Double Standards // ziam

Chapter 20

The silent guards escorted Zayn across the marble lobby, which was crowded with late-departing employees. In the press of so many people, Zayn was spared the humiliation of curious onlookers. Everyone else was rushing home, absorbed with individual thoughts. Not that he particularly cared who witnessed his shame; at the moment, he cared about nothing, he felt nothing.

It was dark outside and raining, but Zayn hardly felt the icy sting of the rain pelting against his thin cotton shirt. He looked disinterestedly for the police car that he expected to see waiting at the curb, but there was none. The guard on his left and the one behind him stepped back. The guard on his right also turned to leave then he hesitated and said with curt compassion, "Do you have a coat, Mr. Malik?"

Zayn looked at him with pain-dazed eyes. "Yes," he said inanely. He did have a coat; it was with his satchel bag in Harry's office.

The guard glanced uncertainly at the curb, as if he expected someone to pull over and offer him a ride. "I'll get it for you," he said, and walked back into the building with his companions.

Zayn stood on the sidewalk, rain plastering his hair down his face and pelting his face like a million icy hypodermic needles. Apparently he wasn't going to be taken to jail, after all. He didn't know where to go, or how to get there without money or keys. In a kind of trance he turned and started to walk down Jefferson Avenue, just as a familiar figure strode swiftly out of the building toward him. For a moment hope flared and burned painfully bright.

"Harry!" he called when he and Niall were about to pass without seeing him.

Harry turned sharply, and Zayn's stomach clenched at the bitter, accusing fury in the single scathing glance he passed over him.

"I have nothing to say to you," he snapped.

All hope died inside of Zayn and with its death came a blessed numbness. He turned around, shoved his frozen hands into the pockets of his trousers and started walking down the street. Six steps later, Harry's hand grasped his arm, turning him around. "Here," he said, his expression just as hostile as before. "Take my coat."

Zayn violently jerked his arm away from his grasp.

"Don't touch me," he said calmly. "I don't ever want to be touched."

Alarm flickered in his gaze before he extinguished it.

"Take my coat," he repeated tersely, already starting to remove it. "You'll freeze to death."

Zayn found nothing unpleasant about the prospect of freezing to death. Ignoring his outstretched coat, he lifted his gaze to his.

"Do you believe what Liam believes?"

"Every single word," he averred.

With his hair plastered to his head and the rain driving into his pale face, Zayn said with great dignity, "In that case, I don't want your coat." he started to turn then stopped. "But you can give Liam a message for me when he finally discovers the truth." His teeth chattered as he said, "T-tell him not to ever come near me again. T-tell him to stay away from me! Tell him I don't wanna see his face again, EVER."

Without thinking about where he was going, Zayn automatically walked the eight blocks to the only people who would take him in without being paid. He went to Tony's restaurant.

With frozen knuckles he rapped on the back entrance. The door opened and Tony was staring at him, his black tuxedo a discordant contrast to the noise and steam of the kitchen behind him.

"Zaynie?" he said is gaze observing his ashen face, his blue lips and shivering limbs. "Zaynie! Dio mio! Dominic, Joe," he shouted, "come quick!"

***