Peek A Boo

Chapter 2 - Honor

Zayn sighed the minute he stepped inside his house.

He eyed the dark entry, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He never understood why his dad wanted to stay in this house. It was the size of a mansion, with enough rooms to house his entire family. Half of the house hadn't been used since last Christmas. The foyer was coated in dust, the only times it looked inviting being whenever his dad had co-workers over for drinks. His mother refused to have the heater on when no-one was home, leaving Zayn to come home to a frozen wasteland of bitterness and dread.

Well, that's how Zayn saw it anyways.

Zayn watched tendrils of dust dance in the fading winter sunlight that filtered in through the stained glass above the door. That was Zayn's favorite part of the house. As a kid, he'd sit on the floor and stare at the different colors that decorated the floor. He would make different shadow puppets in the light, laughing at the strange shapes he could make. He would kick up the dust, and stare in fascination as the wisps of dust dissipated in the rainbow of light. Even as a teenager, he still smiled at how the dust changed from golden yellow to a soft violet. He looked into the living room, half expecting to see his father looking at him with a disappointed stare as he had when Zayn was a child.

Zayn trudged up the stairs, dreading the upcoming hours of total silence. It played out like this every weekday. Zayn would come home, only to finish his homework and wait for his parents to get home from work. Even then, the house would still succumb to the eerie silence. His mother would go to her room to drown away her daily stress with the alcohol her husband so gratefully provided. His father would drink until he was buzzed, only to go up to his wife and make what only the alcohol made to be love. There was no love left in that house.

Zayn fell onto his bed, taking out his many notebooks. His fingers leafed through the pages, his eyes soaking in the different subjects. He paused at his art notebook. The school year was only through half of the first semester, and Zayn had had his fill of it already. He skimmed through the notes and drawings, only to stop on his most recent addition.

It was the picture of the schoolyard. He smiled at the intricate patterns he had etched on the page with his pencil. He traced the branches of the oak tree he had learned to call home at the school, slightly smudging the pencil to shade. Zayn's eyes moved across the page, only to stop in confusion. He noticed a small figure was drawn near the edge of the building. Zayn, in the dim lighting of his room, scrunched his eyes trying to make out clearer details. Sighing in frustration, he finally switched on the lamp next to him. A pale, yellow light illuminated his empty bedroom, highlighting the emptiness Zayn felt. He looked back the picture, noticing how the figure was a boy. A sudden thought hit him and he remember the football team running across the yard. He looked at the boy again and noticed he had drawn him with out a shirt. Zayn felt his cheeks heat up, and he slammed the notebook down. Almost in time, he heard the front door slam shut.

He got out of bed, and ran to his door. It was too early for his parents to be home, yet when Zayn walked into the kitchen he saw his father pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Yaser Malik looked at his son with dead eyes. Zayn remembered when his father's eyes used to light up, but those were memories of a different time. A time of innocence that Zayn had lost long ago.

"Hello Zayn. Have you finished your school work?" Yasir's voice was tired, and Zayn sighed inwardly. He prepared himself for another berating talk with his father.

"Yes, most of it is. All I have left to do is reading for my art class." Yaser scoffed.

"Why are you still in that useless class? It's not like it will take you anywhere in life. You should be focusing on your general classes, not painting little doodles." Zayn rolled his eyes, and unfortunately for him Yaser noticed. "Oh? Do you think differently? Do you actually think that being an artist is a good career choice? Maybe you should be a no-good drop-out like your cousin?"

With each question, Yaser's voice got louder. Zayn felt the same trickle of fear he always felt when he talked to his dad. Zayn wanted to just nod, run back to his room and forget this ever happened, but he didn't. Instead, he'd done something he'd longed to do.

He stood his ground.

"No, but it's a class I enjoy. In fact, my teacher told me I had a good chance of taking first at a local competition." Yaser raised an eyebrow, but dismissed Zayn's comments with a swig of whiskey.

Yaser sighed as he poured himself another glass. "Enjoying a class doesn't make you good at something, Zayn. If I had enjoyed being a lawyer, then I wouldn't be on the city council right now, would I? Why don't you focus on your Literature class? Now that's a class that useful in a university."

"I've already written my poem. I'm done with my homework."

Yaser rounded about. "They're still teaching that bullshit? Even after I called?" Yaser's face turned red with anger, and he turned to his son. "Get out of my sight, now."

Zayn knew better than to ignore a clear warning. He had learned the hard way what would happen. He ran up to his room, locking the door behind him. He threw himself on his bed, ignoring the stinging pain from his landing on his pencil. He pushed all of his work of the bed, clutching his pillows to his chest. A lone tear fell down his face as he glared at the corner of his room. He stared as if to find something in the illuminated darkness. He turned his lamp off, allowing himself to be swallowed by darkness. Buried memories invaded his mind as he relived a time where he had experienced what happened when he ignored his father's warnings. Phantom pains assaulted his body as tears gushed from his eyes. Angry, red eyes haunted his mind, putrid breath invaded his nostrils. He sat up quickly, as if to push off the ghost of his past.

Zayn pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in his arms. He cried out the pain that had been building for year. His veins burned with passion and anger, his tears no longer sad. He looked up into the darkness. He was scared by the thoughts that were being created in his head, the plans being weaved. At the same time, though, he grinned. He smiled a smile that could only be forged in the hatred and pain that he had experienced for years. He caught sight of himself in the lone mirror that decorated his walls. What he saw scared him, yet it only emboldened his thoughts. People pushed him into the creature he saw sitting in his bed.

And people would pay.

No matter what.