Picture perfect ~Zaynmalik (completed)

Chapter 21

PREVIOUSLY

He'd turn every few minutes and smile at me pulling me in closer each time. But Zayn hadn't stopped there. The next moment his fingers were intertwined around mine as he smoothly rubbed the knuckle of my thumb with his thumb. Hand in hand in the city of London.

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His warmth channelled through me, a soothing and caressing vibe enlightening me but the cold dark doors separated me from his joyful existence. I inhaled deeply and swallowed loud enough for Zayn to hear as we pushed through the doors that were decaled with a prime blue and white checkerboard.

"It'll be fine," he whispered to me gripping harder on my fist.

I forcefully grinned back at him.

The station served for its place to end the crimes of those by depicting it in it's realistic imagery on the walls. Poster's decked the walls with the consequences of offences, frames of barred jail cells, mug shots and high court sentencing. The only thought that ran through my head was that bastard to get jailed for life, for him to never see the sun again. I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue as we made our way to the receptionist.

"Hello, we'd like to make a report," Zayn beat me to it.

"On what?" the middle aged lady said in a condescending tone.

"I was physically abused," I tried to say in a hushed tone.

"Rape," she suggested as she reached for a file.

"No, not quite. I was able to get out of the situation."

"Well I don't have a form for three-quarter rape, so all I can do is get you to speak to the constable," she continued in her sassy attitude. I felt Zayn lean forward as he attempted to give the receptionist a piece of his not so peaceful mind but I pulled on his wrist, "That will do. Thank you."

"Take a seat," she responded, "shouldn't be long," as she pointed to the grey seats on the corner.

I looked at the cushioned seats centred by an old coffee table with out-dated magazines stacked on it, I laughed at the irony.

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"Can you describe the man's physical appearance to our forensic artist?" the constable asked in his thick cockney accent.

"I already have," I said.

"Sorry Miss?"

"I drew him on the back of this magazine," I handed him the health magazine with drawing on the back over a small advertisement.

He looked at it awkwardly, his mouth agape.

"She's an art student at Chelsea," Zayn mentioned suggesting his aghast face was from the scribbles of blue ballpoint.

"Well that changes everything, doesn't it?" the constable said in unintentional sarcasm.

I frowned in confusion. Zayn mirroring the same expression.

"Does he go to your school? Have you seen him on campus?"

"No."

"Any uniform either of the times he followed you?"

"No."

"Did you see the car, perhaps the number plate?"

"No, I didn't."

"Did he say anything out of the ordinary in these events?"

I thought over the many things he said, the tears beginning to sting my eyes. I stopped them from spilling before responding.