Supersonic| Zayn Malik |AU

❝Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth.❞

Arielle is a studious young woman striving to be a chef. Her life is full of going to class, reading textbooks, and hanging out with her friends, until she meets Zayn. Zayn's an illegal street racer, and he wants her, but he's dangerous. He comes tumbling into her life, and everything is suddenly strewn about. What happens when one of Arielle's friends falls for her? What happens when Zayn gets twisted up with the wrong people? It's a story about lust, lies, and a love that develops at supersonic speeds, but suffers dire consequences.

➳ In which he loves nothing more than cars and winning, until he meets her.

WARNING: This story has scenes of violence, mature content, sexual content, drug use/references and foul language, so please read at your own discretion

Started: January 30, 2014
Completed: October 29, 2016



13. Twelve

 Chapter Twelve 



I'm tempted to run my fingers over the page. I reach forward to do just that and then hesitate, knowing if I run my oily fingers over the page it may smudge the fine lines of pencil. I just stand there and stare at the details of my face. I notice my lips, which are turned down, my eyebrows which are knitted together. It's hard to miss the fact that I look sad… but why?


Why did Zayn draw me? Why'd he stand here and sketch me as if I was something worth drawing? When he drew this we'd only met each other and known each other for a very short period of time. Yes, we've become much closer since then, and very quickly, but at this point I'm still not even sure if I have feelings for him or if I'm just hanging around here because he's really hot and mysterious. Actually, he's an ass most of the time so why am I even here again?


I look down at the drawing again and it hits me. I'm here because I do like him. I don't know much about him - in fact I barely know anything. But when I think about it I believe I know more about him than any other girl he's ever "dated." When I passed out, he brought me to his house, not his mother's. That's why Louis took me to Zayn's mother's home - because Zayn usually brings his "dates" there, but for some reason he brought me here, he showed me into his home. He showed me a part of him that probably no other girl has ever seen. 


I've seen the inside of his home, including his bedroom. His bedroom which is filled with walls of intimate quotes and sketches. He even showed me his nice side - the side that begged me to stay here with him tonight - to cook with him. So why does he feel the need to suddenly flip and be a total asshole? Is it some masculine thing? Does he just need to prove he's the alpha male? Or is he just trying to impress me, thinking that the whole asshole ploy thing works since it's worked with other girls? 


Whatever it is, I don't have time to think about it anymore because I hear his heavy army boots making their way down the hallway. He must be back from his smoke. I realize that I'm still holding the sketch book within my hands and so I quickly place it back in the drawer and close it. I fumble to the next drawer and pull out the needed cutlery. 


As I'm placing the forks onto the countertop Zayn appears from around the corner. I look up as he's adjusting a leather jacket on his shoulders. He slips a grey beanie onto his head. "Are you going somewhere?" I ask as I place the knives onto the hard marble top. 


He doesn't say anything, he just nods his head and takes a few steps forward. "I need to go." He places his hands on the other side of the island, looking at me under his long eyelashes. His face seems different - upset… angry, maybe. His brow is now furrowed. I look down at his knuckles, which are stained blue and purple with bruises - a reminder of his attack on Harry.


"Now?" I question. I walk over to his fridge that holds the wine. I grab a bottle of white wine and place it on the island in-between us. He saunters around the island and pulls open a drawer, pulling out a corkscrew. He grabs the bottle of wine and opens it with ease.


He turns his back on me to place the corkscrew back in the drawer, "I have business to attend to."


"What about our meal?"


"Well you'll have to either wait up for me or you'll have to eat alone," he takes a step forward and places a rough kiss to my lips. He grips my chin awkwardly and it brings pain. "I have to go."


"But Zayn," I protest.


"Arielle I have business to attend to. Don't push my buttons!" He's already at the front door. I know better than to ask where he's going or what he's doing.


"Will you be back soon?" I ask sheepishly, afraid he may lash out at me.


"Yes." With that, he walks down the stairs and I hear the garage door opening. His car purrs to life and speeds off. I'm left standing in the kitchen all by myself. 


