Drown [z.m.]

17.

It begins with strokes of paint and furrowed eyebrows. It starts with red hair falling into eyes so blue, so full of promises, and with empty art classrooms and rain hitting the windows.

It was a beginning, as soon as Zayn Malik sauntered into the room.

"Oh damn, sorry, this isn't the classroom I was lookin' for," he mumbles, licking his chapped lips and then snagging his bottom lip between teeth.

Clementine turns around with a paintbrush between her teeth, a palette carefully poised in one slim-fingered hand. "S' no problem," she says with a little difficulty, and Zayn takes in her fiery hair piled atop her head in a messy bun, her soft frown at being disturbed, and the incomplete but beyond beautiful painting behind her.

And Zayn Malik chuckled, reaching forward and gently taking the palette from her hands, giving her some freedom of speech as soon as the paintbrush travelled between her fingers.

"You seemed a bit-" He waves around his hands, "y'know, caught up."

She nods, already turning back to her painting, putting her brush to the canvas. "I was," she says, turning round again to dip her brush in the blue and swirling some purple through.

Zayn looks over his shoulder to make sure no one can see him, because Clementine is not 'popular' and it would hurt his reputation to be spotted with someone other than the blonde-haired,
lipstick-smeared, fake-tanned girls he labelled as his girlfriends.

But Clementine here, she seems all too real to him, messy and genuine.

"What're you painting?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Don't you have class or something, Zayn?"

"I'd much rather hold out your palette, thanks."

"You don't even know my name."

"I don't."

The two exchange a look, and the moments seem to tick past, watching them with some amusement, until he smiles and she returns it, tentatively.

"My name's Clementine," she answers him, turning around again to focus on painting.
(It looked like swirls to Zayn, abstract and undefinable, very much like Clem herself.)

"Lovely name," he breathes, and then there's some more silence, interrupted only by the pattering of rain on the window, of the gentle strokes of the brush and Zayn's all too rushed breathing.

And they were beautiful, raw and whole.

Zayn's chewing on his lip again, battling with his thoughts. "My friend, Harry's his name, m' sure you know him? He's having a party tonight. You wanna join?"

He sounds a little too nervous for his own liking, stammering and stuttering.

But she's tucking back a strand of her hair, and looking round to face him with wide blue eyes, so impenetrable he can feel himself drowning in them.

"I don't usually go to parties," she informs him. "It's pointless, isn't it? You all drink and dance and sleep with one another and wake up hungover, questioning your life decisions. But thank you anyway."

Zayn raises his eyebrows, giving a sharp sort of laugh. "It's hardly pointless. It's fun. You get to live and forget, yeah? The invitation's still on though, Clem."

And it was a mistake, when she fingered through the dresses in her closet that evening, and picked one the colour of the midnight sky, curled her hair and threw on some makeup so she'd look pretty, pretty. And it was a mistake when she drank that night and let herself fall into the arms of a traitor, a traitor, when he kissed her hard on the lips and told her he loved her, loved her so. Rough hands on soft skin, whispers in the ear and confessions, confessions. And then she'd let him in, let him in, and they were raw and whole and raw and whole.

And Zayn Malik, he was her beginning and her ending all at once.

...

i really hope you liked this chapter bc i loved writing it (: and quick update yay bc the last one got a good response and i really appreciate that<33

ps; I'd highly recommend you to read the first few chapters if you've forgotten, because these characters do feature there as well and it'll all fall into place that way. remember, the events aren't in order c: