deep enclosure - ziam short story

t h r e e

SHIT, I JUST BURNT THE END OF MY FINGER WITH A CIGARETTE.

- 8 / 21 / 91, FOXES IN FICTION

(guys, zayn has that hair he had like right before he left. you know, the kind that flops and is perfect for buns. the realllyyy hot kind.)

start :

Zayns heart beat fast as his feet hit the floor. His shirt, flowing over his chest, and his tight jeans stretching. He was dancing. Jumping in the slo-mo teenage rebel movie style, holding a cigarette between his lips, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

He was trying to forget everyone. It had been a few days since his breakdown, but just today, he suffered quite a lot.

"You're crazy, Zayn. How the hell am I supposed to casually tell that to a stranger who is gonna walk your dog?" Harry had said to him, in his living room, not more than an hour ago.

Zayns mind had snapped, and he was going to scream. He wasn't fucking crazy. He wasn't. He wasn't.

"Get out." Zayn shouted, pointing toward the door. "Get the fuck out of here, Harry."

Harry had then tried to apologize, but Zayn just slammed the door in his face. He.wasn't.crazy.

And that led to Zayn, dancing in slo-motion as if he were at a club, chugging alcohol and filling his apartment with smoke.

He'd sent Liam an email not long ago, and asked him to come over soon. Niall was picking up his puppy tomorrow. Kole Malik, 6 months. It excited Zayn. But right now, he'd rather not think of anything but smoking up this entire apartment complex.

When his phone rang, he ignored it, hoping it was nothing too important. He glanced over, seeing it was Harry and laughing. That fucker didn't deserve the time of day.

He jumped some more, before his phone rang again. This time, it was an email. Niall had set it up on his phone, so that he could contact Liam without using Harry's laptop. Thank god for that.

Wednesday is amazing. I hope you don't mind me over at around five. I'm running my dads shop this week and next. By the way, Kole is nice. It's unique.

See you?

Liam.

Zayn smiled, typing back an approval of five... Not like he'd be gone or anything. He's home all day everyday.

He took another swig of his whiskey, smoking another drag and blowing it into the air, before jumping back up. His hair was bouncing up and down, falling over his forehead and lightly hitting his cigarette.

It took an hour, or four, he wasn't counting, for Zayn to tire himself out. It was dark now, and Zayn made his way to his art room. He turned out his cigarette and flicking it out the window, he began to hum. The music was off now, but his humming kept a rhythm. He grabbed a charcoal stick, making his way toward the picture he had painted on the wall. Dripping and all, his mother was still so beautiful.

He took the charcoal and lightly traced the outside of her face. His hands took control, and he was drawing and smearing and rubbing. His fingers were black, his wrists cranked.

He was drawing her skull, pressed into her dripping flesh, holding a halo upon the top of her head.

"Better place, I suppose." He mumbled, just as there was a knock on the door. He expected it to be Harry, trying to apologize, as he didn't need anything from Niall today, and it was almost 10 pm, but when there was a a second knock and an unfamiliar voice, Zayn got up.

It turned out to be a delivery man, and Zayn recalled having Niall order some canvases, since the woven ones were out of shop.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malik, if you don't mind, these packages are quite large. They're at the elevator. Could you help?" The man asked, his cheeks turning red.

"Um," Zayns stomach erupted into butterflies. He was searching for a quick way out. "There's a cart for movers downstairs, bring that up. I'm sorry, I'm in the middle of something extremely important..." Zayn mumbled, and the man gave a strange look before nodding and leaving down the stairs.

When he returned, the packages on the cart and a sweaty neck, he held out the clipboard for Zayn to sign. Of course, as it had to be, the man was across the hall at much more than arms distance, and when Zayn reached out, his nicotine and whiskey filled body fell, right out the door.

The feeling of the rough carpet on Zayns cheek made him remember the first years in the apartment, the moving in process, the loads of boxes, meeting Louis, Harry, the crash. The crash.

Thinking about it sent Zayn into utter shock. His body was outside his apartment, he was out in the open. Anything could happen, now. The delevery man could pull out a gun and shoot him, the ceiling could cave in, there could be a bunch of flesh eating ants inside the carpet, a car could come right up the stairs and give him the same fate of his parents.

Zayns body shut down, and he began to rapidly shake. His head was being jolted around and his joints shook in the way of a seizure. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and as the delivery man began to pick him up, he screamed.

"Inside, inside. Please, inside." Zayn shouted, probably waking the whole complex. He was full on crying now, his body quivering.

"Sir, calm down, you're inside," the man whispered, placing him down on the couch just as Harry came running in.

Harry signed the packages off, probably illegally, before directing the man to the art room and making his way to Zayn.

"Hey, Zayn." He whispered, breathing deep and trying not to overreact himself "I need you to imagine. Close your eyes, bud. Picture a tree, okay? It's full of artists, each claiming a branch and painting their signatures. You? You get the top branch. It's reserved just for you. You climb up, and you're painting your mountains, Zayn. Your mountains of emotions. They're so beautiful, people are coming from everywhere to see you. They're all coming to see a tree growing in your apartment, passing up all the other artists to see you. Just imagine it. Breath in, out." Harry whispered, kneeling infront of Zayn on the floor.

This had happened once before, when Zayn had the same sort of mishap with Niall and groceries. Harry met Zayn when he brought over a welcome batch of cookies, and they spent the night talking about themselves. When Niall implicated Zayns episode, Harry knew enough to help, and did well.

And Zayn spent get another night next to Harry, trying not to go crazy, as he really already was. Another, sleepless night, emotional and dark.

If only he could get ahold of his own damn life.