Seconds, Minutes, Hours

cinco

Zayn was only three years old. It would be another three years before he met Liam, his best friend. But back then, he hadn't needed someone like Liam. He had plenty of friends, his life was good. He wasn't sick yet, and his parents loved him. He was absolutely adorable three year old, and always smiling. Nothing could bring him down.

He started getting sick a lot, and eventually his parents took him to the doctor. Most parents wouldn't have taken him to the doctor for something so minor, but Zayn was an only child, and his parents were overworked. And that turned out to be a good thing.

Zayn had been diagnosed with leukemia within a month. He was in and out of the hospital a lot, and was usually either suck or in pain. It was hard treatment, but Zayn was a strong kid and kept a smile on his face through all of it. The same, however, could not be said for his parents. Chemotherapy wasn't cheap, and Zayn's disease had taken a huge toll on their finances. They were almost constantly working, and when they weren't, they were tired. Even once Zayn was healthy, they didn't seem happy. They would come home after hours of work to see the smiling boy and deep inside, they would blame him for how tired they were. Zayn was oblivious to this, and became used to being alone all day. His friends slowly drifted away as playmates were never arranged anymore. It wasn't immediate, but before long Zayn was lonely. He started clinging to his parents when they were home, like any four year old would do. But Zayn's parents were tired of everything the kid had put them through, and wouldn't have any of it.

At first it was just yelling. The stress building up and being taken out on the child. It made Zayn sad, But never made him cry. He wasn't supposed to cry, the doctors had told him the a lot. So he would just retreat to his room without eating. After a few weeks, he gave up bothering them and went back to fending for himself. He became an expert at climbing in cabinets to get food when his parents were too tired or angry to get it for him. If it had stayed at that, Zayn would have probably spent the rest of his life in that house.

But it didn't stay like that. As time went on, his parents stressed more. The food ran out, replaced with liquor. Zayn found himself hungry and alone. His parents would come home and yell at him just for being there. They called him useless, a waste of money, a waste of space. A mistake.

They started to hit him. Zayn was no stanger to pain, having felt so much during his treatment, but even a four year old could tell that this pain was different. His old pain had been surrounded by encouraging smiles, and proud faces when he withstood it. This pain was surrounded with anger and yelling. He started hiding when his parents were home, ignoring his grumbling stomach. He was scared.

They beat him. Yelled. Cut him with broken bottles. He tried so hard not to cry, but he couldn't always hold it back. And when he couldn't, they called him weak, hit him harder. They convinced him it was all his own fault, and the poor child was so torn up on the inside. Zayn was abused.

They never sent him to school. That was their big mistake. When the police showed up, it was for a truancy case. The second they saw Zayn, huddled under the table, it became a custody battle. Zayn could remember the terror he felt as he huddled, trying not to be seen.

"Are you okay sweetie?" The officer had asked. Zayn had flinched away from his touch and the man had frowned. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Zayn hadn't believed him. It took more than an hour to coax him out from under the table.

It was a long few months of courtrooms, interrogations, and police officers. He didn't talk, couldn't. He was only five, the stress was too much. No one remembered his birthday, which he knew from when he had been in the hospital. It used to be such a big deal, but his sixth birthday was spent alone.

After the trial, he was put in an orphanage like place. It was called something else, but was undoubtedly a place for orphans. He refused to speak to any one. He would cry alone in bed at night. If you so much as touched him, He would whimper. They tried therapists, but it didn't work. Nothing did. At least until Zayn met Liam.

No one knew what had changed. One day on the play field, Liam had approached Zayn. And the Raven haired boy hadn't flinched away. No one knew what was different, but the two were soon inseparable. The best of friends. When Liam wasn't there, Zayn reverted to his old ways. The only time they had been placed in different foster homes, Zayn had cried so hard that they had to bring them both back to the group home. After that, the two were processed as brothers.

They went through several foster homes, and within a couple years. Zayn was happy. He was like any other kid, living his life. He still hung around Liam a lot, and they were still basically inseparable, but he no longer cried when the other boy left.

When Zayn was ten, he started helping kids with cancer. Having been in their situation, He connected deeply with all of them. Liam worked with him sometimes, but for the most part it was only Zayn's job. It became the only constant in his life, and it didn't change as he was bounced between foster homes.

He was 15 when his current foster parents had taken in him and Liam. It had been about two months until his freshman year was set to begin that he was diagnosed.

He had lung cancer. It was sort of a relapse from the cancer he had when he was young, and sort of a consequence from spending so much time in the radiation filled cancer wing of the hospital. Whatever the cause, the cancer made Zayn break. He became a bully, harsh on every one. For the first two years he did the treatment without complaint. Liam was always around to encourage him, although he didn't attend school. Liam had always been a genius and had completed his schooling in the orphanage while between foster homes. Zayn became worse of a kid at school, but with Liam He was always the same old kid, the one Liam had rescued all those years ago in the orphanage.

And then Zayn s survival chances came in. Even with treatment, they were abysmal. They have him a year to live without treatment, saying they could probably give him two or three years if he was a model patient. They told him He fu ould fight the cancer off for a while, like when he was a kid. That was when Zayn started smoking.

He had always pretended to be a smoker, just never actually smoked. That year, he started. He stopped taking his meds. He still used the breathing machines from time to time, but not often. He said there was no chance of him living. Liam knew there would be no way to change him mind, so he didn't try.

And now Zayn was were his is today, a bad cough, a caring brother, a bad boy reputation, and less than a year to live.