Don't Wake Me Up || Discontinued

Chapter Fifteen - Don't Hit Me Again. . .

[Goals for the chapter: READS: 185]

I paced around our room, looking around. My sweaty hands hook as I walked, trying to control my breathing. Harry had gone out to get some things at the store, leaving me alone with Zayn. Being alone with Zayn was the worst thing ever. "Let me in!" he screamed, banging on the door. I went into our bathroom and splashed water on my face, trying to wake up from this horrific piece of reality.

I heard the door get banged again. I left the bathroom and got into bed, the scent of Harry lingering on the covers. Suddenly, the door busted open and fell to the ground, revealing an angry Zayn. My whole body trembled under the covers as I gripped the sheets tighter, Zayn walking closer and closer. Anger was clear on his face, his hands balled into tight fists. "You faggott!"

He jumped onto thee bed, knees landing mere centimeters away from the stomach. He dragged a finger along my cheek, then rubbed his fingers together. "Off," he said through clenched teeth. Quickly, I got up and scurried off to the bathroom and ran the warm water, lifting a wash cloth off the rack. I wet it then rubbed my cheek gently, wincing in pain. I looked at the tan-spotted cloth, then into the mirror. There it was: a big, black and blue from Zayn. I rinsed the cloth and hung it back up, sheepishly walking back to the bed. "Do you talk?" Zayn screamed, hitting the bed.

"Yes, Sir!" I said back strongly, although I was more frightened than ever. I crawled back into bed below Zayn as he punched on hand with his other, staring at me.

Ever since I came out as gay, Zayn would abuse me whenever he got the chance. I had so any physical and emotional scars from him, it was crazy. He'd do anything to hurt me, from knives to punches to verbal abuse, whenever he could. No one else knew this but him and I, and what I did know was that, luckily, he didn't do it to Harry. He didn't do it to Harry because he was bisexual, he wasn't gay. I was gay. I was crazy. How could I not like girls? I deserved to be beaten weekly, sometimes daily.

I stared at Zayn, his brown eyes staring furiously at me, brown down on his forehead. He tilted his head, neck cracking. "You got any smart comments, dykee?"

"No, Sir," I said, shaking my head.

"I thought so." He got off the bed and put his hand to his chin, pacing back and forth. "Did you last night?"

"Did I what, Mr. Malik?" I found that Zayn would go easier on me when I wasn't a total "diva" as he put it, or in other words treat him like he was the best thing in the world. I don't think it was because he had a big head or anything, I think it was because of the fact that he liked girls, and I didn't whatsoever, that he thought he was higher than me, and was deserved to be treated like so. Either that, the fact that he was just a total controlling asshole. Either could be truer than true.

"You and Harold. Do that?"

"Maybe. . ." I ducked under the covers, surprised by my own answer. Why did I say that? He slammed a fist on Harry's dresser.

"Give me a straight answer! Not a gay one!" he demanded, fists tightening into balls again.

"Y-yes, we did." He opened his mouth, then closed it again, spinning in circles. He did that a lot when he was angry.

"Whore," he said, walking towards the bed again. He sat down next to me, stroking the bruise of my face. I swallowed, choking back tears. I could not cry in front of Zayn, unless I wanted more ridicule. . .or even worse. He trailed his fingers down my chin, onto my chest. I squirmed under his touch, uncomfortable. "You like that, you little sluut?" He smirked, swirling his fingers around my nipple.

"No, I don't." I said, my voice shaking more than intended.

"Why, you don't want to be a hoe with me?"

"No, Sir. You're too great for that," I stammered, making my best out of what I had. His face tightened, eyes becoming dark.

"No sarcasm!" He pulled his hand back, and before I knew it, my head had been turned, my face stinging in the shape of Zayn's hand. I tried so hard.

"I-it wasn't," I said, still trying to save myself from more abuse. "I m-meant it."

"Bullshit," he muttered, jamming his fist into my ribs. I jumped as I felt the contact, but quickly stopping myself. I couldn't show it hurt, he'd think I'm weak or something. I learned how to get minima punches and kicks and slaps as possible over the years. For one, I had to respect him, no matter how much I wanted to kick him in the balls. I learned that the hard way. Another thing I had to do was act tough, even if I wanted to break down. This kept the names and occasional get-it-together slap away. I had to know when he wanted answer and when it was rhetorical, which I've learned to determine due to the form of his voice. When he did want an answer, I had to know when to speak or when to nod. This was a bit harder, but it kept away a lot of unneeded issues. Some days, due to this tricks, I'd get away with maybe a few names or one kick. Others, when my blood boiled to the brim, I didn't. I spoke my mind and ended up battered and bruised. Those were the days Harry had to hide the blades. He demanded respect and agreement. I was nothing but dirt to him.

I heard a door click over Zayn's yelling, then a voice yell "Mates?" Zayn continued on his rant about how much of a pusssy I was, but I tuned him out, only listening for questions. Harry was home. The door opened, revealing Harry. Just then, Zayn's hand swung back again, making a pop across my skin. I held my cheek, still looking at Louis as his jaw dropped.

"Zayn!" he yelled, dropping his bags. He ran over to us.

[A/N: I was literally having the hardest time with this at first but when I got my idea, it flowed like the damn Nile River. So, here it is!

For some reason, I keep thinking this chapter was in Harry's POV, so if you end up seeing Louis being spoken about in the third person, I'm sorry, I made a mistake.

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