shake it out ›

one ›

"you're off the hook, for now." my head shot up at that, eyes searching through her's, as if expecting her to burst into laughter and say, 'ha, kidding, just trying to bust your nuts', but didn't see any sign of humor in the brown irises looking back at me. "so, i'm done here?" i asked cautiously. my hands fiddled nervously with the extremely uncomfortable hospital sheets i was covered with. the corners of her purple-stained lips twitched in a small smile, which almost warmed my heart. almost. "yes, you're off of suicide watch. i really hope you took this as a lesson, miss king, so you don't end up here again."

her tone was sweet, but i saw directly through her. she was judging me. ofcourse, i couldn't blame her. if i were in her position, i would too. i'd think up all of the reasons someone would be in the position i was in. because why, why on earth, would anyone hate themselves as much as i? no one deserved this feeling, except i. i deserve every bit of it, every ache in my heart, every blockage of my throat, every soreness in my wrists, and thighs. i was a waste of space. 

she took my silence as a confirmation, silly nurse. she had no idea of my plans for when i get back home, away from the itchy stares and confinement i was stuck in. she nodded in my direction, before handing my silent mother paper work. lucky for i, she refused to send me to a rehabitation center. she didn't think it was bad, but i didn't expect her to. i didn't live with her anymore, therefore, she had no clue how it was in the emptiness of my bedroom. or bathroom. or kitchen. or mind. my mind was the worst. no blade or light could hurt as much as my mind. 

i could feel myself slipping into my subconcious, or what most think of daydreaming. i wasn't daydreaming of anything in particular. nothing at all, to be exact. i just sat there, zoned out of the world, staring at the patterns of the blankets which hovered over my body. i could feel their stares, but i continued to look down, too intrigued by the small squares to zone back in. i didn't want to, i liked the small world i sat in, in that very moment, with the square blankets and no thoughts. just silence. 

a snap of fingers before my eyes pulled me out reluctantly. the polished nails of my mother grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes to hers. she was beautiful, nothing like myself. she had grey eyes that were far from dull, which were lined with a black coat of eyeliner and golden shadow. her cheeks were hallowed with a rosy pink, lips a very odd shade of red, yet it fit her perfectly. i frowned to myself, wondering why on earth i wasn't lucky enough to enherit atleast a few of her genes, other than the short height and small nose. 

"we're leaving, let's go." she barked in my direction, grabbing a hold of my things and chucking them my way. i knew she was angry at me, but it was never my intention to disappoint her, but i knew the headlines would bash her parenting. 'vogue writer amy king's daughter attempt of suicide, too busy writing for vogue to take care of daughter, etc, etc.' i hoped this didn't ruin her career. would be simply add to the list of reasons why i was useless. 

i changed out of the hospital scrubs in a hurry, slowly pulling the denim jeans over my scratched thighs, trying to go over the bandages without ripping them. i huffed in frustration, sliding the hoodie past my head and through my arms, keeping my medically taped wrists hidden from view of the public eye. i quickly slipped my shoes on before following her out of the room, down the many corridors of the hospital. new york was a big city, and had eight hospitals, so i didn't see a real reason for this one to be so large and complicated. 

my mother gave me a stern look before holding up her finger, indicating for me to stay put where i was. i noticed we had entered a cafeteria, which didn't resemble a hospital cafeteria at all. it looked like a food court found in a mall, several chain restaurants lined beside eachother. i took a seat in a plastic chair, accompanied by three empty ones, hands folding on the table before me. i tried not to take notice of peoples' stares or questioning glances as my fingers ran through the brown strands of my hair, lips parted in concentration. 

suddenly, i felt a presence before me. my eyes slowly looked up, taking in the person with interest. he had his hands folded in his lap, dressed in a hospital scrub. my eyes raked his figure nonchalantly, when inside, i felt as if i were about to burst. his tanned skin was hidden beneath the mint color of his shirt, which reflected to the hazel hues staring back at me. i noticed the ink that spread along his arms and collarbones, along with the scruff of hair that danced across his jawline. i swallowed involuntarily, before looking back down at my hair. 

"i saw you yesterday, back in the watch unit. during arts and crafts. your drawings were good." his voice was deep and husky, and i had to look to the side confirm if he was actually speaking to myself. 

"and?" i asked, voice small. i didn't mean to come off rude, but i really wanted to leave this place. as soon as possible. 

"and, i think you have potential." his words caused my eyes to flicker up to him in shock. 

"no one's ever told me that." i whispered, voice coming out in cracks. i always drew, but i never really got much praise out of it, which seemed odd, now, since i simply sketched one of the nurses running the program, nothing fantastic. it made me feel... warm, knowing he took an interest in it. 

his eyebrows rose, as if it were the strangest thing he's heard. i almost scoffed, because who was he fooling? 

"well, i just did."

i nodded, eyes looking down at his patched wrists in curiosity. i began to wonder what his story was, and why someone as gorgeous as he was sitting before me, commenting my artistic ways. 

"how old are you?" he asked, and i wondered why in the world he was still trying to converse with a sad, pathetic human as i. 

"eighteen." i told him, searching his eyes. 

"and your name?" he continued. i almost smiled, seeing as he wouldn't seem to give up. almost.

"aurora king." i mumbled, not quite proud of the mere fact that i was myself. 

"zayn malik, twenty, here." he responded, and i could see a small smirk itch it's way along his mouth. 

i nodded, crossing my arms infront of my chest. 

"well, miss aurora king, i have a proposition for you." he announced, large arms moving behind his head, and i found it extremely difficult not to stare. 

"what's your proposition?" i asked, interest laced in my tone. 

"once i'm out of here, i'm going to take you somewhere, where every talented artist has to visit atleast twice in their lifetime." he said matter-of-factly, 'causing my brows to shoot up in interest. 

"i'm no artist..." i whispered, confused as to why on earth he seemed so engrossed in my doodles. 

"you are. i just don't think you've realized it, and i refuse to let talent as so be wasted." he smiled, and before i knew what he was doing, his fingers gently moved below my chin, forcing my eyes to him. my breath caught in my throat at our close proximity, and i felt the sudden urge to pounce on him, and kiss the shit out of his perfect plump lips. 

stupid fucking hormones. 

"now, do we have a deal?" he asked, and i swear, he must've hypnotized me, because before i knew it, i was nodding obediantly before the man, a smirk etching his features. 

"good, i'll see you tomorrow, then." he smirked, and with that, he stood up and walked away, leaving me breathless. 

a/n : hellooooo, this is chapter one. i hope you guys like my story, i really put some good thought into this, and it would mean a ton if you voted and told your friends so i can really get this story started. 

warning ; this story will contain violence, sexual content, and suicidal features such as self harm, suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, and so on. if you are uncomfortale or are easily triggered, please do not continue to read.