Fear of the Dark, Fear of the Dark
I walk down the hallway that leads to the lunch room. I finished my most recent job about ten minutes ago. I had to answer phone calls and assign visiter passes to the people who wanted to see their family members or friends.
My heart is beating loudly in my ears, for it is the only sound I hear in the eerily quiet hallway. I'm nervous. Zayn Malik is probably going to be in the cafeteria, and I feel anxious to see him, but at the same time I don't want to. He frightens me, what with his cocky personality and arrogance seeping out of his body like sweat. He's tyrannizing, and I can't help but feel like a lost girl in his presence. He strips my confidence from my body, violating me, sucking up my stolen confidence and sucking it up like vacuum. I can tell that he likes to be dominant, ranking higher up on the scale of people. Zayn is a menace, both for skinning women and the fact that he's a controlling, arrogant ass.
I reach the stark white door and push it open, revealing all the patients roaming the room with confused or lost expressions. One patient, Jane Fost, in the asylum for drowning her two year-old daughter when she's was giving her a bath, sits in the corner, looking around the room with a look of terror on her face. She's leaning against the table, just observing everyone around her. Another patient, Cody Tharlenson, a paranoid rapist who thought that the voices in his head were right by telling him to rape and kill a ten year-old girl that was walking home from school, is leaning against a wall next to the guard stand, watching me with his hair-raising gaze.
I look around once more, trying to see if I spot Zayn yet, and much to my enjoyment, I don't. I walk over to a table pushed against a wall and climb on the top of it, sitting down and leaning against the wall. I push my nurse's uniform down from where it was risen up when I hear fabric moving, and I look over to see Zayn staring back at me with his infamous smirk on his rosy-pink lips.
He sits down next to me, his hand flying up to his hair as he runs it through it a couple times, managing to make it look more presentable, before he smacks his down on the table, causing me to flinch.
Zayn's sweet, arrogant, British accent runs sounds through my ears, startling me, "Hello there Ms. Richards."
"H-Hi." I stutter out, mentally cursing at stuttering in front of him. He chuckles at me, gazing at me with amusement laced in his gorgeous, caramel eyes.
"You seem scared, Ms. Richards. Do I frighten you?" He asks, moving closer to me, now pressed only about half a foot away from touching me.
"N-No." Damn my inconsiderate stutter!
He chuckles again, moving even closer so that now he's pressed up against my right side. "What's your name?"
I gulp. He's so intimidating and demanding, getting straight to the point. I gulp again, "Laine." I mange to say without stuttering, a great victory according to me.
My eyes dart to the other side of the room where I see Niall hovering by in alert, ready to pounce if Zayn tries anything. I smile reassuringly at him, silently letting him knew I'm okay and can handle myself.
"Laine. . . It suits you." Zayn mumbles, bringing his hand up and softly touching my cheek. My breathe hitches and I tense up, blushing madly. He's not allowed to do that.
"Get your hand off of me." I say to him, trying to sound like I'm in charge, but failing miserably when it comes out as a squeak.
He laughs at me, removing his hand. He leans back against the wall, like me, and turns his head so that he's staring at me. I blush under his violating gaze. It feels as though he's mocking me, my voice, my body language, and the trepidation in my eyes. I scoff inwardly.
"You know you can trust me." Zayn says promptly, smirking once again. I audibly gasp.
"Says the man who skinned four women."
His smirk fades, and he looks down, from what I assume, an angry expression on his beautifully sculpted face.
"You honestly think that I did that?" Zayn asks, gazing up with a mixture of hurt and pain in his eyes.
"That's what everybody thinks, Zayn." I reply, looking down, not wanting to meet his gaze, and scan my uniform with guilt flooding my lungs.
"And what do you think?" He asks, prompting me to look up, and as I do, I see the anger leave his eyes, and be replaced with confusion. Confusion over what? Over the fact that he skinned four women? Or that he's confused that I haven't answered his question? Why is he confused?
I don't know if he did the crime, but I don't know for a fact that he didn't do it. I just don't know. Everyone says he did it, like the nurses in the halls, the guards discussing the new patient by the front desk, even the patients, who seem scared of Zayn. Everyone says he did it, but did he actually?
I meet his questioning gaze and sigh, "I don't know, Zayn. I don't know if you did it or not. If you didn't do it, then why are you in here?" I ask, genuinely curious know.
He chuckles, "Who's to say I didn't skin those women?"
I feel my face pale, and I turn away from him, feeling sick all of a sudden. I have been talking to him this entire time, and although I felt uneasy, I was never fully scared if him. Somehow I knew that he wouldn't hurt me. But, he is in here for a reason. He's dangerous and someone I should stay clear of, but I can't help but feel a magnetic pull towards Zayn, and I don't think it's a good thing.
A/N so! Next chapter! What do you guys think? Let me know! Like, comment, favorite.