Secrets (Zayn Malik)

Chapter 1

The sky looms above my head, London clouds casting a gray shadow as usual. The brisk, cold air hitting my pale skin with every step I take, finding it's way through each strand of hair of mine as it blows past me. This day, this weather, explains the exact feelings in my heart. I am mournful, I am grief-stricken, I am angry, I am hateful. My opaque attire dressing me for the somber occasion that lies ahead. My mother died, and today is her funeral.

The thing about it is, she didn't pass away peacefully. No, she didn't fall asleep not knowing she would never wake up. My family and I weren't granted that closure, the comfort that she felt no pain. She was murdered. I don't know why and I'm quite sure I'll never know. But I do know who took her life, and that causes me the most pain. Seeing his gray eyes flash across the television, staring at me as if he has the ability to peer through my soul even behind those steel bars. My father always did have that power over me. To make me feel weak, distressed, even when I felt my strongest. Every time I see his face flash across that screen, a new memory emits from the back of my mind, forcing it's way up, as if it knows it's being ignored. The hatred I have for him, building with each one.

"Ella, wake up" my mother whispers, shaking me awake. "Sweetie, we need to go now."

As I open my eyes,I see her. All her bruises, cuts, scars showing in the dim light from my bedside table lamp. From the one man who said he'd never hurt her.

"What time is it?" I ask, glancing at my alarm clock noticing the sun hasn't even began to rise yet.

"It's four in the morning, that doesn't matter, we need to leave." She shakes me once more.

I stand and hurry to my closet and slip on my old black boots, not bothering to tie the tethered laces. I look in the mirror and notice how much of a wreck I actually look like. My strawberry blonde hair tangled in a messy bun that sits on my head curls falling from it all over. My once just blue eyes, now pearly and bright due to the dark rims from exhaustion around them contrasting with the color.

"Ella please NOW." My mother hisses, trying her hardest not to awake the monster sleeping in the other room. I rush out, down the stairs, leaving everything I know behind.

"Why are we leaving?!" I dare to ask, although the blue and purple stains on her skin explain everything to me.

"I'll explain to you later. Now please, let's go." I grab ahold of the brass door handle, it's icy feeling letting me know how brutal the weather is outside.

As I walk out the door, I hear my mothers muffled scream. I dash back inside and to my horror, see my father confining her in a chokehold, a gun to her head. Once again, he instills terror in my heart...

I'm pulled back to reality when I realize I can't breathe, the horrifying memory still fresh in my mind, making me stumble and grab hold of a nearby railing leading up to the prison. Before I mourn my mothers death today, I decided I want to close a chapter in my life. I want to visit the man who killed my mother, just to let him know how much I loathe him. He no longer holds the title of my father. Biologically that's something I can't change, but in every other aspect, he's nothing to me. The feelings I have toward him are unexplainable. The way he smiled at me as I watched him drive off in the police car, as if he was proud of his actions shows up in my mind, the mental picture making me sick. "I'll see you soon Ella, don't doubt that" he calls as he's being hauled away,the memory too still lurks in my mind, but haunting me a little less with each day that passes and he's behind bars. But that doesn't stop me from hating every part of him, from hoping the jury agrees on the death penalty at his trial. If not, his existence will bother me for the rest of my life. I hate that man, and that fact will never change. As I approach the glass doors, I collect myself, rebuilding my composure. I fix my strawberry curls from under my thick black beanie. My smoky eyes, bright and intimidating due to my excessive use of mascara. I wipe my eyes carefully, not permitting the tears to stream down my face. I will no longer allow him to hold this fear over me, but I will let him know I have an extreme burning hatred for him. And that hatred is from my mother as well.

~

The sliding glass doors slide open, greeting me with a burst of heated air conditioning warming my body up. Although it's safe to say, after I visit my father today, I myself will forever feel cold. Not just physically, but mentally, and emotionally. My mother always enveloped me in warmth. Her smile as bright as the sun, her comforting hugs emitting a warmth that left me feeling loved, always. Her kind words filling my mind, reminding me how much she loved me and cared for me. Now that she's gone, I'm left with memories. Memories that will never compare to the real experiences. Having to remember what it felt like to be genuinely loved is something I have to do for the rest of my life.

"Ma'm?" I look up to see a police officer staring at me like I'm a pyscho.

Nope, just my father.

The officers hair is a vibrant shade of persimmon, with waves falling over her shoulders. As I examine her, I notice her bright emerald eyes and pale skin. It goes beautifully with her hair, leaving me to believe she's a natural ginger.

"Young lady, how may I help you?" Slight attitude is noticeable in her tone, but I don't blame her. If I worked at the front desk of a police station instead of out hunting criminals, I'd be catty too.

"Yes actually, I'm here to see Michael Rivers" I mumble the last two words, leaving every hint that this is the last place I need or want to be right now.

The officer takes the hint, because her face is painted with pity as she realizes who I am. After all, the story of my mothers death has been all over the news lately.

"Okay, no problem." She gives me a pleading look, as if telling me I really shouldn't be visiting him. Which is probably true but something's just need to be cleared up for me and I won't leave her until they are. She doesn't say another word as a loud buzzing noise rings throughout the room and the large metal doors unlock.

"Go with that officer, and he'll lead you to the visiting area. I'll let his guard know you're here and to bring him out." She doesn't meet my eyes anymore and I take that as my que to leave.

The officer waiting for me by the door is a tall black man, who's body structure is stiff and muscular giving the impression he's no one to mess with. He opens the door for me leading me down a dingy dark hallway. I'm trying to figure out how old this place is because it's appearance is depressing. Walking down the hallway the lights flicker occasionally, rust stains evident on the walls, and the floor tiles peeling off the floor. Fortunately, we reach the end of the hallway and the kind officer directs me to another room that is labeled VISITING.

The room is a giant rectangle with steel chairs lining up facing both walls. This room is about as inviting as the rest of the jail.

Dim lighting and all.

"Ok ma'm if you could just wait here, he'll be right out." He points to one of the steel chairs, implying that I take a seat.

As I do, he goes to stand by the wall and I'm secretly grateful because prisoners can be crazy. Who knows what it's done to my father in such a short period of time.

I keep my head down trying to control my breathing as what feels like an eternity, goes by.

Suddenly, I hear a loud boom and realize it's the steel door in the room across from me, closing. I glance up and am greeted with a icy cold stare. His gray eyes peer into mine, never breaking contact as he takes his seat and puts the shiny black phone to his ear.

Shakily, I pick up mine and take a deep breath.

"Ellana" he growls, yet shooting me an evil, grim smile.

"Michael." I shoot back, not giving him the idea that he's still my father.

"Ella, my DNA is running through your veins. I'm biologically a part of you. I think it's only fair that you refer to me as 'dad'." The once haunting smile he just had now completely gone without a trace.

"A father doesn't kill his daughters mother, let alone his wife, leaving his daughter with absolutely no one left to care for her, Michael." I emphasize his name, just to get under his skin as he did mine the past 17 years of my life.

"Oh sweet daughter," the grimacing smile once again plastered across his face as he emphasizes the last word, "if only you knew the actual story."