Help. [ Ziam ]

Lack of self-esteem.

1. Lack of self-esteem.

"Do you see that, Liam? It does not say 'attention,' and it certainly does not say 'seeking.' It says that something is missing; there is a 'lack of' something; something important. Do you ever feel like that may apply to you? Is there something you believe you may be lacking?"

Liam Payne can name you two things that link to self-esteem that he lacks in, the first being Confidence, often mistaken for arrogance. Confidence is not arrogance, his therapist would tell you, confidence is confidence, kon-fi-d/uh/ ns - see, the words are different, and so, believe-it-or-not, are their meanings. His second deprivation is Self-assurance. again, this is not 'presumption', Mr. Payne, she'd rattle on, although it can be confused with it, we've all seen it happen before, have believed something akin to it too. But it's not, it's self-assurance, self-/uh/-shoo r-/uh/ ns - it's much longer to say, and much harder to sustain, believe me.

Liam Payne can also name for you two exits from this over small, exhausting room. The first is the door, the one by the framed certificate.

I don't suppose you've ever been in this therapists room, and therefore cant define what the certificate is for, exactly. Liam doesn't know either, though if he squints right at it, he thinks he sees the word Harvard. On the other side of the door is a bookshelf, its big and brandishing and just screams look-at-me-I-read, though none of the books look at all entertaining.

The second exit is the windows, right along the outside end of the room, providing basic sunlight in the summer and a beautiful skyline all year round. Liam has learned to hate them with a passion, if only because they make the overdone whites of the room whiter. He imagines what it would be like, to exit through them, they're high, high enough that he'd have to stand on the row of sideboards to boost himself up. He'd probably knock the lamp off in the process, dirty the wood with his feet. He imagines Elena would scream, how is a therapist to make her money when her client demands to be a crumpled pile of bones on the ground below. Her reputation. It would be positively detrimental.

Elena is going off on one now, hands waving and voice loaded with emotion. Liam has to remind himself that this is her job, to care, and refrains from having to ask her to stop, as he really doesn't have the mind to listen. She's only trying to help, he thinks, as she lists off some of the things she's noticed he's missing, one by aching one.

The boy lacked a lot of things, so it was arduous to pinpoint them all. He's sure enough to confirm inner confidence and self satisfaction are certainly two of the low-end qualities he had, to name but a few.
But Liam could also hide this - he could hide all this quite well; behind his wide smiles that never let on to his missing pieces, and his tall posture that never gave any hints towards his silent social fear, his out-going nature effectively concealed the conflicting emotions he felt inside.

Liam stood on the left of his own confidence road, and looked on to the right, where the more obvious, quieter, wary individuals stood, their telling eyes and hunched statures gravitating towards the ground, like a turtle closing in on itself. But all trying to get to the same destination.

He'd never understood them though; those on the right. Struggled to comprehend how people could so openly show their own anxiety without even a hint that they were at least trying to hide it behind a mask of self-confidence. He couldn't understand why people displayed it so obviously whilst he worked day and night to keep the same smile on his face so no-one would see the on going battles within his mind.

He was embarrassed by what he saw in himself, despite knowing he had no reason to be. He had loving parents, who would complement him when they could; good friends, who's jabs at personality, or sometimes even weight, were rare and far apart, and only ever really  meant in good-nature; he was smart, too - Or, well, reasonably at least - he was energetic, knew his body was nothing to be ashamed of; but there was always this voice, this quite whisper, niggling at the back of his mind, telling him he wasn't good enough, wasn't smart enough, wasn't kind enough, healthy enough, handsome enough, everything. "not enough"; constantly, always, he couldn't make it leave. But he couldn't ever let on, either.

So, Liam stood on the left of his own anxiety road, where he could hide behind his lies and smiles that never quite reached his eyes. And he remained confused by those across, because they didn't hide it the way he always did, unaware they didn't have the same privileges added onto their own uneasy minds, or that they handled their own shame in a way that strayed from interactions. Their pain quiet through their clear-troubled silent-modes.

In the beginning Liam stood on the left, of his own anxiety road, and waved shyly to Zayn on the right, who watched on in his painful silent-mode.

*
"Do you see that, Liam?" Zayn growls heatedly, hand tensing through its hold on his younger lovers shirt, "do you see what you're doing to me? You made me out to be a right mug in there. And in front of all those people, too. - Why must you insist on constantly trying to embarrass me? If you don't want me, then say it, please."

The brunette whimpers, head shaking ferociously, "no, no, no, no," he begs, quickly; "I'm sorry. please, Zayn, I'm sorry."

"You're so... So ignorant to the world around you." The other yells, hands moving from shirt collar to trembling biceps, pushing them urgently into the wall behind, "you just... Let people speak to you; anybody, even when they're clearly trying to take you away from me. And you don't even care; you don't even care about what that's doing to me... What it's doing to us."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry, Zayn. Please, I'm sorry."

Zayn sighs, grip tightening to the point where Liam can feel the bruises, big and dark and hard, making their mark on his arms, harsh and dangerous. He can feel the tell-tale spark of each individual mark that the fingers make, layering themselves over past bruises that never got the chance to heal, leaving a bark of possession in their wake. He whimpers brokenly and Zayn's whole body almost retreats. "They must all think I'm pathetic," he says, eyes betraying his inner fear; his fear of losing control and the confidence he has deflating, pulling down his body until it's closed off, hunched and hiding. "If i can't even restrict my own boyfriend then what power do i have?"

"Stop!" Liam yelps, head pounding with the high bouts of fear it has coursing through its core, "you have power over me, Zayn, please... Please let me go, Zee, please. It's okay, I'm sorry, please."

"It's not okay, Liam! It's... It's not... It's not okay." His grip tightens further as he struggles to fight the battles within his own head, his pride having sunken so low that he needs this now; he needs to make Liam feel smaller so that he can feel big, he needs to.

"Alright, alright," Liam struggles, teeth gritting in an attempt to conceal his pain, "okay, Zayn, I won't... I won't do it again, I swear, so just please," he wriggles in discomfort, "please let me go, Zee, please, I love you... I love you!"

Zayn's eyes spark hopefully at that and his hand loosens minimally around the other boys arm, "You do? Still? You swear?"

Liam nods, quickly, (desperately), "I do, I promise. Zee, I love you, always, I promise, I swear, just please Zee, you're hurting me."

Zayn's hold eases off slowly and he whispers, "I'm so sorry," body slumping forward in defeat.

The tides soon turn, and Liam is soon the one holding Zayn, though this time with a care and gentleness that the other does not deserve, against his taller, wider frame. He hums and breathes, "I know, I know." Accepting all apologies immediately.

"I love you so much," Zayn promises, wrapping his arms around Liam and holding them together, "so, so much. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, I know. I love you too.  i know."

The older looks up, eyes looking distantly, and angles himself so that he can place a kiss, delicate and apologetic, against his lovers lips, coaxing him into full relaxation, and holding him until he's pliant to the t of forgiveness.

"I love you, Li, I'm sorry."

*

Until Zayn waved back at him.

.