One More Spoon of Cough Syrup [Zayn Malik FanFiction]

Chapter 7

 "It's too cold outside for angels to fly." - 'The A Team' by Ed Sheeran.

I asked Lana to drive me to the boys' house again the next day, after assuring her that the only reason I was going was to vent my story out to Zayn. Total opposite of what was really happening, Zayn was going to be doing the venting. If things went according to plan and he didn't break like I did when he tried talking to me.

I remembered his name was Liam, when he opened the door.

"Hey, Zayn in?" I asked.

"Er, yeah, up in his room," he said. "The room next to the one which has The Fray blasting out."

"Thanks," I smiled. He didn't know that I'd already been in there.

As soon as I was halfway up the staircase, I could hear the faint sound of Look After You by The Fray and wondered how loud it sounded in the room it was coming from. I walked along the corridor, following the music and saw that the source was Louis' laptop.

"Good taste," I commented, grinning as he fell out of his chair in shock.

"Thanks," he smiled, getting up, rubbing his elbow. "Like The Fray?"

"One of my favourite bands," I replied, cooly. "Favourite song?"

He gestured to his laptop. "Look After You, you?"

"How To Save A Life", I replied. "Well, gotta go talk things out now."

"Don't get too emotional," he joked.

I smirked and knocked on Zayn's closed door.

"LIAM, I DON'T WANT TO CUT NIALL'S HAIR, HE TRIED TO BITE MY FINGER LAST TI-!" He stopped shouting when he saw me standing there.

"You, er, want me to go tell Liam that?" I asked, sarcastically.

"Niall is vicious," he defended.

I laughed and entered his room.

His room was pretty big and spacious. Double bed, massive wardrobe that would probably lead you to Narnia if you tried hard enough, a plasma screen TV mounted on the wall with an XBOX hooked up to it and general mess scattered across the floor.

I sat against his bed with my legs stretched out and my ankles crossed over; him opposite me in the same position.

"So where do we start?" he asked.

"Honestly? I don't know," I admitted. "I was thinking that we could go back and find the root of the problem. Figure out the emotional pain before fixing the physical."

"Seems like you know exactly what you're doing," he mused.

"It comes to me," I shrugged. "OK, so when did you start cutting?"

"I-I don't know," he struggled to remember. I hoped that we wouldn't run into any trouble soon. "Maybe around a few months ago?"

"And what happened around that time? Just before?"

"My...my aunt, she," Zayn tipped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and tucking his knees in, like he was already experiencing discomfort; looks like this wasn't going to be as easy as I thought it would. "She passed away a-and before that..." He cut himself off,  taking deep breaths.

I went and sat next to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. "Come on, mate, it's alright." But obviously it wasn't. He wasn't crying, but I had a feeling that if we carried on like we were now, we would get there pretty soon.

He sighed, got up and began pulling his drawers out.

I got up too. "What are you looking for?" He pulled out a knife and I got ready to pull it from his grasp, but he threw it onto the top of the chest.