Chapter Five – Zayn
Skylar calls during dinner. It’s 6:23, and apparently she got home about ten minutes ago, but couldn’t call until now because Trinity would’ve been suspicious.
The boys laugh and joke on Louis, and a faint blush fans across the eldest boy’s cheekbones.
Zayn sips his water in silence.
And then Louis is saying something about how of course Skylar can come over now and yes, they’re eating dinner, but it’s okay, really, because they wouldn’t mind sharing at all.
Zayn hands Harry his trash.
Harry ignores him and pushes the garbage out of his way, because he’s too focused on the dumb smile that’s on Louis’ face, and the way he keeps biting his cheek to be bothered to throw away Zayn’s trash. And Zayn frowns, and pushes the stuff back towards Harry until he finally gets the hint to go to throw it away in the bin.
By the time that Harry turns to apologize to Zayn, he’s already back in his room.
He grabs his sketchbook from the right side of his desk, collapses on his bed, and begins to draw.
Zayn draws what his mind tells him to. His hand guides itself across the page, and he’s as curious about the marks that it will leave as the next person.
So naturally, he’s surprised when he flips open the book and thumbs to the first blank page, and he knows what he wants to create. He wants to shake the thought away, but it encases him like a fuzzy blanket, and he starts to get this warm feeling around him.
So he draws it anyway.
He panics when Louis enters his room about half-an-hour later. Nobody is supposed to enter his room after dinner time, and it scares him when the door creaks open slowly and two large shadows take the place of the dim lighting of his room.
Louis has this really stupid grin on his face, and Skylar does too, and they both have matching blushes the shade of a tomato. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they at least mildly fancy each other, and Zayn realizes that quickly.
But he doesn’t let the thought linger long, because thinking of people liking each other leads to thinking of other things, and thinking of other things leads to the reason why Zayn doesn’t think at all.
But then he’s already thinking about it, and he’s biting his lip now, and he has to physically push Skylar and Louis out of his room.
He locks his door, and then the first whimper lets out, and now all he can think of is exactly what he’s been avoiding for the past five years.
And he’s crying.
Zayn Malik has not cried for four years and 361 days. He hadn’t ever planned on doing it again, either.
Until now.
Zayn squeezes his eyes closed and stumbles to his bed, the sketchbook flying off in the process. He ignores it, and even though it’s not even bedtime yet, and it’s not even nearly time for him to take his nightly shower and use the toilet and brush his teeth and all the other things that he does at night, Zayn doesn’t care.
For the first time in almost five years, Zayn Malik cries himself to sleep.
His sobs are silent, and yet the pounding of his heart is even louder than the knocks on his door and the yells of the boys for him to open up.
This… This is why Zayn doesn’t think anymore.
Because it always leads back to the same thing, every time.
For the first time in his life, Zayn Malik wishes for a bottle of alcohol so that he can drink his pain away and be numb to the world.
Zayn pulls the cover around himself. His thoughts are almost suffocating now. He can remember it all. All the blurred blues and whites and yellows and reds. Especially red.
Zayn has not thought for five years.
He wasn't ever supposed to think again.
And this is why.
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I'm actually a lot more proud at how this chapter turned out than I thought I'd be :) The purpose was supposed to be that you'll get a little insight on Zayn (because up until this point, he was probably the weirdest and most nonsensical character I've ever created).
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Heartstrings ➳ z.m.
Fanfiction❝he's grey and skylar's color and they complement each other like hot rain on dry asphalt.❞ in which he has ptsd and doesn't do well with change. until her, that is. - I WROTE THIS WHEN I WAS THIRTEEN, OKAY. BE NICE. - all rights reserved 2013 © cat...