Prisoning Truth
Starvation. (17th Chapter)
…Back At the Villa…
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Giselle's POV:
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“(I whine) Niall, get out. This is the third time, already. (I shoo him away with my hands) Go tell the rest to sit on the table. The food is coming, geez.” The hungry blonde moans from his starvation, as he leaves the kitchen. I have been stacked up here since the moment I came back home with Harry. He, being considerate, suggested to give me a hand; but I denied it.
No offence, but he doesn’t know how to cook, which signifies that if he assisted me it would turn to a catastrophe. One of the main reasons why I tended to cook alone was that I needed my desired isolation. I have been around these men all the time, and to me it was suffocating. Not because I don’t enjoy their presence around me, it’s just how I prefer to be that’s all.
I even gave myself time to think of what Harry told me, back at the market. I felt some sort of a relation with all of them, considering that I never got the chance to meet my father. I was raised on my mother’s hands, and whenever I tried asking her about my father; she would tend to deviate the subject. Now as for Harry’s reaction to my question, he alarmed me with a spark of intrigue; I wanted to ask more.
I wanted to force him on telling me why did he boil up, but at the same time I wanted him to maintain this new character that I am quite fond of. “(I call) Will someone give me a hand with the trays?” None of the five youngsters reply, which makes me huff my breath. Just as I began to lift one of the trays up, the sliding door of the kitchen opens; previewing ruffled lox of curly hair.
He walks closer to me, taking the tray out of my hands and into his. I give myself some time to scan his figure; noticing how rigid and well-built it is. Arms like steal, yet skin like powder. “(He asks with a smirk, catching me gazing at him) Shall I take this to the dining room, or do you prefer me giving you a strip tease to satisfy your gawking, doll face?” I roll my eyes at him, pushing his shoulders away to the door.
He laughs under his breath, moving out of the kitchen. Why is it that my mind is fascinated with him so much? Why am I finding some sort of tendency to keep looking, talking, and eyeing him? I give up on confronting myself with answers, taking the other tray out. Once I step into the dining room, I get greeted with amazed faces. “Never have I dreamt that I will be having a home cooked meal. (He exclaims happily) Gosh, Giselle. Everything looks wonderful, thank you.”
I pat Liam’s shoulder, as I turn around the vertical table to find a seat. Louis catches my eyes in his, patting the seat next to him for me. I slide in, nudging his shoulder playfully, as I wait my turn to pour in my share of the lunch. I laugh once I hear each one of them humming their swallowed bites, feeling quite complimented with the job well done in my cooking result.
“(He wipes his mouth with a paper tissue, then speaks calmly) Giselle, could I have a word with you?” I nod at Zayn’s request, even though it was an all-of-a-sudden move. We both slip out of our seats, as we walk across to the door. I capture a sight of two green eyes staring blankly at me, but I shrug their owner off; emphasising that I am as clueless as he is. What could Zayn want to talk about, that made him pause his lunch for?
..........................
Giselle's POV:
.........................
“(I whine) Niall, get out. This is the third time, already. (I shoo him away with my hands) Go tell the rest to sit on the table. The food is coming, geez.” The hungry blonde moans from his starvation, as he leaves the kitchen. I have been stacked up here since the moment I came back home with Harry. He, being considerate, suggested to give me a hand; but I denied it.
No offence, but he doesn’t know how to cook, which signifies that if he assisted me it would turn to a catastrophe. One of the main reasons why I tended to cook alone was that I needed my desired isolation. I have been around these men all the time, and to me it was suffocating. Not because I don’t enjoy their presence around me, it’s just how I prefer to be that’s all.
I even gave myself time to think of what Harry told me, back at the market. I felt some sort of a relation with all of them, considering that I never got the chance to meet my father. I was raised on my mother’s hands, and whenever I tried asking her about my father; she would tend to deviate the subject. Now as for Harry’s reaction to my question, he alarmed me with a spark of intrigue; I wanted to ask more.
I wanted to force him on telling me why did he boil up, but at the same time I wanted him to maintain this new character that I am quite fond of. “(I call) Will someone give me a hand with the trays?” None of the five youngsters reply, which makes me huff my breath. Just as I began to lift one of the trays up, the sliding door of the kitchen opens; previewing ruffled lox of curly hair.
He walks closer to me, taking the tray out of my hands and into his. I give myself some time to scan his figure; noticing how rigid and well-built it is. Arms like steal, yet skin like powder. “(He asks with a smirk, catching me gazing at him) Shall I take this to the dining room, or do you prefer me giving you a strip tease to satisfy your gawking, doll face?” I roll my eyes at him, pushing his shoulders away to the door.
He laughs under his breath, moving out of the kitchen. Why is it that my mind is fascinated with him so much? Why am I finding some sort of tendency to keep looking, talking, and eyeing him? I give up on confronting myself with answers, taking the other tray out. Once I step into the dining room, I get greeted with amazed faces. “Never have I dreamt that I will be having a home cooked meal. (He exclaims happily) Gosh, Giselle. Everything looks wonderful, thank you.”
I pat Liam’s shoulder, as I turn around the vertical table to find a seat. Louis catches my eyes in his, patting the seat next to him for me. I slide in, nudging his shoulder playfully, as I wait my turn to pour in my share of the lunch. I laugh once I hear each one of them humming their swallowed bites, feeling quite complimented with the job well done in my cooking result.
“(He wipes his mouth with a paper tissue, then speaks calmly) Giselle, could I have a word with you?” I nod at Zayn’s request, even though it was an all-of-a-sudden move. We both slip out of our seats, as we walk across to the door. I capture a sight of two green eyes staring blankly at me, but I shrug their owner off; emphasising that I am as clueless as he is. What could Zayn want to talk about, that made him pause his lunch for?
Notes
1 more chapter, just:
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6/2/16