not okay {ziam}

four

{four}

something a little evil

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i became aware far too late that zayn hadn't been a mere figment of my imagination on that strange day that seemed forever ago — a quick brush of cold breeze that curls around my body in a slicing embrace and lingers under the crevices of my skin, where he'd leave me to shiver at nights, alone.

no, he's entirely different. i wondered maybe if a silhouette of mine had become alive and beating, waiting for my fluttering acknowledgement of it's escape out of my supervision. had he been a voice of mine, now appearing in the shape of a striking young man? but staring at him, the tepid ambers of his eyes, his languid stance and the fairly cold-blooded flick of his lashes — i know that we're of no similarity. zayn is seen and heard in this world, i am not.

he simpers, excruciatingly wide yet completely distant, leaning his lithe body across the wall.

i can't stand to look at him anymore, the piercing cut of his cheekbones when he bores into me, the way the sunshine dances upon his raven hair. he stares at me like he knows exactly what i'm thinking, even when we're galaxies apart. i can still feel the twitching of my eyes and fingers from the downpour of adrenaline descending down my spine, the sheerness that fuels my blood as i confront him suddenly, "are you following me?"

there isn't a second of doubt that flashes across his gaze as he replies, rather a cunning buzz -- something a little evil, "are you following that blonde girl from our school?"

my heart hammers with alarm, having been opposed with a chasmic secret of mine that not a single soul had even breathed of until now. what would happen if it got out that i had made someone victim to my desires without their knowledge? that most of my life revolved around someone who didn't know i existed? what would she do to me? i could handle her obliviousness, but her hatred and disgust could just about kill me. but a reminder surges through my mind then, as if i forgotten, he had something to hide as well.

lips stained red with a man's assault, the denim of his jeans muddy at the knees as a wallet is whisked out of his pocket. the wave, the smile, and the escape appearing through the smoke of my mind.

somehow with the state of my feverishness pumping hazardously through me, i had the pseudo confidence to jab him back with the squaring of my shoulders and the tuff of hair raised at the back of my neck, "what do you actually want from me, huh? you just hanging around to fuck with me?"

he plays, like a game of cat and mouse, coating on the feigned disbelief, "fortunately my life doesn't revolve around you and your mysterious whereabouts. i have a life of my own."

"does that involve breaking any other laws?" i take that chance to walk away, mostly because i'm a coward and he scares me. there was no bite to my bark and he was well aware.

just as i feel his presence slide off of my shoulders, as if it were a wild fire scorching towards the little town i lived in with devastation, suddenly the flames of his fingertips grasp my elbow and drag me back. as i turned, facing my freedom, i felt the clasp of his hands on me, dragging me further under into a place that is dark and unsafe. we are the same height and age, yet his intimidation haunts me even with the slightest contact.

i can feel him all around in the air that i breathe in, the heat of his body so close but not nearly enough, the steady beat of his placid heart at the back of my spine. i'm not sure if his soft lips touched the shell of my ear, because it's gone before i can register it with wanton, baited breath. my eyes dart to his skeletal hand, covered in purple and cobalt bruises across his knuckles, the way he trails his vague touch down my forearm with certainty. my face feels unfairly hot with a blush i can't control, the pours of my skin exuding the little composure i had left.

"keeping quiet is well rewarded." he murmurs and i swallow, wondering when the warmth of his body will disappear into the thin chill that sweeps through the plaza. when my body will spasm awake out of this horrible nightmare, to find that zayn doesn't exist at all. to find that i would be flooded with relief, yet troubled by his withdrawal. but i know he's real -- he feels real -- i just cant seem to wrap my mind around his engrossment of me. why?

"h-how exactly?" i'm stuttering, but i'm aware --

he beats me to it, "you understand."

it's then i feel his palm pat my shoulder with his departure, the unnerving way he seems to scatter away without so much as any noise. immediately i feel as though i've been ripped away from a flame, left out to freeze to death when a stormy blizzard hits. somehow my heart patters at the loss of his touch, my misguided attachment short-circuiting in places it doesn't belong. wondering if i'm so starved of attention and touches that i can't help but to spiral when he walks away, tugging his hoodie over his handsome face. he turns a corner and melts into my memory without relent.

was it a threat or a mutual agreement to keep silent?

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