The Furnace in My Heart (A Zayn Malik fanfiction)

Chapter 2 - Black Eyes and White Lies

I close the door with a sigh of relief. Nobody's home, so I won't have to explain to my mom. We moved here thinking it'd be better and because of mom's job. Boy, were we wrong.

*Flashback*

I take a swig from the can of soda in my hand. I have survived and completed the eighth grade year. Picking up the remote, I change the channel and put it back down again. There's a knocking on the door, and for a second, I jump. I realize mom hasn't come home yet, so this is about the right time for her arrival. The old brass knob on our Victorian door turns and in pops mom's head. Her usual smile is gone and replaced with an even brighter smile. I must have a questioned look, because she sprints over to the couch and engulfs me with her arms.

She squeezes and I mutter," Mom, can't breath."

Mom chuckles, apologizes, and sits down next to me. Her hand is now gripping my thigh in a motherly manner. That smile is still brightly plastered on her aging face. I can't remember the last time she smiled like that. Oh, yeah. Before Meghan was murdered. Just the thought of my older sister puts me on the verge of sobbing. Since I'm not in the mood to explain why I would be crying, I hold them back.

"Honey, remember how we always wanted to move to Britain?"

What? Why is she bringing this up now? She just walked in. Her beautiful blue eyes glisten in the florescent lights. I let her continue before I rowdy.

"Well, my job knows how much I want to move. So they offered me a job in Bradford," she squealed at super speed.

My heart flutters, and I know she's already accepted. I wrap my arms around her tightly, afraid of letting go. Moving could mean a new life. No more bullying and teasing. Possible boyfriends. Sweethearts walking the streets, and gentlemen along with them. God, this'll be one hell of a change.

*End of Flashback*

Sitting here alone, I realize how much I really miss Meghan. Sure, we got into fights, but we were best friends. When she left, she took my secrets with her. Now, there's no one else in the world whom I trust. I grab the remote and twirl it in my hand. Since I'm alone, I should jam to music and dance around like the teenager I am. Disrupting my pleasant thoughts, is evil reality. I must remember that I'm not a normal teenager. Normal teenagers go to parties, gossip, sing, play sports, and still manage to keep good grades. My grades are straight A's, only because I'm not distracted by other stuff. Straight A's are nice, but I want to let loose and live life. Depression is a bitch when it comes to fun. Depression is like strict parents. No fun whatsoever. Even with strict parents, you can still sneak out. There's no trap corridor to fun and sunshine. Even mom can't get me to smile on a regular basis.

My eyes close for a second, and when I open them, it's been three hours. I mentally curse myself for drifting off, and get off the couch. Managing to trudge into the kitchen, I find a nice, cold ice pack. My eyes clamp shut, prepared for the cold to come. I carefully put it on my black eye, almost feeling a sizzle. The sting now is worse than the punch. I suck my teeth for about three seconds straight. I wasn't prepared at all. To think that getting a black eye once and a while still hurts when you put ice on it is mind blowing. People would think I'm at least use to it, or immune to the pain. Honestly, it hurts more every time. Every single pound that's delivered gives me a fresh, painful feeling.

I sigh and remove the ice pack. Reduced swell, but still really bad. I put the ice pack back in the freezer and ascend the flight of stairs to my room. Man, is this room plain. Falling backwards, the bed catches me and cushions my fall. I stare at the ceiling, wondering if I could become famous for my abstract art.

In class, I pay attention and doodle in my sketchbook. If I really like the drawing, I'd come home and draw it again on my easel. Depending on the feeling and emotion, I'll use pastels, pants, or just crayons to color it. I'd probably decorate my room if I weren't so depressed. Instead of putting them up, I keep them in a cardboard box. Meghan understood my drawings. One time, when I was in fourth grade and she in seventh, we splashed paint all over each other. We always had a blast. If I ever bump into the person that took her life, things wouldn't be so pretty. If only freak coincidences like that would happen.

My shoulder is shaken and I awake in a panic. Mom stands above me, saying sorry for startling me. She's always so kind and understanding. She doesn't question why I'm not in school, but she looks concerned. Her tender fingertips brush against my multicolored eye socket. My mom knows about the bullying, but I don't have much of a choice. We tried transferring, but no other schools would accept me this late in the year. I sigh, knowing there's only one more year left and this year's almost over.

"Helena, this one's worse. Another girl did this, I reckon?"

Her soft voice soothes my thoughts. I nod weakly, and she shakes her head. There's a cyan bowl of water next to me on the nightstand. An off white cloth floats in the midst. Her delicate hands dip into the bowl, gripping the towel. She wrings the cloth, and I close my eyes. Then dabs my eye gently, making sure there's as little pain and pressure as possible.

Mom never made me go to a stupid psychologist, because she knows they're a waste of time and money. People have suggested I see one, but mom never thought it was worth my while. Sure, I'm depressed, but I'm not suicidal. The bullying is bad, and it gets frustrating. Sometimes, you just want to switch with somebody to show them how worthless it makes you feel. How agonizingly painful it feels to get knocked out close to concussions daily. Still having to go everyday because you don't have any other choice.

I let out a sigh of relief and throbbing pain. My head beats with horror. Satan decided to play the drums, only minus the drum set. Instead, using my head as the cymbals. Crashing his drumsticks from hell on my forehead. A groan escapes my lips, and my eyes open in an attempt to rid my head of the uncontrollable pain. Lifting my two thousand pound head to see my mother entering the room with a glass full of water with ice cubes, and a container of Aspirin. The littlest of smiles plays on my lips.

Her face brightens, and a grin spreads across her bright face. She makes it to my bed, and sits on the edge.

"Here, baby. Take one. I know you have a major headache. The way that beautiful face of yours contorted when I removed the cloth clearly wasn't from the black eye," she cooes.

My throat opens with a sting, but I can manage a measly sentence.

"Thanks, ma. It means a lot," I muster, my vocal chords grinding against one another.

She smiles lovingly and replies,"Anytime, baby girl."

Her frail arms extend and I sit myself up, propping my weight on my elbows. My arms tremble as I take the glass in one hand. The other hand takes the pill my mom shook out. I throw my head back, chucking the pill into my mouth. I bring the glass to my desert like lips, drinking the water slowly. The cool water slithering down my dry throat. On the way down, the water cools my esophagus. Putting the glass on the nightstand with a shaky hand,smacking my now moist lips in pleasure. I hear my mom chuckle, making me proud she's finally smiling and laughing.

I look up at the ceiling. Closing my eyes, I silently whisper,"We miss you, Meg."

I drop my head, slowly drifting off to a finally peaceful sleep. 

____________________________________________________________

Hope you guys like it! Remember to kik me @justinamalik if you have questions.

-Lovee

J. Malik