Zayn Malik. That's what he does; he plays girls.

I have done many bad things in my past life. And as punishment I am now the damned. I can see love but not be loved. I can see happiness but not be happy. I can see the glory but will never be glorified. But when I saw her. I knew I wanted her. Did I want her as a person? No, I wanted to watch her die that night. But what can I say, old habits die hard. I did see something in those cold blue eyes of hers. Something that made me want to give her a chance. I guess this is when the poison had first started to spread..... (This book contains graphic content, gore. And sexual moments yes this may seem like American horror story season one but my own plot I hope you all will enjoy...) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO FRENCHIEMINX69© ALL COPY RIGHT ALONG WITH CHARACTERS AND PLOT BELONG TO THE RIGHTFUL AUTHOR (#3 for Zayn Malik fanfiction)

Have you ever seen a shadow out of the corner of your eye when you're laying in your bed? How about when you're washing your hair? You try to keep your eyes open under water so the monster won't get you while their closed. Luckily it goes away before you can see it, right? What happens when you stare it dead in the eye? Confirmation realization. He's coming for you now.

"Skin like porcelain, hair silky and long, manners be perfect, or you'll surely be gone." (cover by moonxriver)

❖1950's❖ It was wrong, so very wrong. I knew that I shouldn't have felt the way I did towards him, but I did. I couldn't help it. No matter how inappropriate and corrupt our relationship was, I could not let go. He had my heart and soul, everything really. The only problem was he worked for my father. He was a servant. A worker. A laborer. Highest rank: #185 in Fanfiction *One of my first stories so please don't hate on it too much!*

Nothing but intoxication. Nothing but a cold soul in the middle of the night, when the moon is at it's highest and his glass is at his lowest. When his hand raises, it's enough for me to beg on my knees. It's enough for me to fend for myself, to stop myself from saying anything that intensifies his anger, to stop him from going any further and worsening his canvas. My body - his canvas.

❝If I were to be pushed into the middle of the street and a car was headed directly towards me, I don't know if I would move or stay; and that thought scares me everyday.❞ - © conditions cover by the lovely @sweaterlou