Finish Line |h.s|

Two

tw: mentions of addiction, substance use and self-harm. please read at your own risk.

The familiarity of failure settled into the pit of my stomach. It was a feeling that had become a buddy to me at a very early age. I was ten years old when I first experienced a big, fat ugly F on a fifty-point test about clouds. It's silly to think that not knowing cloud shapes changed the entire trajectory of my life, but it had. From that point on, my grades continued to slip and my mother's disappointment in me grew at a steady pace.

"I'm so sorry," Zayn mumbled against the cool skin of my neck. His arms gripped my body tightly, almost as if I could slip away at a moment's notice. I didn't respond, only letting my body still against his warmth.

I didn't know what to say, I didn't know how to approach this kind of failure. It wasn't mine, but it felt like mine. It felt so personal that every time I closed my eyes, I pictured myself atop Liam's bike, the adrenaline and energy coursing through me as I just missed the mark by a millisecond. It was so scarring, so horrifying that I had to force my eyes open to enter reality.

Zayn continued holding me tightly, peppering tiny kisses along the trail of my neck. His warm lips slowly lulling me out of my own head. "Are you upset with me?" He asked, peeking beneath his long lashes as if he was afraid to meet my eyes. I managed a small shake of my head and instantly that felt wrong. I am upset with him. But I'm also upset with myself, and the day, and that damned black Ducati.

"You are." He broke me from his secure hold, now examining me at arms length. "Fuck." His arms dropped from my shoulders, his nimble fingers running through the meadows of black hair. Anger and disappointed filled the air, trapping us in a bubble with no room to breathe. I shook out my hands in an attempt to create some waves in the thick air.

"I don't want to talk about this." I finally managed after a few moments of watching Zayn's features contour between anger and resentment.

"We have to."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do."

"No."

"Yes, yes we do. You're upset. I can see that. I can feel that. You've barely touched me; you've barely even looked at me. You must know I didn't do it on purpose. I don't understand why you're mad at me." He finally stopped pacing, his words rising into the air with frustration. I watched as the thick veins in his neck danced to the surface of his skin, his gentle demeanor quickly diminished. Zayn's moods changed like the weather, one second he was soft and gentle, the next he was driving his fist through a wall. He never let that part of him come to the surface around me though, I had only heard of the many fines he'd received from landlords for the parting gifts he'd leave them.

"Zayn, please." My eyes stayed trained on the pulsing in his skin, "I don't want to talk about this." My voice lowered and I took a step closer to him. My fingers reached up to cup his neck and I could feel his heart beat in the palm of my hand.

Zayn pursed his lips, his smooth skin turning a slight pink as he attempted to hold in his frustration. I don't know if I could handle a conversation like this. It felt so heavy, so significant and every part of my body wanted to run far, far away from it. I didn't want to think about the race, the money, the bike, or the day. I wanted my head filled with clouds of puffy white smoke taking shapes of silly animals. I wanted to escape.

"I have to go." Zayn's lips fell into a thin line as he stepped away and put a few feet of distance between us. His back met the edge of my white dresser, and his hands gripped the wood and his knuckles turned a similar shade.

"What do you mean?" My hands fell to my sides as clenched fists.

"I just... I have to go."

I jolted forward, attempting to reach the thin fabric of his black tshirt but he was just outside of my reach. His slender body disappeared behind my bedroom door and I could hear his thick boots clanking down the staircase, careful to avoid the fourth step down. With every disappearing step, fear built a home in my stomach. Each second of silence adding a thousand-pound brick that pulled my body to the floor.

I pulled my knees to my chest, hoping the compression of my body would stop the walls from building inside of me. I rested my forehead against the tops of my knees and inhaled deeply, my bones aching from the movement. The white noise buzzed in my ears as the reality of loneliness set in around me.

This was me. Alone, always alone. Whether in a crowd raging around me, or pressed against my childhood bed, I was always alone. I had learned to push this feeling away rather quickly, numbing it with any substance I could get my hands on or simple stumbling my way into a place I was not necessarily welcome in. Whatever my poison was that night, it was always strong.

Zayn was that, my poison. The strongest poison I could get into my greedy fingers. His scent clouded the bits of nostalgia that tried to loop through my brain, his calloused palms scratching away the bruises on my skin, his tongue coaxing every drop of emotion from my body.

No matter how much I tried to steady my breathing, my heart continued to hammer against my chest. My fingers shook as I scratched at the floor around me. I was hoping to find some sort of relief, something to take away this stabbing in my body but nothing did it like Zayn. No amount of pain in my fingers or burning liquor down my throat numbed me the way Zayn did, but he was out of reach, gone faster than my brain could comprehend the amount of emotions that were hitting me like giant waves.

Failure was home to me, but it had never felt so heavy. It was a three story house built to withstand hurricanes, tornados and floods. It was equipped with thick windows that never cracked nor shattered. The door was made with heavy steel and it took the last ounce of energy I had to crack it open just enough for me to slip inside.

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hihihi. small filler chapter here just to get a feel for k&z's relationship. more H in the next chapter, I promise! thanks for reading x