Long Lost and Refound - A Zayn Malik Story

Chapter 19

Chapter 19 — Long Lost and Refound

July 2009

Zayn's POV

I didn't audition for anything that summer. It was not the summer of laughter and opportunity that I had envisioned for so many months. Instead, it was grey and melancholy.

Mum spent the first week in bed, coming out only to relieve herself. Doniya fed everyone in the house. After that first week, Mum came out bright as day, almost just as she had been before. She didn't fool me. In my sleepless nights, as I padded past her room, I could hear the soft crying. I couldn't find it in me to forgive her, regardless. Sometime in June, she came into my room and sat beside me, palms pressed together between her knees. Her voice shook.

"I'm so sorry, Zayn."

Without a word, I pulled her into my arms and held her tight. We spent the afternoon talking things about dad, easy things. She didn't talk about the night he left.

Dad's funeral was on a sunny day. A surprising amount of people showed up. Though he'd fled the city so many years ago, people seemed to remember him. It infuriated me. Some of those people knew him more than I did. Others barely even knew him, only showing to see if they could catch a spot of gossip. Avery cried a lot at the funeral.

In my room after the funeral, I sat on the bed with my tie hung loose around my neck. The sun shone brightly through the window, but a cloud was settling over me. I waited, but the tears didn't come. That night at the dinner table, Avery's seat was empty.

The most vivid memory of that summer was Avery's curled figure under the blankets, staring at the blank wall. They found Martin weeks later, overdosed on something severe. Mandy went straight to prison. The trial was quick, followed by many others of her accomplices. Avery's house was claimed by the government, so she lived with us. She never spoke more than a few words at a time, not after the funeral. The only responses we ever got were defeated shake of her head or, less often, nods. It was like something in her fell apart. She guarded the broken pieces silently, keeping anyone from putting them back together.

I almost forgot what her voice sounded like. I would have, if it weren't for the nightmares.

She had nightmares almost every night. She refused to let me climb into bed with her. She'd cry and scream and beg in her sleep, and I knew she was reliving that night in May. I couldn't block it out. In my mind, I saw Avery screaming and crying and struggling. I couldn't handle it. I did my best to comfort her, I'd wake her and she'd sob into my shirt until she quieted and fell back to sleep. I'd have to leave her because I knew in daylight, she'd push me away.

I had very few hours of sleep; five on a good night. Instead, I made sure to shut the front door quietly behind me when I walked out into the warm summer nights. I didn't do anything special. I just walked around, turning street corner after street corner until exhaustion overwhelmed me and I was forced to return home. Occasionally, I'd ask Phillip for a bottle of something relatively strong and down it as I walked, finding comfort in the muted numbness the alcohol brought. I'd creep into Avery's bedroom and press my lips to her forehead, very briefly, before leaving to go collapse in my own bed.

I watched her shrink away to nothing and there was nothing I could do about it.

The best days were when her plate would leave her room empty. On those days, Safaa or Waliyha would bound in after supper and force Avery out of the bedroom. Avery would be smiling when I had to send the girls back to bed. She would be smiling, but her eyes stayed haunted.

Mark and Rhonda came about once in a while and those were the days she laughed.

I felt hopeless.