Long Story Short (Short Stories & Thoughts)

Issues (Zayn)

Title: Issues

Pairing: None

Rating: PG-13 (for violence and general psychotic behavior)

Word Count: 1,103

Summary: He doesn't think he's a murder, he just likes watching other people suffer.

Disclaimer: Inspired by the “Zayn Malik’s got issues” AU meme, on Tumblr. (Click the External Link to see)

            Zayn Malik sat chained to the cold metal table, the handcuffs biting into his wrists with sharp teeth. He didn’t mind it though, not at all, in fact, the feeling was satisfying to him, nearly pleasant. 

            “You know why you’re here Zayn.”

            Zayn had been staring at the scratched surface of the table, lost in his thoughts. At hearing the pretty, young voice, he looked up and smiled slightly.

            “You’re responsible for the murders of ten young people, both male and female,” the woman seemed determined to tell him why he was here, even though she just said he knew himself. And he did, he knew all too well, but he wasn’t going to ruin her moment.

         Next, she spread photos of the victims across the table in a perfect, professional manner, precisely in the order they were killed.

            Zayn couldn’t help the smile that came to his face, but this one was slightly more sadistic. As he scanned the photos, he jerked his arm, causing his skin to roughly come in contact with the handcuff’s sharp edge.

            “You’re not getting out of those, just so you know.” 

            Foolish. That’s all Zayn could think, for his purpose wasn’t to escape, but to feel the sharp sting of pain. It reminded him of his victims, brought him back, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was anything like what they felt. No, it was probably better than this, much better. 

            “I don’t think I’m a murderer,” Zayn suddenly raised his head, meeting the woman’s eyes with that same malicious smile.

            He thought the woman to be pretty; she had shoulder length blonde hair and glittering green eyes. He liked watching the barely noticeable bump in her neck bob up and down when he smiled at her, obviously trying to hide her discomfort. He found the way she wet her lips and blinked as if she were flustered in the one second, right when their eyes met, to be amusing. It was as if she was new to this, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the mistake the police made to send someone new in a room with himself.

             On second though, maybe that’s why they sent her in there with him.

            “What do you think killing ten innocent people makes you then?” 

            Zayn ignored her then, scanning the photographs once more. Seven, that was his favorite out of them all. She was a girl only a month or so younger than himself, and he vividly remembered the sweet sound of her cries in the night and her screams in the day.

            He remembered having dinner with her, sitting beside her on her bed, only tightening the bonds around her wrists and ankles. He remembered feeding her little bites of whatever food he saw fit, talking to her in a hushed voice, that would have been considered soothing, if it weren’t for the situation. The girl only rarely answered him in conversation, but that was okay. He never minded.

            “I saw the boys again today,” Zayn said as he casually scooped up a spoonful of chicken noodle soup, before slowly moving it over to the girl’s mouth, holding it and waiting patiently. 

            As he waited, he couldn’t help but note how uncomfortable the ragged mattress was. Most would note how it just added to the cruelness of the condition, and would change it, but not Zayn. He was glad that it was as terrible as it was. It made it all the better. 

            Hesitantly, the girl opened her mouth and used her lips to scoop the food into her mouth, as he pulled the spoon out again to refill. 

            “None of them know about you, you know.” 

            As he continued to feed her, she remained silent, and when he bothered to look, he could see the pain, discomfort, and fear in her eyes. But he was okay with that, he preferred it actually. 

            “Liam almost found out about Five,” he mused, remembering the event. “But I made sure that didn’t happen. I don’t think he was worth sharing much. Liam probably wouldn’t have liked him anyways. I know him, he would’ve told someone.” 

            “You kidnapped them…” 

            “Five was nice though,” Zayn remarked, before reaching out and stroking the girl’s face, ignoring the fact that she flinched away at his touch. Her face was crusted with blood and dried tears, and Zayn liked the feeling of the jagged surface, rather than her previously smooth, nearly flawless complexion. Perfection was hideous; it was what he most despised. “He was brave. He tried not to show his pain, but I don’t think he understood…." 

            “You tortured them…”

            “He was an outcast among his coworkers,” Zayn continued, before beginning to play with the frightened girl’s hair as if it were nothing, the curly locks catching his fingers every so often. “I like to watch that kind of thing, but it wasn’t enough. It needed to be more, worse.” 

            “You kept them locked up in your basement for months.”

            Finally, the girl opened her mouth, speaking in a voice that was scratchy, and small. “What needed to be worse?” She knew he preferred it when she spoke back, he liked having proper conversations. She also knew, from experience, that she had to be careful with what she said though, so as not to set him off. 

            “His suffering.” 

            “I’ve spent months tracking your case,” the woman said, but her voice barely drifted through Zayn’s thoughts. “We haven’t found the rest of the bodies, but we have proof that you had them. Why? What did they ever do to you?” 

            “Why me?” The girl asked, wincing as Zayn tugged a bit too harshly at her hair. “Why did you take me?”

            Zayn stopped playing with her hair then, placing his hands in his lap and gazing at the blank, far wall. “You were the top at everything,” he said slowly, almost fondly. “You had no suffering, all you knew was the schoolbook definition of the word. You were absolutely perfect.” His voice sounded almost dreamy and wonderous before it hardened, becoming slightly deeper and harsher. “Someone needed to change that." 

            “Why, Zayn!” The woman slapped her hands down on the table, leaning down bravely, so they were face to face. 

            Zayn snapped from the fond memories, and turned his piercing gaze back to the woman in front of him. She didn’t allow any more fear or discomfort to show on her face besides a miniscule eye twitch, but it was enough. That little tremble of the muscle was all he needed to remain composed.

            “I don’t think I’m a murderer.” He repeated, his expression finally serious. “I just like watching people suffer.”