Bully Love (Zayn Malik)

8

8.

There I was on a Sunday afternoon, totally covered in paint, washing my dog with a hot shirtless boy beside me, trying to get the stain out of my dog's fur. Yes, hot shirtless boy and that hot shirtless boy was Zayn. I didn't think anyone could deny that he was pretty hot.

Today was quite a day.

**Two hours earlier**

We painted in silence, already finished with the sculpting. I was doing the grass while he was working on painting Tarzan. "This is really awkward." He sighed.

"Yup." I replied, focusing on mixing the different shades of green that I'm using.

He cleared his throat, "So how's Liam?" He asked me as he glanced at me. I shrugged.

"The usual."

He dropped his paintbrush and looked at me with annoyance. "Okay, Nikki. I understand that you hate me and all, but at least try. I've been trying for nearly a week and that's a long time for someone who usually bullies daily. You can at least attempt to like me."

Well. "It's kind of hard to just trust someone with your life after they bullied you for seven years."

"I'm not asking you to trust me with your life, I'm asking you to give me a chance." He was now standing up, my face at his thighs. I should stand up too if he's gonna yell at me. I got to my feet, holding the paintbrush in my hands.

"A chance for what? After this project is done, what do you expect to happen? You think we're gonna have movie nights, and have picnics in the park, and go swimming together? No, because this is gonna be the only time where we hang out. We're never gonna be friends, Zayn. There's too much past behind us and its hard to befriend your biggest enemy!" I shouted at him.

He moved closer to me, "I just wanted another friend but if you're not gonna give me that, I guess me trying is pointless. Do you want me to go back to beating you every day, shoving you in lockers, giving you sprained wrists? I can easily do that if I really wanted to but I won't. I assumed you wanted a friend but if you don't want one, okay. Just trying to help. I guess you don't want help."

I stood there for a few seconds, digesting the words he just threw at me. "Well stop assuming because I'm doing fine with Liam--"

I lifted my hand in a quick, swift movement and green paint splattered on his mouth and chin, as well as his upper lip. I dropped the paintbrush on the newspaper covered floor and my hands flew to my mouth. I small giggle escaped my mouth, "Zayn, I'm so sorry."

He wiped the green paint from his face and looked down at me dangerously. Crap, did I unleash mean Zayn again? He bent down, picking up his paintbrush, and dipped it in the dark brown paint. After suddenly realizing where that paint was going to end up, ran to the other side of the sculpture. "No!" I shielded myself. I closed my eyes and I felt the paint splatter on my sweat shirt and cheek.

I looked up at a smirking Zayn. "You wanna go, Malik?" I asked, picking up the tube of yellow paint. He nodded, taking the small red bucket. He started off the fight by taking a handful of the red paint and flicking it all over me. I wiped my eyes and squeezed the yellow tube and it went flying onto his cheek, clothes and neck. By this point, I had uncontrollable laughter. Luckily I covered the floor in newspaper because that would have been a mess. Somehow we were missing the walls and the sculpture.

I took more of the yellow and squeezed more at him. He simply just poured the bucket of the remainder of red paint on top of my head and I squealed, wiping my eyes. "Too far?" He questioned while giggling.