Arabella
Weeks have passed since me and Mr. Styles, incident, you may call it. Certainly, his tone and attitude has dramatically shifted, yet I'm unsure if it's for better or for worse. He's more reserved as of late, never giving me the satisfaction of a full sentence.
Nevertheless, he still requires me to dress in the, dare I say it, skimpy maid attire.
I would sometimes finish my duties early and step off to find Mr. Styles, which he would be in his room. The door would be secured, but from pressing my ear to it, a resemblance of someone beating a meat could be understood.
I'd knock, to assure he was alright, but it was the same each occasion: he'd come out shirtless, and very flustered, then ask me multiple questions on my cleaning, then send me off to clean more.
Although I am upset he won't explain why meats being pounded in his room, it's very delightful seeing Mr. Styles shirtless. Across his muscular chest is tattered ink, some doodles and others thought provoking works of art. Very delightful, indeed.
Today, being Friday, is my last day of work. Sometimes, but not often, I would clean on the weekends as well, but that's if Mr. Styles had the extra cash.
The temperature has been rising latterly, to which I am grateful. Walking home isn't much of a pain as it was a month ago in this uniform.
Starting my usual path home, my eyes dart across the street, recognizing a familiar handsome gentleman. Zayn Malik, he titled himself.
He looked exceptional, as he did previously. His tattooed and toned biceps were visible through the thin white tee shirt that adorned his frame. I notice his hair style has changed up a tad, the left lightly shaved off and his hair gently combed. (How tf do you describe the god known as zayn)
While examining his god like appearance, Zayn made his way towards me. I mentally commanded myself to keep calm and collected.
"You again. Hello, lovely Arabella."
There goes my knees.
"H-hi Zayn." I stutter. Much to gorgeous, he is.
He lightly laughs, more of a masculine giggle. The sound as it is is pure gold.
"You're adorable," he smiles, pausing before slightly arching his back, to where his head was parallel to my ear.
"You're fucking sexy too."
He pulls back, his aura amazingly cool. Was that a compliment? Oh dear.
"T-thank you."
He nods his head, tugging his rosy pink lips upwards. Zayn intertwines his gentle hand with mines, before leading the way to home.
***
He surprisingly stuck the route to memory, down to each turn and crossway. Nearing my house, he questions me some, our hands still entangled in one another's. I couldn't find the strength in me to remove my hand.
"So, who do you live with?" His deep, slow British accent articulated.
"My aunt. My father passed from cancer when I was younger and that caused my mom to make some bad decisions. Now she's in a facility, and here I am."
He nods his head, processing my words. It's quite something to take in.
"I'm deeply sorry for your losses," He starts. I frown, remembering my parents when I could. Long before my life turned a whole new direction.
"Don't frown, love. Let's change the topic. Is your aunt home?" He questions, sensibly hopeful for my answer.
"No, she's out tonight. Friday's is ladies night at the Five Lights Club." I respond.
He bites his lip harshly, almost guaranteed that it's now swollen.
"How about I come in, hang out for a bit?"
I stare at him, very long and concentrated. Being outside with this guy is one thing, but being preserved in a house with him is another.
He's pretty, though.
"Well, okay."
***
Hey,
This updates unedited and short and crappy and is a major cliff hanger but I can't wait for the next because I'm almost positive there's going to be sexual content x2
And did you guys watch a live stream for otra? YES KILL YOURSELVES.
love you all,
