Unbreak Me 16 ??Damsel In Distress??

I opened the car's door and just looked helplessly at Zayn. His face was shadowed by the flicker of light coming from the streetlamps and he looked every bit the kind of guy fathers warned their daughters about.

"What's going on?" He said with a flippant smile.

Smile? On Zayn?

I was either dead or dreaming.

"Nothing," I shook my head as if to prove my point. "Nothing I can't fix."

Yeah. As if I knew what the h.e.l.l was wrong with my car—again—and what I needed to do to fix it. In the middle of the night, no less.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I used my best 'duh' tone.

He shrugged. "Okay, then. See you on Monday."

He turned to leave.

Wait . . . what? He wasn't going to offer me help? Couldn't my Zayn step out of this jerk somehow? Because I was stranded in the middle of a creepy-as-h.e.l.l parking lot with all sorts of weird people and in desperate need of a strong man who could fix my rusty old car.

And, as sad and pathetic as it was, Zayn was the only guy I trusted.

No matter who he'd become I could always rely on him. I wish I wasn't so easily trusting but that's who I was and I couldn't help it.

"Hey, wait!" I stepped out of my car just in case I'd have to yell louder.

Torturously slow, Zayn twisted at the waist and said, "Me?"

It was too dark for me to properly see his face especially with the distance between us but I was pretty sure he was amused.

I drew in a deep breath, wondering what I was supposed to do now that I had his attention.

I cleared my throat in a sophisticated lady-like manner. "My car isn't working."

"And?" He probed, taking a few steps toward me.

G.o.d, did he want me to spell it out for him? Couldn't he be a gentleman and offer help?

"I need someone to fix it."

"Need who?" Gosh, he was definitely teasing me. "Should I call someone?"

"Zayn," I gritted out.

"Yes?" His face was pure innocence.

For some stupid reason, it melted my heart. Hold your horses, woman.

"Can you help me fix my car?"

"I most certainly can. But will I?"

Oh. My. G.o.d.

He was so infuriating. If I wasn't a respectable young Muslimah I would've trudged forward and had a nice conversation with him and probably smacked him a time or two.

"Never mind," I quipped, turning back and fis.h.i.+ng around the seats for my purse. Then I remembered I had put my phone in the dashboard.

Too busy looking for my phone, I hadn't realised Zayn had come closer until I felt him right by my side. I debated telling him to get lost and instead focused on my brand-new iPhone.

3 WhatsApp missed calls.

All from Ammar.

I don't know why I peeked at Zayn just then. And why did I feel that weird twinge of guilt? Zayn was just some boy who had long ago been my friend while Ammar was my husband of five years. I wished I could just switch off my feelings because they sure were confusing me.

"You got a new phone," Zayn noted, inclining his head towards said phone.

"Hmm," I pretended to do something while thinking of what to do. Calling Ammar wasn't an option. It wasn't like he could do anything from afar.

Should I call Mom?

No. I didn't want her to worry. She must've gotten off from her nine to five job and there was no way I was going to take away the little time she had to relax.

"Come on, don't sulk. Let me help you."

I released a grateful breath. "Can we please hurry? I need to get home."

He nodded and pointed toward where I was standing. "Can I start the car and see what the problem is?"

I immediately stepped aside and he moved to sit in the pa.s.senger seat.

"It isn't starting," I informed him when he started to turn the ignition on.

He shot me a look. "Yeah. I gathered that."

He got back to starting the car while I pathetically stood by the side, swaying from left to right, forward to backward.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" I asked, seeing him staring at the steering wheel.

He slid me a glance, then rotated the keys as if showing me what was happening. "You hear that sound? That's the car cranking down, which means there isn't sufficient fuel. I can try calling a guy I know from a workshop but it's a little late and I doubt he'll be able to come and fix it anytime soon."

"So what do I do?"

He shrugged. "I'll call the guy just in case. But I guess you'll have to take a ride with someone else. The car will be fixed by early in the morning tomorrow."

I fiddled around with my phone. "Would you possibly have Hoor's number? Maybe she can drop me off?"

He stared at me for a minute straight. Then sighed, muttering something. "I don't."

"You mean to say you somehow had my number but not hers? Well, that's a bit of hypocrisy, isn't it?"

"Hypocrisy?" He repeated, laughing gravely. "I think the term you were looking for was—"

I held up a hand. "Don't you dare correct me, Zayn. I'm not six. I know what word I mean to use and what not. Now, call Zeeshan and ask him for her number. I'm sure you have his, right?"

Zayn grumbled.

"What was that?"

"I'll drop you,"

My eyes couldn't have gotten wider. "Say what now?"

He sighed, pus.h.i.+ng his hair back in a nervous habit. "Don't make this into a bigger deal than it is. I'll drop you off to your place."

