One Direction Fanfiction (On Hold)

Turning Tables (Zayn) (part 1)

A/N: The Zayn thing is not meant to make fun or be funny; he was just the boy I had the least of; I'm sorry.

Close enough to start a war
All that I have is on the floor
God only knows what we're fighting for
All that I say, you always say more

I looked up at him. The anger in his voice was above any emotion I have seen cross his features before. You didn't need to know the details of what just occurred to know what this scene enthralled of because all of the emotions were clearcut. Anger, hurt, dejection, pain--all present and abundant.

I grimaced. It's a if we were on a battlefield, targeting each other's heart. He had just stabbed mine.

"Maybe if you weren't so flirtatious, I wouldn't have to be jealous!" I stabbed back.

His anger only seemed to heat up.

"Flirtatious," he mocked. "You're the one hitting on every guy you see!"

I scoffed and crossed my arms again. We circled around each other like wolves, surveying the competition with eager eyes, ready to pounce at any moment.

I couldn't remember when it even started. Not just that fight, but all the fighting in general. I couldn't remember a time when anything I said was not made into an insult and retaliated by a snarky remark from my boyfriend Zayn.

I can't keep up with your turning tables
Under your thumb I can't breathe

It was suffocating. Suffocating, the way things had been. I guess one can only take so many blows to the heart before getting the wind knocked out from under them.

"You just can't face it," Zayn snarled again, "you're an annoying parasite that only survives by sucking the life out of others."

Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

He doesn't deserve to see me cry, I thought with a cracked voice. He doesn't deserve to see anything about me.

Suddenly I realized my relationship for as it really was. It was a balloon, blown up once with love and compassion...

But the knot was tied now. Somehow, somewhere along, a knot had formed. Fear, apprehension, mistrust, misguidence--anything could be the cause, really. Whatever it was, it stopped the airflow of love from entering.

What was going on then--I winced--the fights, the swordplay with words, the war raging on unvocalized or announced; it was because a hole had formed in the balloon. Punctured by a needle of hatred, anger, sadness even, the love was now slowly seeping out of our balloon.

There has to be a way to patch this up, I think hopefully. There must be.

This is where it might be easier if our relationship really was a balloon. One of us could run for tape, the other with a finger pressed over the whole, concealing it. The other would return. We'd press the tape down on time, before the love ran out, before...

I stepped back. I knew it was too late for repair. The balloon deflated long ago; there was only the other shell of what we once had. We were joking ourselves, trying to believe the balloon was still filled of air and abundant. We were grasping for straws when there were no straws to grasp at. I knew what had to be done then, and it was my job to do it.

So, I won't let you close enough to hurt me
No, I won't rescue you to just desert me
I can't give you the heart you think you gave me
It's time to say goodbye to turning tables
To turning tables