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If someone would actually tell me a month ago that I would be sitting with handcuffs in a police station waiting to get interrogated, I'd scoff and tell someone off because I was someone who was a very calculative person that wouldn't do anything out of fear of doing harm to anyone.
That was the old me.
Now however, I would become a selfish person.
"This way please." The officer told me, I'm being led to an interrogation room where many questions were being thrown at me.
All I can put my attention on is the hideous decoration of this place.
"It's confidential, I'm sorry but the clauses that I had to sign won't let me talk about Zayn." I would answer a lie but I knew that they wouldn't be able to do anything when I just clarified it's settled with law, the encounter with a celebrity which they know, but torture me with keeping me here, hoping I'd spill.
Once they finally want to relocate me to another room, I would be facing prison time but I didn't care as much as I thought I would. My sanity has left me long ago, as I'm out of the door my breath hitches and I freeze on the spot since I see Zayn slamming his hand down the desk of the reception, demanding something.
That must've hurt, his hand is merely out of a cast but he's too clouded with anger to care. I've never seen him like this. Maybe he has anger issues too. I should be careful. But my mind wanders to other stuff, less burdening stuff.
He looks way too good for his own self. He's in such a casual attire but so handsome to look at. Sweats, worn out boots and plain black long armed shirt that hung tight on his defined skinny body, disheveled hair, leaving to shame my pajama looking trousers and white shirt. I was still on sleeping attire when the cops took me.
Humiliating actually.
Once he senses me, his eyes find mine and he exhales and looks relieved, and I take a grip of my over hormonal state over crushing on him when he's the one causing all of this nonsense.
