Animals [z.m. || a.u.]

iv.

A/N: Hola, people! Chapter four is here!

Happy reading!

Any typos, punctuation mistakes? I'm extremely sorry!

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iv.

"I'd like to know if you have an appointment with Mr. Whittman." the security guard demanded placing a hand on Zayn's chest, restricting his entrance into the school premises.

Zayn smirked, since he was prepared for this kind of interference in his meet.

"I do not have an appointment." Zayn confessed.

"Then I'm sorry you won't be able to meet him today." the guard said never moving his stiff hand off from Zayn's chest as Zayn tried to play it cool by smiling ever so smugly since he knew Mr. Whittman would never let him be standing there once he knows Zayn was here.

"Oh, I don't think so." Zayn said pressing himself against the security guards hand to make his way through.

"No. You are not on the invitees list either. We can't just let you in that way, lad." the  other gaurd informed looking-up from what Zayn thought was the list of appointments trying to press he's annoyance in, obviously fed-up of Zayn's stubbornness for Zayn was trying to get in since the last 10 minutes.

"Mr. Whittman won't really aporve of you shoving me like that, you know?" Zayn said through his teeth.

"I don't really see any of your connection with Mr. Whittman, boy. Just leave." the guard denied Zayn's entry, yet again.

"Let me talk to him. This is important." Zayn insisted demanding an entry. He hadn't been here in ages and if he doesn't get in now the last chance to meet her goes away. There was no chance in hell that Zayn would go empty handed from here. Who knew how long he would be in Bradford? The 'boss' may just place him somewhere else the next day.

No chance. I gotta see her.

"No. I'm sorry we cannot let you contact him. Would you like to leave a message?" Zayn's eyes lit up at the idea.

"Just call him staright away and tell him Malik is here to talk about the girl." Zayn said waiting at the door frame.

"We'll convey the message. Now please leave." the guard said not a hint of honesty in his voice.

"Call him, now. I ain't leaving that easy, mister." Zayn smirked.

_

The phone in Mr. Whittman's room rang, hollering him to pick it up, pulling Mr. Charles Whittman to come out of his peaceful slumber which he was enjoying on his soft, leather chair in his plush office. Being a school's trustee has it's own advantages.

"Hmm?" Charle's voice acknowledged into the reciever signifying the caller to speak.

"Sir, ther's a boy at the gate says his name is Malik and he's here to talk about some girl." the guard said making Mr. Whittman question his ears at the very mention of the name 'Malik.'

"Sir should I send him in?" 

Mr. Whittman could care less about the question bombarded at him as the dark flashbacks of the memories related to the name 'Malik' came tumbling down on his head. That tiny 4-year-old in the boy's arms as her head bled of God-kowns-what's blow. The helpless brown eyes of the almost 10-year-old asking for help.

"Sir?" the voice of the guard shook Mr. Whittman bringing him back to his senses.

"Yes. Send him in. And apologise." he ordered down the line.