I pour myself a massive glass of wine, tempted to throw the other glass to the floor and watch it shatter into a million tiny fragments. I don't even touch the plate of food in front of me. I should be leaving.


Instead I grab my glass of wine and head straight for the front door. I check that it's locked and walk to Zayn's room. I place my glass of wine down and move over to the green chair in the corner of the room. I lift it and move it to the center of the room. I grab my wine glass and place myself in the chair.


I put the glass to my lips and pour it down my throat. I swallow such a large portion that it struggles to get down my throat. There's a gnawing pain as it makes its way down. I sink down in the chair until my head comfortably rests on the back of the chair.


I stare at the intricate landscape that's been drawn on the ceiling. The beautiful fluffy clouds, the green grass, the tall mountains. It amazes me that he'd take such time to draw something with so much detail when it can be so delicately and possibly accidentally smeared right off the walls.


I'm tempted to take a towel and wipe the walls clean. He deserves it. 


I lift my head up and take another gulp of wine. When I look at the glass it's already half empty. Looks like I'll be needing the whole bottle


I sit up in the chair and stare at the wall before me. There's now a new drawing of a superhero… a woman. She almost looks like Superwoman but she's got a totally different outfit on. She looks like me. There's a quote written beside her. I recognize it.


I'd be an anchor, but I'm scared you'd drown.


I take another gulp of wine.


I turn my head to the side and stare at the wall to my right.


Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth.


I scoff.


It’s not what you see. It's about how you look at it.


I swirl the wine around in my glass and throw back some more. The glass is nearly empty now.


"My body is a journal in a way. It's like what sailors used to do, where every tattoo meant something - a specific time in your life when you make a mark on yourself, whether you do it yourself with a knife or with a professional tattoo artist." -Johnny Depp


I can feel my head getting lighter. My surroundings are beginning to slow. It's clear that the wine is getting to me now. I shrug my shoulders and swallow what's left in the glass. I get out of the chair and begin the walk to the kitchen.


I feel like the words 'I have more dick in my personality than my pants' should be written on his walls. I can't help but laugh out loud a little bit. If only I could find a piece of chalk…


I grab the bottle of wine off the counter and fill my glass. With the bottle in hand, I head back down the hallway. I open the first door to find that it's another bedroom. There's nothing odd about it. It's just a simple bedroom with a single bed and a dresser. 


I sip on my wine as I head to the next door. It's a bathroom. Nothing odd about it either. 


I walk to the final door in the hallway. When I open it I realize it's where he does his artsy things. The walls are covered with some sort of paint. It appears to spray paint. There are sketching pads everywhere. The little table at the one side of the room is covered with paint. 


I walk up to the one easel in the middle of the room. The painting is of a woman's lower half. She's wearing ripped jeans. There's a large portion of her skin that's exposed from the tear in her jeans which reveals a tattoo. It's of a rose. I notice that it's in the exact same spot as the tattoo on my thigh. I tilt my head back, almost downing the entire glass.


That's enough of this room. I walk out and close the door behind me and head back to the main part of the house. What's there to do? 


I should be leaving.


I place myself on the large sofa and turn on the television. I surf through several channels but find nothing interesting to watch. As I'm turning the television off I realize that my wine glass is empty again and so I fill it. 


I'm so angry with him.


I stand up and walk out to the deck. The warm Miami air washes over my skin. I place the wine bottle down on the deck and lean my forearms on the railing. I sip on my wine and stare at the palm trees and the sun in its last stages of setting.


How could he do this to me? I really thought we were getting somewhere when we were cooking dinner. I really thought that when his attitude changed that it meant he really wanted me to be around… that he really wanted to be around me. He's practically bipolar. One moment he's the typical asshole Zayn and the next moment he's begging me to stay with him. He's as addicting as nicotine and just as dangerous which scares me because I'm already beginning to crave every single part of him. 


Why isn't this simpler? Why can't he just be a nice guy all the time? Then again when I met him he wasn't a nice guy. When I met him he was basically a predator. He pretty much forced me to go out with him.


