[COMPLETED]
❝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...
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➳ ARIELLE'S POV
"Where are we?" I ask, stepping out of the car with wide eyes filled with curiosity.
Zayn locks the vehicle and gently tucks the keys into his jean pocket. "You'll see, baby." He looks over at me, raising a single eyebrow, his lip curling into a crooked smile. He walks towards me and I instinctively reach for his fingers, but his arm hooks around my body, so that we can walk together, his hand resting on my lower back.
I'm not entirely sure where I am. On the drive over, Zayn wouldn't tell me where we were going and I felt nervous at first, but once his hand rested on my thigh, the worry washed away just as fast as my judgement. We drove all the way across the city until he pulled up to this small house. There are a few cars parked on the street, and I can hear a low thumping sound coming from the small building, the air thick with the smell of cigars and weed.
As we step up to the front door, the cigar smell is overwhelming, and I inhale deeply, reminiscing about the times when my neighbour would smoke cigarillos out on his deck when I was a child, and I'd hover at my window admiring the scent.
When we step in the doorway, I can't help but cringe. There are bottles and cans of liquor tossed everywhere on the floorboards. The house smells of vomit, liquor, as well as the aforementioned cigars and weed. When I glance over to the left side of the interior, I notice several men sitting on the couch with near-naked women giving them lap dances. I can't help but compare the inside of the building to what I'd imagine a motorcycle club to look like, gaping in surprise when one woman pulls her shirt off and her naked breasts spring free.
Zayn casually glances in the woman's direction and looks away, as if he couldn't care less. I feel his fingers twitch lightly on my back and he gives me a soft pull, leading me towards a door.
When he opens it, I finally become aware of the fact that it leads to the basement. Before me are decrepit stairs, which are in such bad shape that I'm terrified to stand on them. The air is thick and foggy in the basement, and I can hear a heavy cough echo from the depths.
Instead of letting me walk first down into the basement, Zayn takes the lead, grabbing my hand and leading me down. When we walk around the corner, I see a poker table in the middle of the room. Around it sits four men and two women. The women, of course, are seated in their bras. All the men are shirtless, and a few are missing their shoes and socks. It takes me a moment to finally realize that they're playing strip poker.
I look over at Zayn and my eyes wander all over his body, imagining just that.
Strip poker.
"Four of a kind, read 'em and weep, boys," a man's voice says as I turn to look at a muscular man placing his cards down onto the tabletop. "Time to lose the pants," he chuckles and the men stand up to sloppily pull their pants down.
