Look After You

To say I had a happy childhood couldn't be further from the truth. I would give anything to forget the past and be like every other happy child. But what's done had been done and what was said had been said and there is nothing I can do to change that.

When I was around 9, my father was driving home drunk; like every other night, and got in a car crash. He would come stumbling in at 3:00 in the morning with whiskey on his breath. My mother and I would be waiting each night for him to come home; some nights he never came. When he does make it home, he is furious. He used to punch holes in the wall and hit my mother. I yelled and screamed for him to stop, but he wouldn't. She would always tell me to go to my room, anywhere else but where she was so I couldn't get hurt.

But this one night, it was different. This one car crash. This one night, he didn't come and I'm stuck here wondering if that was a good or bad thing. My mother mourned everyday over the loss and to this day, I still don't know why she cared so much. He abused her every single night, but yet she still loved him.

After years of my mother mourning over the "loss", my mother became an alcoholic as well, just like my father. It was kind of like she was reliving my fathers mistakes.

It was then that I decided to leave that hellhole. That house. It was a box full of bad memories that I never wanted to open again.

It was when I was 16 I couldn't take it anymore. I left and moved somewhere far away. I got a well-payed job at a mental institution; which I wasn't very fond of, but it wasn't as bad as you'd think. It was for the criminally insane but not all are crazy. Some people actually don't even look like they belong there. I worked there 5 days a week to pay for my rent at my apartment.

I am now 19 and still doing the same, boring routine; the only action being someone totally flipping out at the institution but that was usually it.

Some days I would walk around town with my boyfriend, Zayn, and we would talk about work most of the time.

Zayn is a dentist and his job pays just as well as mine. He is 20 years old and has many tattoos-in which case, I don't mind. Whenever I see him I can't help but think about how my mother would feel about my "bad influence" boyfriend. My mother hated tattoos or piercing and anything that had to do with them.

I first met Zayn when I was going to get my teeth checked and being the clumsy person that I am; I bumped into him, dropping my floss my dentist had given me. He said he'd get me a new one and came back with new floss but one with his number on the bottom. He looked at me with those caramel coloured eyes and said "Don't forget to floss." I called him two days after-not wanting to sound desperate-and he took me out to a movie and dinner. Ever since then, I was in love with Zayn Malik.