Dreaming. *Zayn Malik.*

Chapter Seven.

dedication goes to Kyuteegurlrock who had the first comment on the last chapter. okay so to get the next chapter dedicated to you, all you have to do is tell me how you like this chapter, what are your thoughts, and the best comment gets the next chapter dedicated to them, so try hard. like 5sauce, okay love you xx

                I stood there looking up. The building was thousands of feet taller than me but that didn’t stop me. Just days ago I had painted the entire side of a building of somewhere I hadn’t even known. But here I was looking up and staring at it. And crying. Why was I crying?

                  The background of the painting was blue, ocean blue not sky blue. A mermaid took up most of the middle part of my painting. Her red hair and green scales-a purple bra- she was Ariel. And next to her was flounder and Sebastian. On the blue of the painting mer-people swam around all shapes and all sizes. But there was a catch. There was some mer-people that only some people would catch and understand.

                There was a boy mermaid, his blonde hair was quiffed and wore white glasses; the merboy was Matt. There was another merboy who had a black quiff and black scales; that merboy was my husband and next to him was a bald mermaid; that was me. Behind us was Molly mermaid holding a guitar with her mer-arms. And next to her was Tristan merboy with a football being thrown into his arms. If you followed where the football came from there was a little merboy. It was Jace. There was a pregnant mer-person. She was Carly and lastly there was a merboy who watched Carly, it was Zach.

                I felt wrong staring at my own painting. I hated what I had painted. Why had I put mer-people of all things on the wall that Zayn had bought me? I hated myself for wasting much good space on such a stupid painting. So here I was, standing in front of the painting that I had ruined, with all my buckets and paintbrushes. And I was hurt, and I was angry, and I was still crying. I was never going to be a mother, and that was repeating over and over again in my head. I hated what this cancer was doing to me.

                I stuck my hand in red paint and threw it at the wall. I also screamed, I screamed as loud as I could at the wall. I told the wall how angry I was. I threw blue paint and told the wall how much I hated being sick and how I wished it was me that was dead instead of Matt. I threw yellow paint and told the wall how much I wanted the cancer to kill me or go away. I told the wall how I wanted to be better or dead because I was sick of this.

                I didn’t even realize people were watching me throw paint at the wall. I didn’t care when I did notice because I was holding the bucket of purple paint and I was throwing it at the bald mermaid. I was telling the wall that I hated the fact I couldn’t be a mom. I told the wall with black paint how much I resented my own husband because he could do whatever he wanted without worrying while I had this to deal with.

                I hated everything and everyone and when I felt arms reach out for me I turned around and noticed it was Zayn. His look was sincere and he held out one hand asking me to take it. I ignored him. I turned back around and grabbed the pink bucket of paint and threw some of it at flounder.  I knew I was crying and I was probably looking a little bit crazy but I didn’t care. I touched the wall with both of my hands and moved all the colors around. It all mixed into an ugly brown.

                “Erin stop.” Zayn whispered but I didn’t. I just cried harder. I felt my knees begin to give out so I pushed harder on the wall to keep myself up. I refused to fall and let the people watching know that I was weak. I wasn’t weak. Not mentally. I knew what I was doing, I wasn’t insane. I was angry.

                I felt Zayn laid his hand flat on my back. When his hand came off I realized he had left a painted handprint there. I turned around to see him holding up a yellow hand. I took my hand and pushed it to his chest which was covered with a black shirt. Zayn only leaned down and covered his hand in red paint and placed it where my heart was.

                “You want a canvas to throw paint at?” Zayn whispered. I didn’t answer. I just stared at him with my crying eyes. But behind him I did see the people still watching us, was this entertaining to them or were they just really that bored with nothing else to do?

                “I’m here.” Zayn told me. He walked past me and stood in front of the wall. His hands went down to his sides and he tossed his head back so he was looking at the sky. I slowly leaned over and grabbed the orange paint. With all of the muscle in my body, silently this time, I threw the whole bucket at him. Everyone in the crowd gasped.

                I grabbed the rest of the colors one by one and threw them at the love of my life. He didn’t move. Not once did he let his head slip or his foot one. He just stood there with his arms at his sides and his head thrown back at the sky. And he didn’t say anything. And the people stayed the whole time. They didn’t leave, some came and some recorded what they were saying, but it was like once they saw us, I throwing paint at him and screaming, they were in a trance.

                “Feel better?” Zayn asked me as I dropped the last can of paint. I was covered with paint from the splatters and spills but I was nowhere near as covered as my husband. He was literally all paint.  I just nodded at him. Everyone was still there when Zayn started to walk over to me and wrap his arms around my neck. Now I let my knees give out.

                “Sh Erin, I’m right here.” I didn’t say anything. I just nodded my head in his chest letting all the paint mix together on my pale skin. The paint would eventually dry and I would wipe it off and it would feel like a million little prickles pulling at my body. But I would feel it, and I needed to feel it. I didn’t want to be numb. Even the needles from treatment didn’t bother me anymore. It was like I had become accustom to them. I was meant to have the needles poked into me. God hated me before he even put me down here on hell.

                “Erin please listen to me. You can’t keep your feelings from me. I need to know what’s bothering you and when it is. I need to be there. My job is to be your rock.” Zayn pulled away from me. I was shocked to see that his face was also colored with paint. I didn’t care though; he was still the most beautiful person that walked the earth.

                “I was never one to tell you what was bothering me.” I told him. He just laughed and grabbed my cheeks. My thin almost white cheeks, other than the one covered with paint, and kissed me. His lips molded onto mine and the crowd cheered. I felt kind of like it was a movie, not an eighties movie, but a movie. We would soon be marking off number 10. Just never number 1.