Trapped

Chapter 2

As the night grows older, the owls begin to hoot, the crickets continue to chirp and somewhere far away, in the city, the nightlife becomes more alive. The shimmering of the tiny stars and the silver glaze of the moon is overshadowed by the neon lights of the nightclubs and the bright LEDs of the shiny cars.

Zayn prowls out at the night while the moral citizens sleep peacefully. The dark alleys and the crowded pubs invite him in as he passes them, scanning around for a prey. His gang of hooligans, following him everywhere and throwing themselves in the pubs that he avoids. Every place he goes, all he sees are the people blazing under the influence of alcohol or something stronger. Not thinking before 'having fun', as they say it.

But he is not the one to get wasted with a new girl every night. He just gets himself a couple of drinks and slips away to his spot. His peers keep teasing him for being anti-social, but he could care less. They try to get him to the clubs, to get him drunk on numerous bottles of beer or other varieties and to make him enjoy his life, like them. But every time they drag him into one, he slips away. One way or another, he always finds his way out through the sweaty, drunk bodies. Because, they feel like zombies to him, dead bodies swaying to the music like a ghost party would look like.

The London Bridge, standing tall on the river Thames, is where he spends most of his time. His only spot to escape. The chilly breeze flowing over the river every night relaxes his senses as he pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He hates himself for doing it but he can't help it. He lights up the end of the cigarette and puffs away all the tension that has been crowding his mind, only temporarily.

Losing himself in the scenic beauty in front of him, he is reminded of the face he saw in the bus, that he sees almost every day. Though he would rather avoid public transport, today was a day when he did not complain. Following her, just because she dropped her watch that slipped off her wrist unknowingly at the bus stop. And he being the idiot he is, couldn't just talk to her. He thinks he is a fool for not being able to talk to her, even when she was next to him.

It was not because he was rendered speechless on seeing her, no that's nonsense. It was fear. A fear of putting her in danger. He was afraid for making her visible to the threats that follow him, afraid that one more innocent life will be wasted if his so called gang got their eyes on her.

He pulls out the silver watch from his pocket, caressing it with his fingers. The metal feels cold to his hands and he thinks it’s his icy cold heart that took away the warmth of the girl's wrist from the watch. Every time he thinks about her, there is only one word standing out in his mind to label her.

Innocent.

The way she walked down the streets, looking everywhere through the crowd, stumbling around. The way she stood at the bus stop, checking time every few seconds and sighing in impatience. And finally, rushing to get into the bus, when her watch slipped out of her hand. Oh, it was not just the watch, no. His eyes followed her everywhere her feet would carry her. Because every evening when he stood on the same spot of his, scanning through the rushing people for his confidential task, she never failed to catch his eye.

It is the first time he decided to walk a few feet behind her, because it so happened that the target he was chasing, seemed to be taking the same route. He could say that luck was in his favour.

He is brought back from the flashes of the recent incidents, as his eyes rest on the watch, again. He feels the need to return the watch back to her. But there is a small selfish part that wants him to keep it for himself. Risky, his heart says. There is also another part that says, he should return it to her, face-to-face but his heart keeps saying the same thing, risky. He knows his heart will keep taunting him unless he takes the right decision.

He laughs at himself, throwing away the half burnt cigarette, crushing it beneath his feet and walking away with his hands shoved into his pockets carelessly but only after placing the watch gently into his jacket's pocket.

"Hey Zayn!" He hears the familiar voice that beckons him from behind. He smiles halting midway but not turning to face the guy because he knows, in a moment, that guy will be in front of him. "Hey Max." Zayn greets him in a low voice when Max stops in front of him, his eyes twinkling with a crooked smile, just like Zayn's own smile.

"Don't see you much here, these days or should I say nights..." Max trails off, waiting for Zayn to explain. "That is because I was busy." And he explains. They keep walking, their casual talks of the gangs and fights and about everything deadly going on. Yes, it was casual for them.

Max was one of those peoples Zayn could always tolerate and have long conversations with. Though a part of the same gang, but separated by areas. Every subset of the gang has their zones, you see. And Zayn always wished to be placed with Max in the same zone. But he can't ask for more, he simply cannot.

"Keeping an eye on Vernon again?" Max inquires with no interest but only to keep the conversation going. "No, he is done with. It’s Williams. Got lot of people after him, that one." Zayn replies, staring ahead on the lonely path. His mind wanders away to a different world, he so desperately wants to change the topic of conversation and tell Max about the new target his eyes have found. He wants to find out more about her, wants to know her and he still doesn't know her name. But the idea itself screams a big no in his head, the inner voice, maybe.

"Should get going, she's waiting for me at dinner." Max tells him, smiling at the ground but Zayn caught a glimpse of that twinkle in his eye that is rare to be seen. "You asked her?" Zayn asks him in a surprised tone, not believing his own ears. And Max can only nod back, that smile plastered on his face. Zayn congratulates him with a pat in his back, warmth seeping in his chest with the happy news. Good things can happen even in a dark life like his, he thinks. They say their goodbyes and turn the corner to head home, after all, that is the only place left to go back to.

Zayn arrives back at his apartment, to see the same old place he calls home. The wallpaper peeling off the walls, his fridge almost empty again, the shelves now collecting dust again and he rarely gets warm water supply now. He has his money, it was never a problem but he has to compromise. It’s all about laying low.

He can't help it, being abandon by the ones he gave up his everything for. Yet, he keeps his small hope that everything will soon be fine. And then, he will be back. Back to where he belongs. Until then, he has to embrace the life that he has been pushed into, much deeply than he thought.

He slumps down on his creaky bed, yet it still has a soft mattress for exhaustive nights like these. But even after his body is tired, sleep doesn't come easily to him. He is restless again, finding no peace in his own house, he decides to settle on his window sill. More cigarettes burnt and more thoughts cram his already stuffed mind. He blows his worries away in the puffs of smoke that leaves his mouth and then again, despises himself for doing so.

Ditching the window and throwing off the ashes of the burnt cigarettes, he throws himself on his bed once more. This time, sleep arrives soon as his eyes begin to droop and his thoughts start to jumble. He calls it a night when actually, it is 4'o clock of the early morning.

*****

Zayn's picture on the sidebar.

So, how was the second chapter? Waiting for your opinions.

Regards,

A.R.