Finley Abbott and Liam Payne were inseparable since they were little kids. Fast forward to 2012- as they finally meet again. This time, Liam and his bandmates are internationally famous and tour worldwide.
Finley thinks she's got all of Liam's mates figured out, all except one. Zayn Malik.


12. i thought you were a rapist.



   That night, I was lying in bed, drifting off when I heard a short rapping against my window. I froze, completely terrified and half tempted to call out for Liam, begging to save me from whatever the hell was lurking outside. Yet still, I was frozen in the same spot in my bed, unable to move.

   The noise came again, sounding urgent and a little timid.

   I sat up in my bed, clutching my blanket around me. My eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapont to defend myself with. A sudden thought struck me. What if it was Dean? My breath hitched in my throat and I threw the covers off, hopping around my room silently in horror. My eyes finally found something out in the darkness, a signed baseball bat Liam had kept.

   Too bad Liam, I thought, wrapping my fingers around the bat and bringing it over my shoulder. It was heavier than I expected.

   Cautiously I crept to my window, the thin curtain covering my attacker from view. I pushed myself against the wall, daring to peek past the side of the curtain. All I could see was darkness. Suddenly a hand appeared out of nowhere and tapped against my glass again. My heart almost jumped out of my chest and I muffled a scream into my hand.

   Heaving my breaths, I tightened my grip on the bat and brushed the curtain aside in one swift movement, wrenching the window open.

   "Who's there?" I hissed. There was a brief silence, before a familiar taunting voice came out from the darkness.

   "What are you planning to do with that bat, sweetheart?" The bat dropped heavily to my side in defeat. Zayn.

   "I..." I begun weakly, feeling a little sheepish. He stepped into view, wearing faded jeans and black hoodie, his face barely visible in the dim moonlight. "What are you doing here...?"

   He stepped up to the window sill, eyes still on my bat I was clutching onto wearily.

   "I wanted to talk to you," he said in a hushed voice.

   "Now?" I asked in disbelief. "Through my window?"

   "Well it would be nice if I could come in," he shot back with a faint smirk.

   "Then go through the front door," I snapped moodily, feeling embarrassed for getting worked up so easily.

   "Aw come on, can't I just climb in?" he asked, pouting his lower lip a little. It really shouldn't have been so sexy. This couldn't be the same guy that had shoved me out of his way impatiently a couple of hours ago.

   I narrowed my eyes at him, but nodded slightly. I watched him place his hands on the window sill and jump up, nearly headbutting the window, but managing to haul himself half through. His stomach was pressed to the frame, one shove and he would either fall with a crash onto my bedroom floor, or right back out the window.

   Unable to witness his show of his uncoordination, I gripped his arm with one hand and pulled him through. One hand wasn't enough. I dropped the bat onto my bed and grabbed his arms with my hands, tugging him. God, he was heavier than he looked. All of a sudden, something must have given way, because he went rocketing through the window, catching me by surprise as he collapsed onto the ground with a muffled thud.

   Right on top of me.

   The breath was knocked from my body, making me gasp involuntarily and take a few moments to gather my thoughts again. By the time my head cleared, I was finally able to register the unknown weight of his body on top of mine. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be affected by the crash at all, and was wearing a smug look on his face as though he was plenty enjoying himself.

   I shoved him off me quickly, scrambling to sit up.

   The two of us were sitting on the floor, staring at each other without saying a word. Finally, he spoke.

   "Are you mad at me, Finley?" His eyes were watchful, observing my every action. I sat with my knees to my chest, my back against the side of my bed. He shuffled over and sat next to me, hugging his knees to his chest as well.

   "For what?" I asked wearily, fixing my eyes on the wall ahead. "Pushing me over in the hallway earlier?"

   "I figured for something like that," he said quietly, I could still feel his gaze on me. Suddenly, his touch on my skin made me start. Now, his eyes were fixed on my upper arms, running his fingers along the skin, which was lined with- with... "Where did you get these scars from?"

   His voice was curious, but reproachful as well. I gulped, forcing the memories of those nights with Dean away.

   "Nowhere," I mumbled, turning away and tugging at my sleeve, to try cover them.

   "Did someone hurt you?" he asked again, getting more insistent.

   "Who cares, Zayn?" I demanded, glaring at him defiantly. For some reason, I almost expected him to say 'I do' as he opened his mouth as though he was considering replying, before he shut it tightly and frowned.

   "I guess I owe you an apology," he murmured, placing his hand on his knee. "And an explanation." I dared to glance at him in surprise, he wasn't meeting my gaze and he was scratching the back of his head distractedly.

   "An explanation?" I repeated, unsure of what he meant. He finally met my eye.

   "You saw me smoking," he said bluntly, his eyes steely and stubborn as I remember them being. "Remember?"

   "Oh," I said simply. "Er. yeah. I remember." I think I saw a wry smile appear on his lips.

   "Well that's it," he continued with his blunt approach. "I smoke. And I smoked at that party the boys were talking about as well."

   "Drugs?" I asked softly. He was staring at me, as if daring me to judge him, daring me to get all preachy and tell him it was wrong.

   "Yep," he said, eyes not leaving mine. "Class A drugs." I felt sort of prickly all over and slightly nauseous, but I didn't want to let it show.

   "Right," I managed to say. I tried to imagine Zayn smoking backstage, surrounded by others. Alarmingly enough, it was far too easy to envisage for my liking.

   "Does it disgust you?"

   "A little," I replied without thinking. I cautioned a hasty glance at him but he didn't seem to bothered about it.

   "Now you know," he murmured, more to himself than me.

   "Do the boys know?" I asked carefully and he shot me an irksome look.

   "Do you think they do?" he shot back snarkily.

   "Well, why don't you tell them?" I sniped in response.

   "Because they'd probably be as disgusted as you," he replied, "The only difference is I care more about what they think than what you think of me." I shrugged. Fair enough.

   "How often do you smoke?"

   "Whenever I can," he said, "Or when I'm at parties where I'm with people who do. Pass around joints, go for smokes in the back. It's part of my life."

   "When was the last time you did?" I asked curiously.

   "This morning." Wow. That I had not been expecting... Still, knowing that he had come here to talk to me, to explain himself, and now he was trusting me with such personal information made me confused. Why would he tell me this if he seemed to dislike me as much as he did? 

   We sat there, talking all night about useless and meaningless things. There were long silences where we wouldn't do anything but sit there and stare at the wall. The sky was beginning to brighten when he left, crawling back out the window and strutting down the driveway.

   I didn't want to bring up the kitchen incident. I didn't plan on sucking his thumb again.




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