But I want to be here with him. I want to sip wine and eat fettuccine and talk endlessly about his tattoos. I want to listen to him rant on and on about what he loves about drawing or the euphoric feeling he gets when he slips into the driver's seat of a car. I want him to touch me again. I want to spend the night cuddled up into his side. I want to hear soft snores and memorize the pattern of his breathing as he falls asleep. 


want to be with him even though he absolutely undeniably drives me completely nuts.


The sun has almost set now. It's been at least two hours since he left. The food will be cold and I'm drunk. I want to feel angry with him, I do, but all I want right now is to inhale his scent and run my fingers through his hair and kiss his lips. 


And so I head for his bedroom, knowing that his bed will smell like him. I bring the bottle and my glass with me. When I walk into the bedroom I don't even bother returning the chair to its spot. I just place the near empty bottle of wine and my glass on the side table and pull the sheets back. 


I remove my pants, my shirt, and my bra. I place them on the floor beside the bed. I walk over to his dresser and pull out a shirt. It's a Pink Floyd tank top. I slip it over my head and crawl back over to the bed. I lift myself up into the bed and sit up under the covers. 


I cradle my wine glass in-between my hands as I stare at the walls again. I down the rest of the glass as I take in each and every little detail within the room. At some point my glass is placed on the side table, my back hits the mattress and I effortlessly fall asleep.





When I walk up the stairs into the house it almost seems empty. The lights are all off and there's no noise. Did Arielle leave? I wouldn't be surprised. I look at the clock on my phone. I've been gone for at least six hours now. I'm positive she left.


I walk towards the kitchen and flip the light on. Our plates and a single wine glass are still placed upon the countertop, untouched. I clean them up and place them in the dishwasher. I quickly clean up the rest of the kitchen and head outside for a smoke.


I stand on the balcony and light up a cigarette. Fuck. I can't believe she left. Well, I'm sure as hell not surprised she left. She seemed so upset when I was leaving the house.


Why is she even here with me? Is it only because I basically followed her and forced her to spend time with me? She's so beautiful and smart and creative and I don't see why she'd want to spend time with me when I'm so fucked up.


I'm fucked up and she's not and that's the problem. But she makes me feel good and I don't want her to leave. So why can't I just be a model boyfriend, buy her flowers and shit and take her on a real date? I know that's what she deserves. But when I first saw her I was so attracted to her beauty and her smile that I had to meet her. 


And now here she is, willingly coming over to my house and helping me learn to cook. No woman has ever gotten past the first night at my mom's place. I've never brought a woman here, but with Arielle it wasn't even a question, I just brought her here without even thinking. Maybe I'm changing for the better? Or maybe I'm just having a slight lapse in judgement?


I finish off the cigarette, stomping it out. I check that the doors are locked and head to my bedroom. When I open the door I immediately notice the green chair that's sitting directly in the middle of the room. The moon provides some light.


There's clearly a body in my bed. I see the long brown waves cascading over my sheets. I take careful steps until I see her clothes on the floor. Is she naked? I peek over at her sleeping body, which is covered in my favourite shirt.


She looks so beautiful as she sleeps. Her long eyelashes are fluttering slightly as she dreams. She almost looks angelic when she's sleeping. I suddenly feel the need to call her a new pet name - Angel. My Angel.


I take in the sight of the near empty wine bottle placed upon the side table. She must have drank nearly the whole thing. I step away from the bed and pull off my jacket and beanie. That's when I notice an unfamiliar quote written on the once empty space of wall that was covered with my green chair.


Behind my smile is everything you will never understand.


I pull the shirt off my back, slip my shoes off and strip down to my boxers. I crawl into bed beside Arielle. She moans in her sleep and moves around a little until she's half lying on top of me. 


"I'm sorry," I whisper even though I know she can't hear me in her sleep. "I'm sorry that I'll end up fucking you up just as badly as I am."


She stirs in her sleep a little but doesn't say anything. I place a soft kiss to the top of her head and eventually drift off to sleep with her.



A/N: comment guys, please please pretty please with a big fat juicy cherry on top? :) x

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