Layers

The world knew Zayn Malik as the Heartbreaker, or more famously, the Bradford Bad Boy. Even Hana thought that about him when they first met. But slowly she started to pull his layers back, as he did the same to her. With secrets being kept, jealous ex's, dangers around every corner, and the daunting flashing lights, how long can the fairy tale last?

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1. Fix You

Clearly the song of the chapter is Fix You by Coldplay....I'll post the outfit link in the comments so you can click it... :) Enjoy the chapter my little turds <3

Hana's POV

"Staring is rude, you know." His deep voice, and sexy accent interrupted me from my thoughts. It's not my fault he happened to be beautiful. Nope. I blame his mother. Not that I have anything against his mother. Don't even know the woman. I'm sure she's lovely. 

"I'm not staring at you. You stepped on my toe." I screwed my face up into a grimace, rolling my eyes at him. 

"Admit it, you think I'm sexy." He whispered in my ear, his hot breath fanning over my skin. I felt my heart speed up, but I pulled away. 

"Donna! Can I please dance with another one of the boys!" I don't usually pull a diva, but come on, I didn't want to put up with this crap. Zayn Malik could suck my hypothetical dick. Or at least that's something my best friend, Emily would have said. I hadn't seen her in person since high school, but whatever, we were still as thick as thieves, or whatever the saying was. When I won So You Think You Can Dance Canada, I was expecting to be doing bigger and better things than dancing behind five idiots with funny accents. Okay, well maybe they weren't idiots (well Harry was borderline...and Louis was bat shit crazy...and Niall's love for food was a little insane...and Liam was a fucking child in a mans body...oh and don't even get me started on Zayn) but their accents were as sexy as hell. Like rip-my-clothes-off-right-then-and-there sexy. But I would never tell any of them. They were already way too full of themselves. Anyways, I ended up on this god damn tour because they decided they wanted to "mature" more, and expand their demographic past the crazy (and when I say crazy, I mean CRAZY) 12-18 year old fan girls. Yes that's right, world, One Direction wants to get into your mothers pants. Okay, well only Harry. But. That's not my point. 

"Hana! You know I cannot switch you. Zayn will only dance properly with you!" Donna droned on in her annoyingly high pitched, nasally, and incredibly posh English accent. British. Always so high and mighty. While I was just a simple Canadian girl, with fucking amazing Arabic and Filipino roots. Whatever, Canadian's are better. We have...Uh....Justin Bieber? Hahahahah, I take that back. God bless the Queen. And Prince Harry, because he's a fine young lad. If you know what I mean. 

"Besides, you know you want me." Zayn teased, in his stupid (not so stupid) accent. Like really, it should be illegal. 

"Don't you have a girlfriend, Malik?" I pushed him away from me. Speaking of which, I should probably call my boyfriend, Josh. Okay, so maybe he wasn't my boyfriend anymore, but he liked checking in on me every now and then. Crazy motherfucker. I don't really know how I'm being so casual about the topic of Josh. Usually he's the only thing that can bring me to tears, but maybe I was just tired of feeling so damn sorry for myself all the time, and I wanted to give myself a break, and have a little fun. But Mr. Pretty Boy Malik over here wasn't about to make that easy for me. 

"What does that have to do with anything?" He raised an eyebrow, a perfectly shaped eyebrow might I say, at me. Like really, he might as well be a girl with all the time he spent in front of the fucking mirror. Pardon my French. I think I was born without a filter, to be honest. 

"Nothing, Malik, nothing at all." I took a step closer to him, a sly grin playing on my face. Stupid twat doesn't even know what's coming to him. He chuckled, thinking I had finally given into him. We had been playing this game for months now. Pushing each other to our limits, playfully (or just rudely) insulting each other. But neither of us could deny the sexual tension. Not that I was ever going to give into it. As much as I may seem like a bitch, I really go guard my heart with all I've got. I've seen enough broken hearts (thank you Emily) in my life time to know that it's not just something you give up to the first guy with a hot British accent, big quiff, nice body, tattoo's and...where was I? Oh right, I'm not a tramp, so fuck off Malik. 

"What was that?" He pulled me from my own little world again. Shit, did I say that last part aloud. I really needed to get a hold of myself. Oh, did I mention that he had a banging body? Yeah, I think I did. 

"Huh? Oh, I'm not a tramp." I repeated myself. Already said it once, why not say it again? 

"Are you sure about that?" He placed his hands on either side of my head, and I stepped back, right into the fucking wall. Curse you, snack table, why did you have to be so close to the wall?

"Zayn? Baby?" Zayn dropped his hands to his side at the sound of Perrie's voice. He whipped around, completely forgetting my existence, and ran into the arms of his perfect little pixie of a girlfriend. Whatever. She shares her name with a fucking platypus.

Haha. Perrie.

Her hair's purple, pretty damn close to blue.

Good enough for me. 

"Babe! Perrriiiieee!" He kissed her all over the face and down her neck as she gave me the stink eye. She was pretty good at that. I bet she does that a lot. Not my fault her boyfriend's a flirty one.

Unfaithful one.

Okay well I had no proof of that. But. Whatever. 

"Hana!" I turned around, and immediately wished I could sink into the wall. What the fuck was happening today? Was I really that bad of a person? Someone up there is certainly out to get me.

"Josh." I whispered to no one in particular. Josh managed to take Zayn's place, pinning me to the wall, but he was a lot more aggressive about it. 

