Criminal {A Ziall Love Story}

Chapter 4

He's right. I wasn't thinking about my wrists.

We kept driving even when it was dark. His headlights were broken so we couldn't see traffic. We had to guess, basically. He kept looking over at me but I didn't really want to look at him. I felt awkward. I felt like I shouldn't like him. The guy has a record. I don't even know anything about him other than what I see. But I couldn't help the way I was beginning to feel. I haven't felt this way about a guy since Mitchell Benson in the 8th grade. I wanted to know more about Zayn. I wanted to know what ticked him off, what made him happy. I wanted to know how much sugar he put in his tea, what shoe he put on first. Stupid things. Everything. And there was only one way to find out.

"Zayn?" I said quietly.

"Hmm?" he said, eyes still locked on the road.

"Tell me about you." I said more loud and turning towards him.

He chuckled. "Why?" he smiled.

"I dunno. I figure I'm not going home soon so we might as well get to know each other. Tell me."

He smiled. "That's very cute, but I don't do back stories. I have a past, and that's how it stays. You know my present, and the future is the future."

I sighed. So much for getting to know him. I turned back to my seat and looked out the window. He turned on the radio and fumbled with the channels. He picked one and softly hummed the beginning tune of "She Will Be Loved". The soft humming became to quiet singing then vocal singing.

He was always there to help her

She always belonged to someone else

I drove for miles and miles

And wound up at your door

l've had you so many times

But somehow I want more

I don't mind spending everyday

Out on your corner in the pourin' rain

Look for the girl with the broken smile

Ask her if she wants to stay awhile

And she will be loved, and she will be loved

I smiled. He was incredible. His voice was rocky and smooth at the same time. His pitch was perfect and he never missed a beat. He was simply flawless, l might say.

"You're really good." I said genuinely.

He laughed a little bit too much. "You're real funny. But thanks anyway." He turned the radio off.

"Did you ever have singing lessons or join choir?"

He turned to me then looked back at the road. "My mum sang to me as a kid. It calmed me down. I sang to my family all the time. At dinner, in the car, at night. I loved it. I did a lot of school productions to get exposed to it. My drama teacher said I had one of the best voices she's heard in a long time. She used to recommended me for solos all the time." He put his head down quickly with a smile. "It was a lot of fun.." he trailed off.

"Used to?" I asked.

"Yeah, I quit Year 11." he said softly.

"Why? If you loved it so much, why'd you quit?"

He shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat. "It was my dad. He, uh, thought I should being doing more outdoorsy stuff like footy and baseball. He told me I needed to be a man and grow up. To not waste time on stuff that can't take me anywhere. So I did. I quit choir." He got quiet again.