Trapped ღ j.t

Ch. 39 Two Kinds of Pain

{ P E R R I E }

"Zayn?!" I gasped, mouth slack as I stared at him in my bra.

"Pezza."

I looked at his shoes, the white Supras I'd given him for Christmas. Flecks of red paint covered the tips. I looked at his pants, streaks of metallic silver paint all over them. I looked at his blue polo, torn and dirty. I looked at his hands, one of the clenched around something shiny, covered in a crusty and red liquid. I looked at his face, dirty and unshaven, covered in scrapes. Finally, I looked into his eyes. The eyes that used to hold compassion and joy. The eyes that would cry every time we watched My Sister's Keeper, his favourite movie, secretly. The eyes I used to have staring contests with during study hall, just to pass the time.

The eyes I looked into now, they didn't know those eyes. These eyes were cold and calculating. Decisive and judging. Cruel.

"What are you doing here?" I asked as calmly as possible.

"To make things right." He took a step forward and raised his hand holding the object.

In that movement, I realised exactly why he was here. I realised the red on his hands and clothes wasn't paint, but in blood. My thoughts travelled to Phillip. Oh god, not Phillip.

"Zaynie-"

"I'm. Not. Your. ZAYNIE!" he screamed, the veins in his neck bulging. I was frozen with fear, still standing in my bra, but I tried to remain calm.

"Are you okay?"

"I'M PEACHY, NOT THAT YOU ACTUALLY CARE!"

"Zayn, what have you done?" I stared at the knife clutched tightly in his fist, knuckles turning white.

"Someone got in my way." He smirked evilly. My thoughts went to Phillip. Oh god, not Phillip.

"Why?" I ased, my eyes welling in tears as I saw the monster my friend had become.

His face scrunched together. "YOU PLAYED ME! YOU USED ME! I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU! AND YOU THREW ME AWAY!"

Even though I was terrified right then, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"I never meant to hurt you," I whispered.

"THEY TOLD ME YOU DID!" He exploded, his breathing hitched. "They told me," he repeated in a much quieter voice.

"Who told you?" I asked quietly.

His face crumpled and his hands clutched his forehead. "They did. The voices . . ." His old personality showed through the dark one momentarily.

"I want to help."

His eyes flashed with anger, the old Zayn gone again. "You've done enough," he spat, striding across the room so he was directly in front of me.

"Zayn, please don't do anything you'll regret," I whispered, reaching for his wrist. But it was too late.

His hand shot forward, aimed for my wrist. I felt something penetrate my side, breaking skin. Pain shot through my body and I'm not sure if I screamed or not. I knew I was falling, my eyes were suddenly staring at the ceiling. Zayn hovered over me, screaming and crying. He moved out of my line of vision and I didn't bother trying to find him.

All I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears, all I could see was the fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. All I could feel was the carpet underneath me and the pain in my side.

Pain. Blinding, searing, debilitating pain. Pain that clouds your senses and makes you want to curl up and sob, yet scream as loud as you can, just to make it stop. Pain you'll do anything to get rid of.