"No."

"No?"

"Zayn, I'm not going anywhere alone with you. It's inappropriate."

He looked baffled, as if I was uttering gibberish. "Come on, Leia. We used to be friends. You know you can trust me."

The thing was, I did trust him. But I just didn't trust that sizzle between us. Being alone at night + sitting with a gorgeous guy = bad decisions.

I shook my head and held my phone up. "I'll call an Uber."

"So you'll go alone with some random guy at this time but not me?" He seemed furious and I realised I had practically denied the fact that I ever trusted him. Not that I cared.

Dammit, I did care.

LEIA!

I cleared my throat, all hi-tech and collected. "That's . . . professional. Look, Zayn, I don't have to offer explanations to you, okay? I'm doing what I'm doing and this isn't even remotely your business."

His lip twitched in amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I'm glad you find this funny." Sarcasm dripped from my words.

"I'm just thinking about how you're still the same—using words in the wrong context and all. I'm glad your English is better now."

I released a fuming breath. "You don't know anything about me and stop changing the subject. Just go away."

Zayn was staring at me with wide eyes. That's when I realised my mistake. I covered my mouth with a hand.

"You . . ." Zayn looked puzzled. "Where did that accent come from?"

Great, Leia. You just had to ruin everything right now, didn't you?

I had tried day and night to conceal my accent. Living in the UK for five years definitely changed my accent and I didn't want anyone here to know that I'd been in the UK all along. Especially not Zayn.

d.a.m.n my anger. It was going to get me killed one day.

"Get in the car."

"What?"

"I'm not letting it go this time, Leia. I need to know what's been going on. You owe it to me."

I scoffed. "I don't owe you anything."

Fine. Maybe I owed him a couple of apologies but not this. I really wasn't in the mood to delve into the past and feel like c.r.a.p for the rest of the month. Because feeling like c.r.a.p led to consumption of millions of chocolate bars which led to me looking like a potato. No thanks, I'll pa.s.s.

His jaw clenched. "Do you want to go home or not?"

"I said I was taking an Uber."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed my phone. "Like h.e.l.l you will."

I gave him a stern look. "Give me my phone."

"Say you'll ride with me and I will,"

"Zayn,"

"Leia," He mocked.

Ugh.

I held out my palm. "I'll call my parents first and ask for permission."

As if they would say no. But the thing was, I wanted to let them know so that we had some kind of supervision. If this was some other guy, I would've said no without thinking. But this was Zayn. And I trusted him with my life.

Stupid Leia.

Zayn looked surprised and was a little hesitant when he placed the phone in my palm. "Your parents? Are you living with them? I thought . . ." He shook his head when he saw my expression. "I guess you have a lot to tell me."

I wouldn't tell him anything. But he didn't need to know that.

I quickly typed in my pa.s.sword and then moved on to press the call b.u.t.ton, well aware of the fact that a very good-looking guy was currently looming over me and staring holes into my head.

I pressed the phone to my ear, nervously playing with a flower on my robe with my free hand.

Zayn said, "I'll talk to the guy I told you about, see what he can do."

I nodded without looking up. This was already getting so awkward.

The bell rang and rang and rang but Mom did not pick up. The line went straight to voicemail and I angrily pressed the end b.u.t.ton. I tried calling her again while Zayn's back was turned to me as he talked to the guy in a decent tone(what? I was surprised).

"Not picking up?"

I shook my head.

"Just leave a message. We'll be there in no time." He seemed sure of himself. He slid a hand into his pant-pocket and retrieved his car keys.

Ignoring him, I tried calling her once again. Sighing, I finally typed out a message telling her I was taking a ride from a guy from school and would be home in about half an hour.

I took a deep breath and said, "Let's go."

"Follow me,"

I made faces at his back and did as he commanded. We walked for about a minute and then came to a halt in front of his sleek matte black Aston. For a minute, all I could do was gawk. I had seen it before of course but back then I wasn't paying much attention.

It was simply . . . gorgeous. Just like its owner.

"Can I drive?" I peered up at Zayn.

He gave me an amused half-laugh. "Absolutely not. What made you think I'd ever let you?"

My lips turned down and on instinct, my eyes lowered.

I heard a low growl and my head snapped up to meet Zayn's fiery gaze.

"Leia, please get inside," Zayn gritted out, pointing with the keys to the pa.s.senger seat.

"Will you let me drive?" My hopes were clearly too high.

"No."

"Please?"

It seemed as though he was having trouble looking at me. d.a.m.n, I wasn't a manipulator but to drive this beauty I'd stoop to that level. And Zayn was clearly too clever. He was well aware that I knew what his weaknesses were and so he was avoiding looking at me altogether.

