Feelings die

Chapter 1: vendetta

-

3:40 am
United Kingdom, Wolverhampton

Idly, Zayn taps his fingers against the steering wheel of his car. Anxiety and apprehension plague his restless mind.

He's forced to bite down on his bottom lip and taper down on the unsettling emotions as he passes the 'Welcome!' sign that indicates he has officially entered the small city of Wolverhampton. 

Already a dull sensation of dread coils tight in his chest, it's been five years since he left and yet this city still manages to have a hold on him-- he shudders. Drawing in a shaky breath, Zayn grips the steering wheel tighter, as if it were the thing to grant him salvation. There's a part of him screaming to turn around, to forget the frantic call he received from his mother only hours ago but he can't bring himself to. 

There was something in her voice-- a certain unsteadiness to it that he couldn't bring himself to ignore. 

If there is one thing that Zayn knows about his mother, it's that the woman doesn't scare easily.

For her to call him at one in the morning while he's four cities away, there has to be something wrong.

And there aren't a lot of things that could make him come back to this hell hole of a city, but his family is one. So even though his heart is hammering against his rib cage and his foot is slowly easing off the gas pedal, he continues on.

He rolls his shoulders in an attempt to unwind and relax, exhaling as his brown eyes flit up to his review mirror. 

He's got this unremitting feeling that he's being followed but when he looks back there's no one ever there. Clenching the steering wheel tighter, Zayn looks back to the dark road. 

Overhead the sky sounds off with a diminutive rumble, an indication that a thunderstorm is well on the way and of course one is. It's just Zayn's luck that on his first night back in the city it's going to rain. 

That's another thing he doesn't miss about this fucking shit hole, the constant gloomy atmosphere and nonstop rain.

A real fucking mood dampener.

Then, as if to prove that things can get worse, the sound of a police cruiser's sirens chirping draws Zayn out of his thoughts. When he looks back up to his review mirror this time he sees that a police cruiser is now slowly creeping behind him. 

"Fuck." He hisses to himself, huffing a breath and turning the steering wheel to get closer to the curb.

He pulls over.

The moment he puts his car into park, the cop car pulls up behind him and does the same. Zayn is conscious in placing both his hands on the steering wheel at a ten and two distance before sitting up straight in his seat. He tries his best to ignore the fact that he has an unregistered semi-automatic handgun tucked into the waistband of his black joggers, just barely hidden by his baggy shirt. 

Thankfully it isn't long before the cop is rapping his knuckles against his window in a silent demand for him to roll it down. Slowly, Zayn reaches over and does so, "Problem Officer? Was I going too fast?" He questions, not looking at the cop but keeping his head and eyes straight ahead.