Infectious (Ziall)

Prologue

Dear parents,

He stopped, a sense of contemplation crossing him, and then erased what little he had.

Dear self,

There's something so unsettling about waking up in the middle of the night and seeing one of your parents asleep in their room, while the other struggles through the night, on the couch. You start to wonder if it's okay to question why things are that way, if it's anything to truly worry about it - if it's my place to ponder the thought at all. It's so uncanny, tip-toeing on cracked glass and seeing your parents gradually grow apart. Of course they play it off, laugh within the presence of one another; hold their breaths for another mere second while pretending that they're quite fond of the lingering touches; and of course I don't question it. Not out loud anyway. As a minor, I guess we're sort of raised on the belief that arguments and disagreements are nothing more than just that, that they're apart of marriage; apart of family - that it's okay. But at what point does hearing your father cry in his pillow at night sound okay? At what point does seeing your papa's fingers itch and tremble, until he has a bottle of alcohol in his hand, seem okay? At what point do I tell them I'm not? I lie awake, at two in the morning, heavy-hearted and perplexed and sad and anything but a peace of mind. 

Maybe it's just momentary.

Sincerely,

 

A teen with a much needed shoulder.

Malik Household

[Breakfast in the nook; heart on a platter].

The clinks and clanks of silverware; the transparent, vocal silence. Niall sat at one end of the table, grasping his fork tightly as he forcibly ate his way through the stack of pancakes. Every now and then, he would take a glance at his son, Chad, while the teen would give him a worrisome look, one that made Niall feel a sense of guilt; and then, he turned his attention elsewhere; the facade, or wall, appearing once more. Zayn sat on the opposite end, head hanging low, resting on the rosy, achy knuckles of one hand, while the other spoon-fed him. He never made any sudden movements, the alcohol, from the previous night, taking a toll on him. Chad watched, eyes analyzing their body language and their lack of enthusiasm, as if the silence wasn't a dead giveaway. To be the only one in the room with no inkling of what was truly going on was puzzling and caused a lot of distress. Feeling overwhelmed, Chad abruptly stood up, and then commenced to leaving out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Niall asked, taken aback by the teen's behavior.

"Out," Chad muttered, grabbing his coat from the closet near the front door. The door slammed closed, leaving Niall and Zayn to suffocate in their own conflictions.

"Probably going out to smoke those damn cigarettes again," Zayn exclaimed. The raven-haired man, weary with stubble on his face and all, stood up, collected his dishes, and then headed towards the sink, carelessly allowing the silverware to collide with the sink's hard, solid structure. Niall flinched; rosy-rimmed eyes and bitten-back tears staring at the angry man. "I'm the one stressed, and he's out lighting matches like it's the fucking thing for a seventeen year old to do," he grumbled, bony legs carrying him into the parlor and out of sight. The house grew silent again.

_

Author's Note: New, Ziall story. I hope you all enjoy xo.