"Leia, no. Maybe some other day. Right now, you'll get inside and while I drive, you'll tell me where you've been all this time. Have I made myself clear?"

I huffed out a breath and snapped the door open. Gosh, the seats were like b.u.t.ter and the interior of the car was all black, save for the pretty blue lights that horizontally covered the dashboard and hand rests.

It seemed someone had gotten their car customized.

Lucky guy.

The door parallel to me bounced open but I didn't care about that. I was so completely tantalized by the car and everything about it.

"Where do you live?" The question pulled me out of my trance.

I chanced a look at Zayn, realising for the first time how close we were seated.

I mean, obviously we sat on our own individual seats but there was this weird closeness, this crackling energy in the air that pulled me toward the only guy that drove me insane. The closed doors and the dark outside weren't helping either.

"Leia?"

My gaze snapped back to Zayn's and I shook myself out of my thoughts, trying not to think about the closed s.p.a.ce we were going to be in for another half an hour—if I was lucky and the traffic wasn't raging mad.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I mumbled dumbly. "Uh . . . head towards Gulberg for now."

He nodded and s.h.i.+fted the gear, taking a U-turn to head out of the school gates.

"So, I guess you aren't living where we lived before?" Zayn asked suddenly.

I fiddled with my hands, contemplating the answer and whether I should or should not reply.

"No," is all I said.

He looked at me once before turning his head back to look at the empty road in front of us. "Care to elaborate?"

"You probably won't even have heard about the town where I live. It's small and . . . well, not for people like you."

I could sense his curiosity and confusion and it only made me more nervous. I wasn't in the mood to answer anything.

"What about your parents?"

I sighed. "What about your Dad?"

He shot me a dark look that had me edging toward the door. "You know better than to ask questions like that. Besides, we're talking about you right now. I thought you said before that you wanted to explain. Go ahead, then. I'm listening now even if I didn't back then."

"I don't have anything to say,"

"Just answer me. What happened the night my Mom was admitted to the hospital?"

My breathing staggered and I hoped to G.o.d that I wouldn't have another panic attack. I didn't really have a response for that one. Too much had happened that night.

My parents had fought over Zayn's Dad—who my mother had cheated on with. In fact, she'd been with him for many months before he had moved into our neighbourhood. My father had found out and that's when I learned about the reality behind my mother.

She had been a prost.i.tute when she met my father. He had slept with her and gotten her pregnant. After he'd found out about this, he had gotten married to my mother despite the oppositions he faced by his family—apparently, they had fallen in love.

Fast forward to ten years later and there they were, her cheating on him and him kicking her and his daughter out without the chance for an explanation. Without giving a care about how they'd both survive.

I swallowed everything down, not wanting those memories to surface at a time like this. I wasn't going to be weak in front of Zayn. I wouldn't allow him to see me that way.

Much more had happened that night. None of which I was willing to share.

So I said, "I'm sorry, Zayn. I can't tell you. There really is no point."

I saw the anger in his expression, saw the conflict in his eyes. He puffed out a breath and all that anger disappeared. In place of it was a calmness that I hadn't ever seen on Zayn before.

"At least tell me what happened to your parents. Are they divorced?"

I nodded silently.

"Alive?"

I hesitated, then nodded again. "But I don't live with them. I . . . uh, live with my adoptive parents and their son, Labeeb."

I couldn't tell him about Ammar. I wouldn't.

Again, I knew he had questions. Questions I was unwilling to answer. "Have you heard from either of them? Your parents, I mean."

I slowly shook my head. "Mummy . . . last time I saw her she was working . . . somewhere." And that was six years ago. "And Dad, well, I don't know anything about him." Neither did I want to find out.

"So, you've been living with these people since when? Six years?"

I dillydallied, afraid I'll reveal too much if I said the truth but not wanting to lie either. "I've known them for around five years but they adopted me less than a year ago."

His eyes were worried and I hated that my heart thawed at the sight. He really, truly cared. I knew he did. But that didn't cancel out the fact that he'd become a jerk after all these years.

I very well remembered the bet and knew that these twenty questions were most probably taking place so that this thing between us could lead up to something.

Unfortunately for him, he was in for a disappointment.

"Where were you before that?"

And that is the question I had been dreading. Where was I? Just like his other questions, this one had too long an answer. This one, however, I was ashamed of. This reminded me of my immature mistakes. Of the choices I was forced to make due to my circ.u.mstances.

It also reminded me of next week and the freedom I would have after that. To be finally away from someone who wanted badly to control my life. To not be forced to give someone something I didn't want to. To be free; body, soul and mind.

I'd take my own decisions without having to worry about Ammar dictating my life. I'd never be made to feel like a prost.i.tute like my mother.

I gave Zayn a small smile he couldn't see because of my veil. "I was . . . surviving."