Disintegrate - Z.M

4 - flood

Song: Jump - Lana del Rey

The shopping carts clang as he pulls them apart, metal scraping against metal. The sound resonates in Ali's ears like a clap of thunder, and each resulting vibration feels like a barrage of knives to her tender skull.

"God, do you have to be so loud?" she grumbles, massaging her temples.

"Not my fault you can't handle your liquor," Zayn says with a little shrug.

"Shut the fuck up," she snaps. He chuckles in response, and they stroll in through the moving doors.

Last night had been a wild one. She'd gotten the week off from work for some fumigation problem and wanted to celebrate, so they'd partied through the early hours of morning, from club to club in a blurry haze of energy and sound and light. Now, her head pounds with the ferocity of a thousand drums. Ali can recall drinking perhaps one too many shots and tries to convince herself that it wasn't because Zayn's parents don't like her any more than her own parents do. It doesn't work.

She glances over at Zayn, who feels utterly fine. He'd only downed a few drinks last night, and besides a bit of sleepiness, it's just like any other day. He's never been a lightweight, and the effects of a hangover always seem to skip over him, something she's always envied.

They're strolling down the cookie aisle, surrounded by a tantalizing array of chocolate chip and peanut butter and every flavor in between. It's all very delicious, but Ali's sworn off sugar since the day her father was diagnosed with diabetes. Zayn, on the other hand, has made no such vow.

"Can we get some?" he asks hopefully, pointing to a particularly large package of m&m cookies. He looks like a little kid at the store with his mother, and the thought makes a laugh want to bubble from her lips.

"You know how bad that stuff is for you," she sighs, lacing her fingers with his. His hands are cool and soft.

He gives her an imploring look, and though her resolve was never fully formed in the first place, she relents. "You know, you don't have to ask me. You're an adult," she says with a little laugh.

"But we make decisions together."

He accidentally bumps into an elderly lady with pale, wrinkled skin who glares at him fiercely, little glasses perched atop her nose.

"Sorry, ma'am," he says quickly.

She sneers at him, her face twisting cruelly. "You people are like cockroaches," she mutters as she shuffles away.

Zayn feels his cheeks begin to heat as embarassment burns brightly in his chest. People don't usually make those kind of comments to him, but when they do, their words sting worse than any punch or slap ever could. Ali squeezes his hand, but he hardly feels it. He feels disconnected from his body for a moment, a weightless entity observing the world and wondering how people so hateful could even exist.

"Hey," Ali whispers, and suddenly, he's tugged back to earth.

"It's fine," he replies. But it's not.

"Want me to go kick her ass?" she offers with a little smile, and he laughs because yes, he really does want that, but he also doesn't want to go to jail, so he shakes his head slightly.

They continue walking down the aisle, but he decides to leave the cookies behind, knowing that now they'll taste bitter on his tongue. Soon, the cereal section looms before them, an array of sugary selections. Zayn's mouth begins to water, and the incident with that old lady is almost, but not quite, forgotten.

"Let's get Lucky Charms," he suggests with a grin.

"Ew, no," Ali says, wrinkling her narrow nose in digust. "What's wrong with you?"