Drunk on Fame (1D fanfic)

2 - Zayn

~~~ Zayn ~~~

My lungs were splitting as I let out a throaty cough, my dry tongue hanging out as I felt the bile rise in my throat. I squeezed my eyes closed, feeling the cool metal studs in my eyebrows touch my eyelids. The pathetic dribble of sick made its way through my lips and onto the floor as I groaned, bringing the cigarette to my mouth and deeply inhaling the smoke. I knew it would make me throw up again but for a few minutes it brought me comfort.

The puff of smoke spiralled from my clammy lips, as I closed my eyes. Bright flashes registered in my mind, but right now, my body was so wrecked, I couldn't be bothered to crawl away from the paparazzi. I let them have their fill, taking endless pictures until I brought my fist down hard on the floor and yelled a low, slurred note at them through my drunken stupor, startling them as they scurried away.

My head hit the stone ground, bouncing slightly before resting in the small pool of stinking flem that had flown from my lips minutes earlier. My nose wrinkled in disgust but I couldn't see the point in moving from my position.

My thoughts were riddled with confusion. How had I even gotten to this alleyway? I'd never been down here before, and for all I knew, there could be some sort of gang, who 'owned' it. I was so tired though, and my head was pounding that I didn't even want to think about what they might do to me if they got the chance, especially if they found out who I was.

Every 'gangster' seemed to hate me, obviously because of my band, which depressed me a little. They just couldn't appreciate that I had moved on from that and was completely detattched from the world of fame. Shit, that's not true. Every day, and night probably, although I was unconcious if it happened, paparrazi would come and take endless pictures of me eating, sleeping, walking, talking... and drinking. Maybe they just didn't want to be caught up in that? But it made me lonely. So lonely that I wished anyone, I don't even care who, would come and speak two words to me, instead of laughing and taking photographs, like I was a prize that they could show off to all their friends. That's probably what they did. Took a photo of Zayn Malik, then showed their little cliques, before selling it to a local newspaper. Fuck them. 

I heard a small ringing in my ear, which gradually got louder, and I knew it was my hangover starting to kick in. I scrunched my eyes closed, aiming to sleep the headaches off.