Our Saving Grace- The Stories Before The Captive

OSG- Zayn's Story

Our Saving Grace- The Stories Before The Captive

_____________________________

Part Three: Zayn's Story

Told By: Zayn Malik

_____________________________

I stared at my family: my father, mother and older brother; the people who wanted nothing to do with me. I was never going to be Wayne, I was never going to ace every exam, I was never going to take over the company, I was never going to be a business man. There they stood in the party attire, my father and brother in matching tuxes while my mother wore some famous designer dress, in the entry way of the mansion. I sat on the stairs, watching them interact with each other, fix loose hairs, straighten a bow-tie, perfect a pocket hankie. Not once did they look my way, not once did they ask for me to join them, not once did they care what happened to Zayn. On the stairs is where I sat, alone but loyal, until they stumbled back into the mansion in the early morning, not sparing me a glance this time around either. My father owned Malik Inc. and I was just the unwanted second son, the son that my mother couldn't get an abortion over. Maybe I was being hard on myself but what self-loathing seventeen year old is going to feel happy about being unwanted? It was always the same thing with my parents, "Zayn be more like Wayne", "Zayn, when Wayne was your age he was in all honor courses", "Wayne was the football captain, what are you, Zayn?" 

They didn't care about me, the only time they cared about me is when it benefitted them, like when I started singing. Singing was the only thing I liked about my life, I had a nice set of vocal cords, ones that I used anytime I was sad or depressed, letting out my bad feelings through songs. Songs like Freshman by The Verve Pipe or The Anthem by Good Charlotte, one being a song about suicide and the other about being an individual. I didn't care if my parents heard me, if the staff heard me, if the people attending my parents' parties heard me, that's all I ever wanted was to be heard. To know that someone cared about me, honestly me, for the first time in seventeen years. I wanted to know what if felt like to be loved like Wayne, to be seen as Wayne, to look like Wayne, to act like Wayne, all things my parents wanted of me. I couldn't do it though, every time I let my hair hang flat on my forehead and not stuck up in a quiff, I felt like I betrayed myself. Every time I acted like I was better than my classmates, threw about my money at them, I felt the taste of bile in my mouth. Every time I dressed in suits, just to sit in the living room with people from my father's work, I felt like a piece of me died. Every time I pushed song lyrics to the back of my head, left untouched until I was alone or in the shower, I knew I wasn't happy. 

Who could be happy pretending their life was better than someone else's? Who could be happy sitting around in thousand dollar suits, when there are homeless people who cannot afford food? Who could be happy living in the shadow of someone, who you don't even find that great to begin with? No one was happy, that was the point, my mother would look at me and see what Wayne should have been. A boy, a teenage boy, with the dreams of a child and the mind set of a poor person. She sees how she once lived, before she met my father and became rich, a person who wanted to change the world. My mum loves me or she makes it seem like she does sometimes, when she distracts my father from his constant comparing me to Wayne. No matter how much she loved me though, she could never stand up to my father, not when he had his mind set on something. Something that was horrible, unneeded in every single way but inside his demented mind. 

"What do you mean you're sending him away, you can't send him away, there is nothing wrong with him?" My mother's words came out as a question, not completely understanding what my father had just announced, that or she didn't want to believe it. My father had just informed the family, that I was being sent away to an insane asylum, the best money could buy. Why? Because one too many people saw me singing to myself, called me crazy to my father and I tarnished his name. The only way to bring his name back to the good side or what he considered good, was to plead insanity, say I really was crazy. He tried to explain this to my mother, tell her this was the only way his company would not a hit, it was in the name of business. Wayne smirked across from me as I stared blankly at my father, knowing that I would be going away because like I said, my mother could not stand up to my father. It was set, the date for my arrival booked, my most "important" items being shipped to my room, my goodbyes left unsaid. The moment I was told, I stopped talking, I stopped eating, I stopped singing, I stopped writing, I stopped everything I could. I wanted to be in control of something, I wanted to know I ruled something in my own life, I wanted to be my own person.