still never came home, and I actually did start to worry. I wanted him to come home safe, but I didn't want to get beat for going to a party with a boy.

I carried myself upstairs, feeling less ill than earlier. I hadn't thrown up in two hours, so that was a good sign. I walked into my room, stopping at my closet. I surfed through the shirt-covered hangers, not a dress to be found. Feeling a little disappointed with my clothing selection, I turned to my dresser. I found a pair of dark blue jeans shorts, which I matched with a sleeveless, white fashion top. I stripped, changing from my comfort-wear to my makeshift 'slut' outfit.

I starred into the mirror, wondering what I should do with my unmade and fairly messy hair. What was a party appropriate hairstyle? Curls? A pony tail? Maybe straighten it? I decided on curls, grabbing my wand curler out of the bathroom, and plugging it into one of the less broken outlets in my room.

Thirty minutes later, I was done. My hair was thin, but very long, making it hard to curl. In the midst of spraying my entire head with hairspray, the doorbell rang. I set the can down, fluffed up the roots of my hair with my hand, then shut the lights off before leaving. Once I reached the front door, I peaked through the peephole to check who was at the door.

It was Zayn, patiently waiting with a cigarette in his hand.

I pulled the door open, feeling the cold night air hit me. “You're early.”

“Not by much. You ready?” He asked, watching me slip my feet into a pair of ballet flats.

“Yep.” I blurted, stepping out onto the porch, starting down the steps.

“I brought the car;” Zayn noted. “I figured you liked it better than the bike.”

“You'd be correct.” I nodded, slowly walking next to him towards his car.

“How many cars and bikes do you have?” I added, sparking up conversation.

“Well..” He took a second to think, leaving my side and walking around the car to the driver's side. “Only four. I think?” He replied as I pulled the passenger's side door open, plopping onto the cold, black leather seat.

“Only four?” I restated. “Are you saying one isn't enough for one guy..?”

“I like variation.” He explained, starting the car up with a boom. “Two Harleys, a Viper, and a Lambo.”

“And how do you get the money for all of these?”

“That's not of you goddamn business, Price.” He shot me a fake smile, talking to me like I was a an idiot.

“I'm still curious.” I folded my arms across my chest, glaring at him, though he was distracted by backing his 'Lambo' out of my driveway.

“Uhh..” He hummed, still sidetracked. “That's a story for another day.”

“Whatever..” I gave up, sighing. “Why are you even taking me to a party?”

“Because,” He paused. “I want you to experience a real party.”

“But I-” My voice caught in my throat as Zayn stepped on the gas, zipping down my residential street. He ignored the speed limit, tearing down the thin road, almost as though he was testing how fast the car could go.