Arabella
"Well, okay."
I waddle in front of Zayn to open the door. Surely, he can cause no harm, correct?
My hands shuffle in my blazer pocket before grabbing a hold of the cool metal. I swiftly open the door, stepping in and holding the door open for him.
He mumbles a faint thank you as he briefly enters, rubbing his black sneakers on the door mat as per aunts rules. His eyes sparkle under the brightening ceiling lights as those chocolate irises of his wander the cozy house.
"Your residence is cute, much like yourself."
My cheeks involuntarily flush at his comment. I find that the slightest thing from him can turn my cheeks a shade of pink, just like that.
"W-why, thank you."
I look around, in hope to find an excuse to step away from him. His energy alone has me shaken up.
"I'm just going to, uh, change into some fresh pajamas. Y-yeah."
I briefly excuse myself before heading to my bedroom, informing Zayn to make himself at home. Is that not what most tell their houseguests?
I take my time skimming through the stocked dresser, for I am in no hurry to be in the company of Zayn. He has an odd effect on me.
I settle on my tie dye tee shirt and a pair of plain black tights. My feet scurry into my pink bunny slippers for extra comfort.
I pad into the living room, counting the tiles as I skip along them. The television is faded in the background, I assuming that he did make himself at home.
Zayns' lazy figure is sprawled across the beige couch, his eyes intent on whatever program was showing. He averted his attention to me as I mutely tip toed in the room, well, likely not as mutely as I attempted.
I watched him from the corner of my eye, not daring to directly contact him. He sat up straight, licking his lips in the process whilst looking at me. I'd be fibbing if I stated I am not flustered.
I try to spark a conversation, and hopefully pull the attention away from myself.
"So, how old are you? Because, uh, I don't really see you around my school."
He brings his hands together, leaning his upper body onto his knees with his elbows to prop them up.
"I'm 18. Don't go to high school because I was schooled in England. Our education systems differ than those of the United States." (I hope this is correct)
I nod my head in understanding. He then returns his eyes on me, prohibiting my questions to flow from my mouth.
I hope his staring would be cut off in a matter of minutes. Yet, he was still staring.
"Uh, why are you staring at me?"
He stands up as I finish my question, walking over to my sitting pose on the nearby love seat. I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, as if I'm securing my body by doing so.
His slender build towers over me, due to my position. He works to pry my hands off my knees, and effortlessly prevails. I jump over the cushioned chair, taking a step back whenever he takes one forward.
My lower back harshly collides with a wooden surface, presumably the dining table. I message my hands on the lower region of my spine, momentarily ignoring the very gorgeous get very odd male before me.
One moment, I'm rubbing my hands on the small of my back. The next, my hands are pinned above my head as I'm pressed against the wall. I start panicking, thrashing my body around in slight alarm.
