Fix A Heart

Chapter Eight

“I’m sorry Denise,” Niall said, after I finally returned to school.I just nodded, there was

nothing to say. “You didn’t deserve that,” he added, I shrugged. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He looked me in the eyes as I looked to the floor, he didn’t need to see my emotions. With no reaction, he walked away. It was time to go to class, time to be stared at by everyone again, time to be given false sympathy. Mentally sighing, I walked through the door frame

and into the english class.

There it was, the eyes sinking into me, cutting into my confidence. Keeping my head down and my eyes glued to the floor, I found a seat at the very back of the class.

Staring at the tiles, I made shapes with the scattered painted dots. Shapes became flashbacks, and flashbacks soon became tears pushing. Swallowing with whatever strength I had left, I fought the urge of the pending waterfall.

Class must’ve been half over when a notebook was nudging at my shoe, causing me to cautiously pick it up and observe it. It was familiar, it was red, with a smudged name on the bottom right of the cover, “Zayn” it read. With the curled y, as always.Why is this is my hands? I looked up to see him, voluntarily looking into my eyes. Then to see him nod, suggesting I open it.

My eyes searched the first page, becoming compelled to see the next. It had the words,

“Property of Zayn Malik” written in black ink, shaped in a cursive font. Black and gray lines bent and curved, flowed around the words. Dispersed blobs of what seemed to look like paint were apparent as well, becoming parts and obstacles of the lines.

I glanced up to see him nodding, encouraging me to go further; and I did.

The next page was a detailed drawing of a car, leaving a house; with a boy in the window of the house waving.

The next was the same drawing, with the car further out of the driveway and first pair of tires touching the road.

The drawings continue, as the car goes away, the boy’s face lowers each time.  It gets to where the car has completely left, and the boy is standing in the window with his hand in his pocket, a blank facial expression, and one loose tear rolling mid cheek.

The next page was a surprise however, I found a drawing of a new car in the driveway, with a young girl in it.

The page after was the girl stepping out of the car, and waving to him in the window.

The next is the same boy opening the front door for the girl, letting her in.

The next drawing is of the girl and the boy embracing; his lips to her forehead, and her arms around his torso.

The one after was a gray thought bubble, with the girl in the car, smirking at the boy in the window.

The last was a illustration of a broken vase, along with a shadow of the boy’s body against a wall.

The class bell rang, and everyone left the room for lunch, except for myself and Zayn.

“I’m sorry for your loss Denise, and I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you,”

I shrugged, he continued, “I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you,”

I was the girl, he was the boy; the vase was his story. The next blank page, was our story.

The End.