Malik's Dirty Dancer (One Direction)

M's Dirty Dancer [18]

-Syreena-

Zayn, I wanted Zayn under my hands right and crush his head and feel the bones of skull splinter and break right under my fingers, but if only I was that strong. I was in my so called room seething with anger. I glared at my dresser and walked towards it eyeing the contents of the dresser and then my eyes travelled up to the mirror. My reflection started back at me with anger, confusion, and pain etched on her face. Her face wasn’t pretty any more nor did she have that natural light around her, there was electric soul around her anymore.

“Argg!”

I lashed my right arm out, throwing all the contents to the floor in rage. Pain flowed through the arm, but my anger was even more powerful to keep the pain at bay. I glare at the broken perfume bottles and with my big toe, I poke one of the glasses. Why? Because the pain and anger I was feeling was beyond something else, I needed to get my mind off it. As I poked the glass, a quick jab of pain entered through me and a little tear of flesh opened smeared with a little blood.

Amazed at the little gush of blood pouring out I didn’t hear the door open.

“Syreena?” The voice asks.

My head snaps up to the voice and the burning embers of anger rise within in me. “Syreena doesn’t exist sorry,” I say and then flip my middle finger.

“Look, I didn’t mean what I said.”

I turned around from Zayn not wanting to do even look at him. He hurt me enough even though I didn’t want to admit it, but whenever we fight his words leave an open gap in my soul. “Just leave,” I grit my teeth, making the words come off as a hiss.

I need to fix my injured toe; it was hurting like a bitch. I was pretty sure a glass was wedged between the skins. I walked towards the bathroom and again, caught my reflection and I looked like Hell. I quickly opened the medicine cabinet and got the first aid kit out, walking back to the room. Crouching on the ground was Zayn picking up the broken glass bottles and make up container from the floor, placing them back on the dresser.

I didn’t want his help, why did he not get this? I throw the first aid kit down on the ground and walk straight up to Zayn’s crouching figure. Instantly, he looked up at me as I looked down at him. I couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction seeing Zayn beneath me. But that thought quickly vanished as I stared into Zayn’s honey eyes. Those eyes were deep with shame and unforgettable pain and him looking up at me, with those grieved eyes made my throat tighten up with emotions.

He was hurt just like me. 

I quickly turned my head away from him sharply, discarding that thought. I could not feel saddened for him and neither could he. I didn’t want him, I didn’t need him, and most certainly I had no feelings for him beside wrath.  “Get out.” I bit out. “I can do this myself. This is my mess; I’ll clean it up myself.” And then added, “Unlike some of you.”

I thought that comment would ignite fury in Zayn, causing him and me to fight and again making me even angrier. I needed the anger, the anger was my way to hate Zayn and without it, I’d fall and I couldn’t risk that. Zayn was still looking at me with those long lashed puppy eyes but those eyes down casted and with a sharp nod, he rose.

We were almost arm to arm touching and as Zayn brushed past me, I felt his shoulder hit go past my arm. The glass on the floor was crunching under Zayn’s shoes as he started to walk past by me but then stopped. “I’m sorry but then again it wouldn’t matter to you. You’re right though, we are war so just wait when I play you Syreena. That’s the day you’ll cry out and no one will be there for you.” And then added before briskly walking away. “Like always.”