The raven haired boy took a long drag out of his cigarette, puffing the smoke through pursed lips to poullute the air.
"Malik, you can't do that here." the clothed white figure demanded, rubbing the sanitary whipes over the arm of a cheasnut chair.
Rolling his eyes, he dropped the drag on the ground, not bothering to put it out.
Four years, yeah about four years since One Direction had split. It wasn't his fault, but his onstage temper tantrum didn't help either.
"I'll do what I want." Zayn spat, curling his lips up at the woman. After abusing drugs and himself, he managed to be thrown in celebrity rehab. Well, that was a three weeks ago.
"Look, you can move on after you finish what I told you."
Move on, yeah, what to? Hell? That sounded real great.
"Say your goodbyes, make amends." she continuted on, stopping her work to glare over at the man sitting himself.
Maybe he should, people would ask questions, of course he couldn't anwser.
Zayn Malik couldn't talk to people.
Zayn Malik couldn't get people to see him.
Zayn Malik, was dead.
