Stripped (a Zayn Malik Fanfic)

Victory

A/N: I'm sorry sorry this took forever guys. It kept getting longer and longer. As many of you know 'Stripped' is a rewrite so it's almost tedious work to go through a story I've already written. I will try to update once a week. This is more doable. Please feel free to message me on tumblr or here and I will get back to you when I can! I know I promised Harry and Leila's date in this chapter, but I felt the details 'Victory' has captured instead were important to address. The date will 100% be next chapter! Stay tuned.

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Leila's P.O.V:

My chest rose and fell softly as I gazed at myself in the mirror. My eyes were ringed with black and my hair a tangled, obsidian mess. I wasn't sure how long I had been studying my face, but I assumed it had been quite some time now since I vanished into my dressing room, securely bolting the door behind me. After my less than pleasant confrontation with Zayn and visit to the park, I materialized at Victory in shambles, my co-worker and close friend Kitty left to pick up the pieces, much like she had done for the past two years before. I insisted that I would rather be at Victory than at home, and would at least like to earn some money in the process. With a begrudging frown, Kitty conceded and alerted Tommy, who managed to fit me into the schedule as well as slip a valium to me for my nerves. Gratefully I washed down the pill, and soon after found myself on stage, focused on nothing but tangling myself with the pole, both Zayn and Bradford the furthest things from my mind.

But as I sat at my vanity and observed myself, with little objection or control, my mind travelled to Zayn –Zayn who had returned to my life in full-force, Zayn who finally knew my parents were dead, Zayn who paid my rent, Zayn who I had clung to like my life depended on it. I trailed my fingers across my cheek, thinking how much things had changed since those careless summer nights at the town's yearly fun fair, since the nights we spent gazing up at the stars.

The Valium had finally begun to taper off, and with the disappearance of my calm demeanor came the white hot throb of my bruised wrist. I examined the blue-black contusion with indifference, recalling when the abhorrent man I had given a private dance to grasped onto my wrist roughly, growling that he didn't pay all that money for just a dance. I had dealt with the same sort of thing when I had first come to London, the only difference being that I made far more money as a stripper than at the Lucky Seven Diner. Back when Bambi had not yet been born and Leila was still alive.

Flashback

"Food's up!" The diner's head chef hollered, sending a steaming plate hurtling towards me. I narrowly stopped the plates from toppling over the edge of the counter and placed them gently on my tray. Hip-checking through the double doors of the kitchen, I retrieved two mugs of steaming black coffee and cutlery from the bar and made my way towards table six. I could see two men, likely construction workers based on the way they were dressed, chatting away obnoxiously. I strolled up to them and announced their orders politely. "Two bacon, lettuce, and tomatoes on rye." I said with a smile, placing a hot plate in front of each of them, followed by their coffees and cutlery.

The man on my right grinned at me. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He smacked his lips, eyeing me up and down. "What are you, twenty-eight?" He wagered, raising his brows at his friend in amusement.

My heart sped up and I began to grow uncomfortable as both men were likely in their late fifties. "I'm eighteen, actually." I answered him meekly.

"Close enough." His smile widened to a toothy grin, to which his friend began to audibly stifle a laugh. "Your look tells me you've got no English in you." He added. I opened my mouth to confirm that I was not English, that I was Pakistani, but before I could he added a lewd "But that can change."