Stripped (a Zayn Malik Fanfic)

Still

A/N: Thank you all so so much for reading, commenting, and voting! You are all such an inspiration! xx

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Leila's P.O.V (cont'd):

Zayn continued to observe me in silence, an amused look appearing on his unfairly perfect face. In one swift movement, he had retrieved a few bags of my fallen groceries as well as my set of keys. 

"Seems like stripping isn't the only bad habit you've picked up in London. You used to get that vein in your forehead anytime you caught me swearing and here you are rivaling a sailor-" He noted in disbelief, getting my door open on his first try and strolling into my apartment as if he owned the damned place, which I realized to my dismay that he did technically –at least for the next year.

Infuriated, I gathered the remaining two bags of my shopping and followed him inside, roughly slamming the door behind me and allowing my things to fall to the floor with a sickening thud. Glancing up at me, Zayn abandoned the unpacking of my groceries, his arms falling to his sides in defeat.  

"You unimaginable b.â.s.t.a.r.d," I breathed accusatorily, shattering any hope of containing the anger I had built up the past four years when I began to gravitate towards him. "How dare you show your face here, how dare you come into my home and throw your money around like I'm one of your pathetic charity cases!" I screamed, finding myself less than a foot away from him. 

Looking down at me, Zayn began to shake his head, a mirthful smile on his lips. He leaned forward ever so slightly, allowing me to smell him –an underlying hint of smoke, cologne, and a scent that had always been entirely his –sending my head into a dizzying spin. "Shouldn't you be used to men throwing their money at you by now, Leila?" He retorted finally. 

It wasn't until I felt the palm of my hand connecting with Zayn's cheek did I realize I had slapped him. Stiffly, Zayn turned his face back towards mine, his clenched jaw unable to disguise the wounded look in his dark eyes. My hand prickled from the force of the blow, my jaw slackening in terror. My first instinct was to reach for Zayn's cheek again, to sooth the red welt beginning to form on his cheek and I jerked my arm forward, but for only a moment. I was soon recoiling it to my side again, remembering that I wasn't Leila anymore, remembering that I wasn't sixteen anymore. 

Reaching up, Zayn grazed his tender cheek, but only for a moment. He looked at me again, his harsh gaze softening and my slap long forgotten. "What difference does it make if it's me throwing it?" He continued his previous sentiment, more quietly this time. "Your oldest friend and probably the only person that still gives a damn about you with your clothes on." Zayn told me in earnest, and before I knew it, he was gently pushing a black tendril behind my ear. 

Chest heaving, I continued to stare at Zayn –in all of his red varsity jacket glory, catching sight of his hand as he retrieved it and seeing the same white scar on his palm that he had gotten during year eight Home Economics. My stomach churned and I knew I had to do whatever it took to get away from him. 

I recovered with a cruel smile. "Is that why you're here, Zayn? To chat about old times over a cuppa? Or maybe it's something else. Maybe you liked what you saw the other night." I concluded lowly, taking a step forward and dragging my finger down his chest. 

Zayn stiffened beneath my touch, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly. "Stop it, Leila," He snapped, taking my hand and placing it at my side. "You know why I'm here. You know it." He told me emphatically, his eyes searching mine. 

The tears I had been suppressing from the moment my eyes had landed on him outside my apartment door began to fall. "I don't actually, so please f.ù.c.k.i.n.g enlighten me." I said, still masquerading strength despite the fact I was unraveling right in front of Zayn's eyes. 

Zayn swallowed hard, shutting his eyes for a moment. I watched as his dark lashes fanned across his cheek, knowing exactly what he was going to say. "I meant what I said," He opened his eyes. "I should have been there," He stammered. "For you. I'm sorry, Leila. I'm sorry about your parents." He concluded. 

I made a break to leave, but Zayn's grasp around my wrist held me in place. "Don't." I begged him with a whisper, still facing away from him. "Please don't." 

"I loved them too," He explained quietly, searching for the right words to say. "They were good people and I failed them, but worst of all, I failed you." It only took a slight tug in his direction for me to collapse into him. His arms were waiting for me, capturing me in the same, consuming embrace I was only lucky enough to receive on rare occasions. Face pressed against the hard panes of  Zayn's chest, I could hear the steady, unwavering beat of his heart. I felt safe, I felt comfort, and I felt peace. I breathed in the dizzying scent of the boy who I had loved far too much for my own good.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" I whispered eventually, only for Zayn to pull me into him further. 

Zayn leaned down so that his lips were by my ear. "I want to set things right. I want to be the friend that you deserved three years ago when all of this happened." He explained gently. 

A good deal of time passed, the two of us just standing there. "I called you know, when it happened," I murmured against the soft fabric of Zayn's jacket. "And then when I saw you on the telly I knew why your number had been disconnected." I told him. "I was happy for you then, and I'm still happy for you now." I confessed, stepping out of his arms and avoiding the pained expression I knew he wore on his face. 

He stepped forward. "Leila-" Zayn began weakly; unable to continue when I spoke. 

"Don't be here when I get back." I demanded with a choked whisper, making my way out the front door and into the hallway. Descending the stairs into the lobby, I had never been more grateful for Rita's disinterest in my life when I slipped out into the rain. The air stunk of petrichor, and I walked blindly until reaching a park, the last of its inhabitants absconding due to the poor weather. I found my place at a vacant swing, its chains groaning under my weight as I sat. From afar, I watched discreetly as a Mother pulled a warm hat over her child's ears. "Home we go, love." She cooed, strapping him securely into his stroller and disappearing around the corner a few moments later.  

Staring at my hands, I swung back and forth, dragging my heels through the moist gravel. Sitting on the swings always reminded me so much of one night in particular; a warm night nearing the end of summer that was so much unlike this one –the night I told Zayn I loved him.

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A/N: Woot thank you all so much! 'Stripped' is very much starting to pick up from here onwards! The next chapter: Memories will entirely be a flashback of the night that ultimately led to the end of Leila and Zayn's friendship, and after that, we have a whole lot of Harry (as well as Zayn) to look forward to. Comments, votes, and favourites are amazing! I would love to hear what you think of the story so far! Please visit s.t.r.i.p.p.e.d.f.a.n.f.i.c.t.i.o.n.t/u/m/b/l/r.c/o/m (remove slashes and periods) for outfits, accompanying music, and amazing fanart. xx