"I missed you." He breathed into my ear. He missed me? How do you raise your hand to someone and then have the fucking nerve to tell them you miss them? Prick. 

"No you didn't" I could already feel the burning at the back of my eyes. How did he do this to me? He had me in the palm of his hand, and he knew it. He could throw me away, abuse me, love me, do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me, and in the end, I would be there for him to take. I think I need to see a therapist. 

"You don't know that." His lips were literally a millimeter away from mine, but he refused to let me touch them. I could feel myself squirming under his burning gaze. Fuck! 

"Prove it." I dared him. But he just stared at me, smirking. He had just come here to make sure that I would still be his for the taking. Asshole. Dick. Butt. Why did I still love him? But actually. I pushed him off of me, and started to walk away, but he caught my wrist in his hand, squeezing. Well that's gonna bruise. How I managed to remain sarcastic in this situation, I will never know. 

"Don't you fucking walk away from me." I looked around for help, but most of the boys had gone to Starbucks during our break, the dancers were fawning over Niall, the one last lad still in the building, and Zayn was busy sucking the face off of his platypus. And Josh wasn't being loud enough to cause any attention. 

"Stop it." I hissed, trying to pull myself away from him. 

"I said, don't you fucking walk away from me." His voice raised just a notch. He pulled me back, pushing me roughly against the wall, as I let out a yelp.

"Don't protest." His voice was like gravel in my ear. But all at once, he was gone. 

"Get the hell off of her!' Zayn pushed Josh to the ground. Oh shit. Not a good idea, pretty boy. Don't get Josh angry. I learned that lesson the hard way. 

"No Malik, stop!" I stood in front of him. No way I was letting his pretty little face get ruined, and then me get the blame, and then his crazy ass fans blaming everything on me, and...whatever. I just had to get Josh out of here. 

"Alright, mate, time to leave. I don't even know how the hell you got in here in the first place." 

 

Paul picked Josh up and somehow restrained him at the same time. But Josh wasn't really fighting back. Instead his eyes bore into mine. I was gonna get it later. I shivered at the thought. But there was some part of me that wanted to see him so badly. A part of my that thought he loved me enough to change. Yeah, I'm the biggest idiot around, I know.

"What the fuck?" Zayn fixed his glare on me. Why was he glaring at me? I'm the victim here!

"Zayn baby, I have to leave." The platypus pouted at him. He gave me one last glare and pulled her into a tense hug, kissing her quickly, before patting her on her little platypus bum as she walked away. She turned around and blew him a kiss before sending another glare in my direction. One Direction. Heh. But what the hell? Why is everyone glaring at me today? These fucking Brits.

"Why the fuck did you defend him?" He started yelling at me again, as soon as platypus was out the door. Man, I needed to stop that. She has a name, you know.

"I wasn't! I didn't want him to hit you. Which he would have, by the way." I glared right back at him. He rolled his eyes. But his face softened as he took my wrist, resting it in the palm of his hand.

"How could you let him do this to you?" He whispered, running his thumb softly over the flowering bruises. I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't. It's fine. I'm fine. He loves me." I was making excuses for Josh again. I felt Zayn tense up again, all the previous softness in him, gone.

"Are you fucking kidding me? He loves you? Are you insane, Hana? Whatever. Fine. Ruin your life, Hana, see if I care." He spat at me.

ASSHOLE!

"See that's the thing Zayn. You don't care. Because you don't fucking know me. I'm done with your little mind games." I pushed past him, hastily grabbing my things. Fuck, I needed a drink. And maybe a little sex, but lets start with the first option.

"I feel sick. I'm going home." I passed Donna, not even waiting for her reply. When I finally got home. (Fucking traffic, and a shitty cab driver) I threw my things on the ground, letting out a frustrated scream.

FUCKING ZAYN MALIK!

How did he get on my nerves so easily? I rushed to the kitchen, popping open the whiskey bottle, taking a large swig. My face contorted in all the right ways as the liquid burned down my throat. That's better. I made my way back to the couch as I took a couple more sips from the bottle. Thank fucking god I was a light weight, right? I sat back in my couch, letting the alcohol take me to my own little world.

"Hana. Open the door." Malik? Like fuck I'll open the door.

"Hana I can hear your sarcastic laughter from the other side of the door. Just open up." I knew it was a bad idea when I had let the dancers and the lads come over for an après rehearsal drink. Now the little wanker knew where I lived.

"I swear, I will tell the fans we're shagging, and then give then post your number on twitter if you don't open up. "

Oh.

Well.

Dick.

"I knew that would work." His plump lips formed into an ugly little smirk on his gorgeous face.

Asshole.

God I love alcohol.

He strolled in, shutting the door behind him. Sure you can come in, Malik. I don't mind.

Wanker.

He took in my appearance, surely I looked like a crazy alcoholic. He took a tentative step forward, probably assuming I would move away. But I didn't. When he realized that, he made himself comfortable right in front of me, our chests touching, his sweet breath in my face.

Man slut.

But I didn't dare move. The fluttering at the pit if my stomach told me to stay put.

Oh and my raging hormones too.

His hand wrapped around the bottle, taking it from me, before placing it on the coffee table.

"I finally understand why you're such a bitch." He whispered into my ear, his finger tracing the shape if my collar bone. "I want to fix you. Let me fix you." And so I let him. As his lips pressed to mine, Zayn Malik became my self appointed fixer.

Or some crazy shit like that.

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