His Hope [Zayn][Completed]

Chpater 2-Feisty

"Good you're back.  Dinner is ready.  Please," He gestured to a chair in the dining room. "Make yourself comfortable."

There was something about this girl.

Although she was sparkling clean now, having freshly showered and in clean clothes she still looked broken and helpless.  Blue eyes that were much too large in a narrow face appeared tired, hollow and sad, droopy even.  Her lips looked extra plump due to her thinning face.  Her hair was wrapped in a towel.  Zayn had to look away for a moment before it was obvious he was staring–from the few thick mounds sticking out it appeared it was still a big mess.  It looked more like a nest and not human hair. 

The robe hung over her frail body.  Far too unfit and big.

Her body was too thin. Her shoulders were hunched making her posture curve.  She had the stance that resembled an old woman and not a young one.

Zayn felt an infinite amount of pity for her.  All alone in the streets, vulnerable, and in constant danger.  He could very well understand her apprehension of him earlier.

Zayn was glad he found her when he did.  He could never ignore helping someone in need.  No one should go through such hardships, especially a homeless one.  He didn't know much about her yet but he could well imagine the horrendous conditions she must have lived with on a daily basis. 

Especially on the streets of London, homelessness was a great tragedy.  They were found living in sheds, bins, cars, tents and on the sides of streets cooped up in layers of blankets.  It was a crisis and an unfortunate way of life. 

She wasn't the only homeless person he'd run across.  He'd helped some by offering food or even a job at the hotel if they were willing to work ethically for a roof over their head and food in their belly.

But there was something he couldn't quite understand, he couldn't pinpoint about her.  It made no sense.  It's not that he felt weary of assisting her, quite the contrary.  He was glad he showed up when he did to save her life from that scum that was beating her. 

But this girl he found was in extremely bad condition.  Worse than he'd ever seen.  Her face had dried, dirty streaks, her clothing, if they can be called that, were torn, worn out, too big and caked with dirt. Not to mention her hair.  It appeared as if it had been a year since she brushed a comb through it.

God only knew the last time she ate.  Zayn's insides hurt just looking at her.  She was in dire need of help, that much was obvious. 

But was a good nights rest and food in her belly enough? 

He felt this gnawing urge to help her get her back on her feet.  Was she a runaway?  Did she lose her home?  He needed to learn more about her before he went down a path he may not be welcome or allowed to venture.

The girl didn't move, shifting her weary eyes from him to the dishes displayed on the table.  Her gaze darted to him once more and her face flushed a rosy pink. 

Zayn, momentarily forgetting his manners, groaned internally.  He never properly introduced himself and hadn't even asked for her name. 

"Pardon me.  Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Zayn.  Zayn St. James."

Within a few steps he stood before her, extending his arm.  Unlocking her arms from around her waist, timidly she reached out and placed her hand in his. 

Her fingers were bony–the pads of her fingers rough, dry and small in his large one. 

He made a mental note to place some hand cream in Jasmine's room for her to use.