English Love Affair » z.m au

17. "Your hair."

Zayn

 

She called me, and- her voice.

Her fucking voice made me want to crawl into a corner and die.

It tore me to shreds.

It wasn’t like her.

Almost, as if he took Scar and deformed her into that fucked up creature that to him, was a masterpiece.

What he did to her, was what he was most proud of; his life’s work, his legacy.

Because even if the Gods above listened for once and took him away, she’d never recover.

There was no chances of survival for the Scar, she once had been.

She’d always be scared of a voice that only rung in her head, of a face that would forever haunt her, of a touch that would burn through her skin, for as long as she dared to live.

She was living under constant oppression; one that never faltered to break her, deprive her of all she had, all she was, and leave her, drowning in her own remains.

And I felt utterly helpless when met with his dark powers.

I couldn’t help her in any way.

And it sucked because I thought I loved her.

Yes, there, I finally said it.

I fucking loved Scar; the ruined, helpless, decaying Scar, as well as the playful, forgetful, carefree Scar.

I loved all her aspects; her highs, her lows.

I loved her and I had to stand back and watch, while he dissolved her entire being into what he wanted to make of her.

And then I had to take that, and learn to love it too.

Because I didn’t think there would ever be a Scar, which I wouldn’t love.

There was frantic knocking on the door, and I knew it had to be her.

I opened the door, and what I saw, was so much worse than anything I had ever pictured in my worst nightmare.

So, so much worse.

Her clothes were bloodied, her messy hair cut to half its normal length, the previous bruises had reappeared, increasing in count and in intensity.

The black mascara she always wore dissolved into her tears, as she collapsed into my arms, trembling, gasping for air, sobbing into my chest.

And if I had ever thought my heart was broken before, I was wrong.

Because this, this was the heartbreak they spoke of in books, the one that no actor could ever do justice on the screen.

The kind of heartbreak that you couldn’t possibly bear, nor survive.

The heartbreak that would leave an immortal scar in your wounded soul, and you just would never be the same again.

“ Scar,” I didn’t know what to say.

I was calling for the scared, little, girl inside her, having to grow up a bit too fast.

I was calling for the woman, I had fallen deeply, endlessly, unconditionally in love with.

I was calling for her, if she was somewhere inside, buried under the destruction, the remains, covered in ashes, because God, did I want to revive her.

I wanted to reach down in there and grab her out of this endless pit.

“ K- kiss me.” She barely managed to choke out, before her desperate, shaky, lips molded into mine.