To This Day - Zarry Mini-fic (AU)

Part 1

10 YEARS AGO

Zayn’s P.O.V.

            It was my eleventh birthday, and, as the wind blew, my mum and I were in a small motel with a single bed and a plumbing system that didn’t work.

            “Zayn, run and get this towel damp for me,” My mum said from where she was lying—the bed.

            “Mum it doesn’t work,” I mumbled, “Nothing here works,”

            “Okay,” She breathed, her lungs heaving, “Go to the suitcase and grab my medication,”

            And so I did as she said, walking over to the single suitcase and rummaging through it until I came across the small pack of meds. My mum had been sick as long as I could remember. I grabbed the containers and walked back over to my mum, my bare feet padding across the cold wooden floor and I ignored the whines coming from the floor boards.

            “Thanks, Zayn,” My mum cooed, picking out the pills she needed to take.

            And, since I was eleven, and it was my birthday, instead of saying, ‘you’re welcome’ I settled for, “Do I get any presents, mummy?”         

            She gave me a sad look and then rolled over on her back.

            “Not this year, Zayn,”

            I hadn’t been expecting any presents, so I wasn’t very upset. I just nodded and walked to the corner of the room where there was a single blanket and a pillow set up for me. I laid down, staring out the small window, and looking at the moon.

~

            The next morning I was up early, without the help of my mother, getting dressed and gathering my things for school, heading out of the motel and towards the bus stop. Since I never had a real home, I was quite good at navigation, and had almost all street names memorized. I made my way to the bus stop in good time, hopping on the large yellow machine and sitting down immediately. The front of the bus was the safest.

            Bullies were always after me. I was weak, raised by a sick mother, and poor. Everyone had to have a piece of me, kicking me, or just yelling at me. My nickname was Trash Boy, ever since a small incident a year prior, when I had been searching through the trash for a blanket. A bunch of kids had seen me, and pushed a trash can over on my head, laughing and giggling like it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. And it hurt.

            So, I became Trash Boy, the kid who didn’t really live anywhere.

            At least I still had mum.

            My only friend was a boy named Liam. He was a really nice kid, but he got bullied too, because of a large birthmark on his neck. I didn't understand why kids thought it was so strange. They said terrible things about him. He looks like a wrong answer that someone tried to erase but couldn’t quite get the job done. People were cruel to him. So cruel.

            Really, we were the outcasts. We hid together, in the back of the class, too afraid to participate and be made fun of more. And even though we didn’t talk that much, I knew Liam would take a bullet for me, just as I would for him. During recess we stayed inside, sitting at a small table and drawing pictures together. I drew a picture of my mum and me. She was healthy and she was holding me, both of us standing in front of a beautiful house, with a garden and a pool. Liam, on the other hand, drew pictures of himself without his birthmark. I grabbed a pencil from the container and drew the birthmark on, giving him a small smile.

            “Now it’s you,” I said, “Before, it was just some other person,”

            Liam sighed, but returned the smile anyway.

PRESENT DAY

Harry’s P.O.V.

            “I’m sorry,” I said through my tears, picturing this unbelievably attractive stranger as a small child, helping another sad boy.

            “I won’t finish the story if you keep saying that,” Zayn chuckled, running his hands through his hair.

            “How did you live?” I asked, not understanding how an eleven year-old boy could survive living like that, “How did you make it through?”

            “It sure wasn’t easy,” Zayn chuckled, tears welling up in his eyes, “Now, hush, I want to finish what I was saying,”

10 YEARS AGO

Zayn’s P.O.V.

            I always wanted Liam to come over, but his parents said that he couldn’t. Maybe it was because my ‘house’ was a different motel each week and the only parental supervision was my mum, who often just lay on the bed watching television. But even though he couldn’t come over to my place, sometimes I went over to his, sitting with him in his room and building little castles out of blocks. And then Liam’s parents would say I had to go home, and I would nod and try to leave, but they wouldn’t let me walk. I assured them it was fine, but they told me that an eleven year-old boy couldn’t walk home alone in the dark. That was a concept that I didn't understand. I was so used to walking alone, dark or light.

            That was the first time I had ever been in car, and it seemed a lot different from the school bus. Mr. and Mrs. Payne laughed at me when I asked them how it worked. Apparently, normal kids to ask questions like that.

            The next day at school Liam asked me if I liked the car. And I said yes, because it was the coolest thing I had ever experienced.