Run Forest Run (A Zayn Malik Fan Fiction)

Chapter Eight - Square One

            “It’s what friends do,” she announced, picking up the dress and holding it out to me, “And I hope we become friends Forest. I’m not that bad, once you get past the clothing fetish.” She shrugged, and I laughed, which I wasn’t forced, but it didn’t come easily. “You’re already borrowing my jeans and my tops, what difference is a dress.”

            “It’s just nice, that’s all,” I admitted as she dropped the dress in my hands.

            “You have an hour to get ready before someone from security comes to get you,” she informed, eyes flicking down to my bare feet. “What size shoe do you wear?”

            “Last time I measured them I was a size six I think,” I answered with a shrug. I’d lived in ratty old sneakers, but they never seemed to get to tight, so I guess I was still a six like I was when I purchased them.

            “Perfect, I’ll go grab you some heels while you change. No need to go to the restroom, you tell me when I’m outside of the door. With that she walked out the door out of bedroom in the house. It was odd, how large the hotel room was, it was more like a flat.

            Like Eleanor told me to I changed into the dress, ignoring my ribs, and fixing the straps as a knock rapped the door. “You can come in,” I said, and she appeared, a smile on her face as she saw me.

            “You should green more often, it works with your coloring,” she commented, cream heels dangling from her hand. “And it’s the same color as your eyes,” she added, as our sights collided. “Here, I tried to find a pair with less height,” she told me, handing over the shoes, “I didn’t know if you were good with heels.”

            “I can handle them,” I promised, sliding on the heels, bumping me up so I was taller than the brunette.

            “Do you want me to help with your hair?” Eleanor asked, but it was more of a plea. She was looking at my hair like it was an empty canvas, and she had an easel set up and ready to go. “I’ve been told I’m good with a curling iron,” She said, smiling to herself as if it were a fond memory.

            “We do have a lot of time before they come.”

            “That’s the spirit,” she erupted, clasping her in a cheerleader clap. “I think we should leave it down, but do some light curls-” she started, pulling on my wrist and forcing me to stumble behind her on the way to the bathroom. “More of a wave really, we don’t want to overdue it, but if we’re going to have people see you then you have to look great and-“

            “What do you mean have people see me?” I asked, shooting her an accusing look. She was quiet, plugging in the curler after she found it, motioning for me to sit down on the stool.

            “It’s not like people won’t start wondering who you are,” she explained, “you’ll be going out in public with multiple people from a famous boy band.” She caught my eyes, and gave me a soft smile. “It happened to me,” she muttered, “I started hanging out with Louis, rarely in public, but still. Assumptions were made, articles were written, blogs were created. By the time people knew who I really was, they had already decided their thoughts, some good, some bad.” She was looking at herself in the mirror like I was before. Her eyes quickly cut to me though, smile on her lips after a quick intake of air.

            “We’re going to make you look good, and people are going to love Forest. You’re the girl who’s going to help get Lottie back,” she announced, wrapping a strand of hair with the wand, and holding it in place. “But I am warning you, people will make assumptions, especially with your … situation.” I frowned, but sadly the thought popped right into my head.