in the hills • zayn malik

two- escape

two- escape

song for this chapter: 'born to be wild' by Steppenwolf

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“I was scared of dentists and the dark-”

“Freaking hell.” Zayn muttered, jabbing at the button on the radio control panel, tempted to turn it off altogether. After a brief hesitation the old car managed to figure out that he had pressed a button, and the station changed.

“I’ll say ‘will you marry me?’-”

“Damn this radio!” Zayn yelled, changing the station one more time, knowing that he should be focusing on the road, but his sour mood was making it hard for him to concentrate.

“Get your motor runnin’, head out on the highway...”

“Some good music!” Zayn said, letting his muscles relax, leaning back in the seat, one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other hand tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, a smirk slowly coming to his face as he just let go of all of his worries.

The windows were rolled down, Zayn’s bed hair turned to a down-right mess due to the wind, but Zayn couldn’t care less. Any notion of consequences and rational thinking had gone out the window like Perrie’s bag that he had found in the passenger seat.

The contents of the bag was probably permanently destroyed by the wheels of an unsuspecting car, but all he could do was laugh at the idea, his face twisted in a mixture of giddiness and pain.

But for Zayn, a good dose of rock music was what he needed to rid his mind of the terrible reality that was behind him. He had no idea where he was going, but he loved it; the freedom, the ability to just escape.

The highway was gratefully not too full, and Zayn kept his speed at least twenty miles over the speed limit until he got out of London. He didn’t want anyone to stop him: he didn’t want management scolding him, he didn’t want his family or the boys chasing after him, coddling him like a child. He was a twenty year old, for God’s sake!

He had passed a car full of teenage girls, and they started screaming, rolling down their windows and yelling out his name. He ignored them and sped ahead, not in the mood for fans or any living thing, to be honest.

“I like smoke and lightening, heavy metal thunder!” Zayn sang at the top of his lungs, dangerously swerving around a truck, the driver blaring his horn at him.

Zayn gave him the middle finger and drove on, just not caring about anything anymore. People were looking at him as he sped by, and he wished that he had brought his pack of cigarettes with him, just so he could light one up and then chuck it at their windows, laughing as he did so.

He could imagine what the boys would say, or even Perrie for that matter. This is irresponsible Zayn, you need to learn to control your emotions, you are a role model- well, stuff being a role model, because Zayn was sick of it. He had to be a role model for every single god damn person on this earth, like they couldn’t make decisions on their own.