𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 - 𝘡𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴

Sad Girl

He's got the fire

And he walks with flames

He's got the fire

And he talks with flames

(***fem zayn***)

Tw: depression, verbal assault, death, emotional abuse, s*icidal thoughts , self harm

Forgettable. She was easy to forget, for her mark on the world was next to none, she could leave without speculation. And maybe that's what she wanted, perhaps she longed to disappear off the face of the earth all together.

She would not be missed, perhaps the counselor would hold a few empty therapy sessions, for she had no friends to grieve her absence.

The gray walls of the school seemed to confine her as she walked by problems with problems. Unenthusiastic in her note taking, she knew her mother wouldn't be pleased. Because the beatings didn't knock any sense in her poisoned mind.

She wondered if anyone bothered to sense her presence, she could care less. She enjoyed the lack of social interaction if anything. She didn't want anyone to notice the pretty amber scars etched upon her skin.

Nothing fazed her, not even her mother's fear enduring lectures. Her high pitched screams no longer hurt, she was numb.

She no longer lay in a puddle of tears as her mother went through one of her fits. Her mother tended to blame her fucked up life on her equally fucked up daughter.

Her hands no longer quivered when her mother yanked her hair back. And she no longer fell to her mothers feet in form of apology.

She hated a lot of things, but she hated her mother more than anything. Her hatred of her mother was stronger than any silly love Shakespeare wrote about. Her hatred was a thing of legends perhaps. It almost amazed her how easily she could manipulate her mother, the same way her mother manipulated her.

A monster made another one.

And she was equally unlovable as her mother. When a child isn't shown love, you shan't expect them to show love.

So she stood in silence in the girls bathroom lighting a cigarette, and drawing on her eyeliner, messing up her hair she played the role of drug abusing drop out a little too well. And maybe that's why the other teens left her alone, and also the scary shit she wrote in her notebooks.

So when the boy with curls approached her at her smoking spot behind the portables she told him to fuck off. For he had ruined her almost empty world, an unwelcome spectator should stay out off.

So he did, almost. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered her one. She took it without question, and they sat on the earth, gazing at the clouds, lost in their thoughts.

Zayn noticed the scars on his thighs, showcased in a hole through his jeans.

So it was just two fucked up strangers against the world.

It became a bit of a routine, smoking cigarettes in silence behind the portable.

And one fateful day Harry broke the sheet of silence, "hi." He rasped out.

Zayn nodded her head in response.

"Where did you get those from?" He gestures towards the purple splotches on her neck.

"My mom," She pointed towards the bruises on his arm, "you?"

"Step-father," he looked down and felt himself clench up. He fucking hated that man so much. Zayn took a long drag of her cigarette before facing him once more. And he now noticed just how stunning her eyes were, they were vivid and breathtaking he could get lost in those pools of honey. She stared at him with similar intensity almost having a conversation with their eyes. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" He blurted out randomly.

"Dead," she answered truthfully, playing with the holes in her fishnets, it was her small form of rebellion against the preppy uniform she had to where.

"Same," he responded, his eyes lit. It was as if he had temporarily possessed her, because Sears felt a small part of her smile.

"I hate everyone," she pursed her lips before ripping some grass on the earth next to her. "Tell me"

"What should I tell you," he peered at her, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips, revealing a dimple.

"Who are you?"

"Harry, depressed fuck who finds solace in packs of cigarettes."

"Zayn, forgettable piece of shit who doesn't find solace in anything."

"What's your favorite book?" Harry referred to her plentiful books she read diligently during their cigarette sessions.

"That's hard, probably A Thousand Splendid Suns," she crushed the cigarette butt with the heel of her shoe, "I resonate a lot with one of the characters."

"Cool," Harry responded, "I have really shit reading comprehension. I'll like read a book and not even know what happened."

"How does that even work?" A few tinkles of laughter escaped her mouth, and she froze she hadn't laughed since she was a child. And who was he to take away her melancholic state? Why has she granted him access into her closed off world and why did she want access to his.

"I don't know dude," he sighed. Zayn felt a small part of her recoil at the term bro. "Is it true?"

"What?"

"What the others say about you?"

"What do they say about me, although I could care less?"

"You are going kill yourself?"

"Maybe," a sudden gust of cool wind flowed past them. And she turned her face away from him, and got up and left, her eyes trained to the ground. Not even sparing Harry a glance.

And she didn't show up behind the portables the next day.

Or the next.

Or the next week.

Or the next month.

Or the next year.