.11
We stop at a liquor store. As we're walking towards the entrance, Zayn grabs my hand. I let him.
The place is illuminated by dull lights and is vacant. I stay next to Zayn, grabbing a packet of Skittles as he buys two twelve packs. He laughs as he sees my purchase, but doesn't question it.
Next, we go through a McDonalds drive-thru. Zayn gets a burger and I get chicken nuggets.
"Are we going back to your place?" I ask after we get our food.
"No." Zayn replies, not giving me a hint or definite answer.
I sigh exaggeratedly, opening up my chicken nuggets and biting into one. Zayn's music is turned on, to Bob Marley's lazy voice.
"Are you a stoner?" I ask out of curiosity.
He glances at me sideways, raising an eyebrow.
"Just wondering," I shrug. A small smile takes over his mouth.
"No. I just like Bob Marley," I nod, not really following. From what I knew, Bob Marley was a man who was high all of his life, creating music that only other stoners would like. But I didn't press further. Thinking of Bob Marley made me think of Annie; how one day, she hated pot and anything associated with it.
After about an hour, Zayn pulls into a gravel road. We bump along the rough terrain until we come up, onto a hill. On the top there's a perfect spot for a parking space.
"Look," Zayn instructs, pointing out the windshield. I do as he says, inhaling sharply at the amazing view, illuminated by the lights of NYC from the dark night.
Spread out before us is New York City. From our vantage point, we can see numerous stop lights, tons of buildings, cars, and most of all - lights. If you squint your eyes just a little and let your vision go a bit blurry, the lights pour together and it's a big fire ball.
"How do you know about this place?" I ask Zayn in awe. I glance at him, and he's looking at me, a look of complete admiration on his face. I blush, looking down at my hands.
It's weird that my immediate reaction was to blush. I haven't felt flustered that way for a real long time.
"One day, I was sort of pissed off at everything. It was one of my first days in America and I had no idea how to get around. So I just got in my car and drove, annoyed of the city, and found this. Everytime I want to hear myself think, I come up here," He explains. "Here," Zayn says, telling me to grab our food. I do as he says, following him out of the car. He grabs the blanket we used earlier today and lays it on the hood, helping me up. I sit/lay down, using the windshield as a pillow, letting my back rest against the glass. Zayn sits next to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. I snuggle into his side comfortably, giving him his wrapped sandwich.
I eat the rest of my nuggets as he eats his. When we're done, Zayn places the wrappers beside him, not quite littering.
"I..... I think I want to tell you." I say out of nowhere, my gaze still on the city below us. I listen to Zayn's even heartbeat to keep me calm.
Apart of me feels like I need to tell him, need to say it out loud to make it real. I've never talked about it before with anyone, I've only lived it.
"C, you don't have to. Whenever you're comfortable," He replies coolly.
"C?" I ask, fighting off the smile tugging at my lips. I glance up at Zayn in time to see him blush, and my stomach twists. In a good way. "It's okay." I reply. "I want to."
I take a deep breath. Feel the cool air fill my lungs, emptying out a second later.
"When we hit puberty, we both changed. But somehow we managed to stick together. Annie loved reading and literature and famous authors, while I couldn't find myself. I was always jealous, because she always seemed to be all figured out and I had no idea who I was. I tried skateboarding, soccer team, theater... Nothing." I take another deep breath. In, out. "Until we both tried coke. I loved it, and Annie didn't seem to mind. I started hooking up with older guys. I was only fourteen, but I was a little whore," I chuckle bitterly. "At first, Annie tried to keep up with me. She went to the parties I dragged her to, she laughed along. She refused to keep popping pills, though. Instead she started smoking pot." I shrug. "And then - she shut off. She stopped going to the parties, and tried to stop me. I tried to ask, to get her to tell me why, but she just said she was worried about me. I blew her off. And then, I got into Oxy." Another deep breath. Tears welled in my eyes, and I tried to blink them away. "It made me feel okay. Took away the pain of having a drunk mother, a father who bailed. Annie finally gave me an ultimatum: if I was going to keep using, she didn't want to associate with me," I shrugged again, like it was no big deal - but it was. Tears were running freely down my cheeks, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't take a deep breath, my lungs were filled with water and my throat ached. Talking about Oxy made me want a pill, and my fingers almost twitched.
"Hey," Zayn says, sitting up, pulling me with him. "Hey," He whispers again, pulling me onto his lap. His thumb runs along my cheek, wiping away my tears. I couldn't bring myself to look at him, so I stared at his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and I sat, cradled like a baby, to Zayn's chest. "It's okay," He whispered, over and over, like if he said it enough, it would come true.
-
After my crying episode, we open a twelve pack. Zayn hands me a beer and I take it, letting the liquid slide down my throat, smoothing all the scratches from my sobs. He puts his arm back around me.
"Zayn?" I ask.
"Hm?"
"Why... Why me? What sparkling quality made you want to know me?" I had been thinking this subconsciously all day. I came across like a snob, like I thought I was better then everyone. When really I knew I was worst, that I was garbage compared to people. But no one had ever showed an interest in getting to know that, even my brother and my mom. I had to know why this random, good looking british boy wanted to know, and why he was so interested in me.
Zayn chuckles before falling into silence. I glance at him and see he's thinking, staring at the bright city below us. "My mum," He finally says. "You have the same look of sadness in your eyes she did, right before she took her life."
I was startled. Zayn hadn't told me how his mother died, but I always assumed it was something like a car crash. From what he had already told me about her, I pictured her as a happy, day to day woman - not a sad one. Hearing this makes me feel vulnerable somehow, how Zayn could tell I was sad just by looking in my eyes. Another part of me aches for him, connects with him - we are both dealing with loved ones committing suicide, ending their own life willingly. It was like a brick hit me in the stomach, all these emotions swirling inside me at once.
I sit up, looking at Zayn. His dark eyes are trained on me as he takes a swig of his beer. Before I know what I'm doing, I lean in, brushing my lips over his.
