Bullied By Zayn Malik.

Chapter 6: Hell House.

*Zayn's  POV*

The last bell rang, signaling it was time to head home. I sighed, not wanting too. My parents were sure to be up by now. Great. I got up to leave my english class, but before I could get out the door, Mr. Janson stopped me. "Mr. Malik, take a seat please. I would like to speak with you." I rolled my eyes, and headed back to my seat. I acted bored and annoyed, but on the inside, I was grateful. This means I didn't have to head home yet.

"Mr. Malik, you-" "Can you stop calling me that?" I interrupted. "Just call me Zayn." I hated when people called me by my last name, it sounded to official. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Fine, Zayn. You are currently failing my class, and 2 others as well. At this rate, you'll be in high school until you're 30." I rolled my eyes once more, he was being over dramatic. "I'm serious Zayn." he slammed his hands on the desk before me, making me jump. "If you don't buckle down and start doing what you're supposed to, you are completely screwed." I sighed, fiddling with my hands. "Okay.." he seemed surprised that I didn't argue back. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Zayn." I shook my head, "It's nothing Mr. Janson." He stuided me for a minute, which made me nervous.

"Is everything alright at home Zayn?" he suddenly asked, making my heart drop. I didn't make eye contact with him. "Everything is fine. I'm just careless." I said, pulling down the sleeves of my jacket so he couldn't see any bruises on my arm. His eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Alright.. you're free to go." I got up and headed towards that door. "Zayn," he called out one more time; I turned and looked at him. "If you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open." He gave me a warm smile. I smiled back, sort of; It was like a half smile. "Thank you Mr Janson, have a nice day." I walked out.

I thought about what he had said to me on the way home. Someone actually cared about what goes on in my life? He has to be kidding, no one cared. Heck I wouldn't care if it weren't for the beatings.. Those I care about. I sighed, reaching my house. These walks always seemed to go quicker when I'm deep in thought. Now you know why I don't use my head. I twisted my key, unlocking my door and stepping in. I could literally feel the tension in my house, it made me shiver. I looked over and saw my mom on the couch watching TV; she had a beer in her hand, typical. "Hi mum.." I mumbled, getting a can of coke from the fridge. She grunted, her eyes not leaving the television. I know it didn't seem like much, but it hurt. She could of at least said hi. I brushed it off as I headed upstairs to my room, but I bumped into my dad on the way. Shit.

"Watch where you're going!" he yelled, pushing me down. I didn't look up at him, and didn't bother to say anything back. It would just make things worse. He bent down and plucked the soda can out of my hand, "And don't drink my soda either, you greedy brat." He walked away, leaving it at that. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. That went better than expected, and I was grateful. Usually I get more than a shove, like punches or slaps, but a simple yelling at and push is perfectly fine with me. But that didn't mean it stopped the pain. He may haven't hurt me physically this time, but it felt like my heart was being stabbed emotionally. I blinked the tears out of my eyes and stood up, heading towards my room again. I shut the door and locked it, like always. But instead of going on my laptop, I went into the bathroom, flipped on the lights, and just stood there, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I looked at my hair, my cheeks, my lips, my nose, everything. Everything looked normal, I was just a normal boy. So why do they treat me like I'm some type of animal? I can understand if I do something wrong, but just walking into my own house? Why do I need to be hit for coming home? The words that come out of my parent's mouths hurt so much more than any punch or kick would, though. They've called me useless, a waste of space, an accident, a sorry excuse for a son, and much more. I don't get it, what did I do wrong?

Soon I got sick of staring at my face, and shut the light off. I walked over and flopped on my bed, looking at the clock. My eyes widened, it was 5:24. I was in the bathroom for over two hours, just staring at myself and thinking of how useless I am. Wow. How sad can I get? I sighed, shutting my eyes. Maybe a nap would make me feel better, but I doubt it.

I must of dozed off, because I awoke to someone slamming open my door. My locked door. My dad was standing there, red faced and steam coming out of his ears. "YOU!" he screamed, making his way over to my bed and grabbing me by the collar of my jacket. "You stole my money! You stole my money right out of my wallet!" I would love to say that he was lying, but he wasn't. I did take money out of his wallet, but it wasn't for anything bad. I just needed it to go buy something for dinner, since I didn't eat all day and the day before. But that's another story, and I don't want to dive into it. "D-Dad I'm sorry! I jus-" He cut me off by slapping me across the face, hard. So hard that I couldn't feel or hear anything for a few minutes, all I saw was his lips mouthing very angry things at me. But soon enough, my hearing came back. "You should be begging me for mercy, you greedy spoiled bastard!" He was now holding me up by my jacket. Yeah, that's right. He was holding me up by the collar of my jacket, I was just hanging there in the air. No where to run, and no one to call for help. I felt tears start to spill out of my eyes, even though I tried so hard to hold them back. This only frustrated him more. "Stop crying you pussy!" he shook my voilently, making me cry even more. I wanted to get away from him, now. I started kicking my feet, and grabbing at his hands. "Let me go! I didn't do anything wrong!" What he did next was more scarier than anything. He smiled. "Fine, you want me to put you down? Gladly." He threw me across, and over my bed, slamming me into my wall. I hit the cold surface with a thud, and landed on my stomach. I couldn't move, it hurt to much.

He came over to me one last time, grabbing a fist full of my hair and pulling my head up, making me look him in the eyes, "And if you ever talk back to me again, I will kill you." I believed every word of it. My dad wouldn't even hesitate if he put a blade to my throat. I nodded slightly, still bawling. "Don't come out of your room for the rest of the night, I don't wanna see your ugly face." he slammed my head back down, causing me to hit my nose hard on my wooden floor. I listened as the footsteps of his boots began to fade, and my broken door slam shut.

I buried my face in my arms and bawled. I bawled and bawled, until I couldn't breath. I don't get it. He used to tell me that I was amazing, and that he loved me, that i was the best son a guy could ever ask for. And now I'm nothing to him. I'm just a pest taking up space. I didn't bother moving to my bed, I was too weak from the beating and too tired from crying so hard. I fell into a wreckless sleep on my floor.