Stripped (a Zayn Malik Fanfic)

1460

A/N: Thank you all so much for your lovely comments! This one's for my new friend Megan! <3 xo

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Zayn's P.O.V: 

1460 days. 

1460 days that Leila Karim had not been in my head. Four years –a lifetime ago, and now she was all I could think about. I thought back to the appalling sight I had taken in just moments ago; Harry with his tongue down Leila's throat, Leila perched on his lap like some sort of prize and worst of all, her brown eyes glaring at me hatefully. I cringed at the memory, patting down my pockets to see if I had an emergency pack of smokes. No such luck. It had been especially hard quitting the past few months, but at this point I could not care less about the state of my lungs. 

I regarded my surroundings sullenly. I was waiting for the rest of the boys at the back of the club where management had told us to wait to be picked up. I hadn't spoken to the people at Syco, but I knew for a fact that they would be furious with us. Technically they should be furious with me since I was the one who tipped off the paps. I regretted acting so rashly now of course, but at the time I couldn't stand the idea of Leila and Harry alone in a room for a moment longer. It had made me entirely lose control. Why it drove me so mad, I wasn't yet sure. 

The door that I stood beside swung open, and out walked Louis, Niall, Liam, and lastly Harry. 

"He got the girl's number, this one did." Niall gushed, giving Harry a hearty pat on the back. 

"Her name's Leila." Harry clarified sheepishly, a Cheshire grin finding his lips. 

My face remained expressionless. "Right on mate." I deadpanned, wishing for nothing but a smoke between my lips. 

"Oh s.h-i.t-e." Liam announced, looking past where I stood and towards a cluster of garbage cans further down the alley. 

Louis' face scrunched up in disgust when he saw what Liam referred to. "Looks like we've got our pap of the day!" He chimed angrily. "Right b.ä.s.t.a.r.d you are taking photos of us when we've done nothing to you. How would you feel if I took a few Polaroid's of your Mum in her knickers?" 

Harry, Niall, and I turned on our heels. Crouched behind a pile of garbage was a middle-aged man stealthily photographing us from within the trash. The shutter of his camera opened and closed in a rapid fire of incriminating photographs of us departing the strip club. 

"We're screwed." Harry sighed, kicking at a littered beer bottle in frustration. 

As if on cue, our hired car quickly pulled into the alley, its tires screeching to a halt. The five of us dashed towards it, ripping the doors open and piling in, one nearly on top of the other. Drive!" Louis yelped, and our driver, John slammed on the gas and shot out of the alley. 

"You boys are in deep, deep s.h.i-t-." He chided, glancing at us in his rearview mirror and shaking his head. 

"We know." The five of us said in unison.   

Taking a sharp right, John made the unwise decision of circling around to the front of the club where the sidewalk was packed with a drove of screaming girls and more of the paparazzi. 

"It's them!" One of the excitable girls squealed, resulting in screaming of the entire crowd. 

The photographers began to snap pictures, the powerful flashes of their cameras still able to penetrate the tinted windows of our car. As a precaution, we all ducked. Not that it mattered; the pap in the back alley had retrieved enough incriminating evidence to provide to all of Britain's tabloids. The damage was done, but the photographs were the least of our worries when a foaming-at-the-mouth Simon Cowell was just on the horizon.