All is Fair: Zayn Malik Fanfiction

Chapter 5

WARNING: MAJOR FACEPALMING MAY OCCUR DUE TO THIS CHAPTER... I think it's really that stupid.

*Zayn's POV*

I knock on the door. My head turns to the ground as I anxiously wait for the girl with the stunning green eyes to appear. The door opens and I flash a smile.

"Hey J- wait, who are you?" A tall young man stands at the door. I try to come up with an answer to who he is. Jessie has never mentioned a boyfriend. He has to be her brother. They look alike, same brown hair and green eyes.

"Who are you?"he snaps back.

I hesitate. "I'm Zayn." I feel somewhat intimidated, but I try not to let it show. "I'm here for the art project. Is Jessie here?"

Just then, a little girl runs to the door and tugs on the man's shirt. "Isaac, we have to go," she whines.

"Give me a second, Eve," he says to the girl. He rests himself on the doorpost and crosses his arm. We hear someone come down the stairs.

"Hey," I say when I see Jessie.

"Hi, Zayn," she replies. Isaac does not move, and for a second, we just stand there. She sighs and pushes him out of the way. "Come in," she says. Jessie walks ahead of me and into the living room.

"Isaac," Eve says again. She is barely holding on to everything she is carrying.

"Fine," he says. They leave. The door shuts with a loud bang, and the house turns silent. As I walk further in, I notice the pictures on the walls. There are pictures of Jessie and her family. I stop and look at one. A man is holding a baby in his arms. He looks down at it, and the baby seems to be smiling.

"Who's this picture of?" I ask.

"Let me see," I watch her quickly bounce over. She is wearing jeans and an oversized grey sweatshirt. Her voice lowers. "Oh," she says. "That's my dad and I." She starts to fumble with a piece of her hair. I sense the discomfort and drop the question. We move to the living room. I take a seat on the black leather couch, and she sits across from me. In between, there is a small coffee table with a laptop and some magazines.

"I got a text from Liam," I say. "He can't come over, he has the stomach flu."

"Oh," she says. "Sarah isn't coming either. She said she had a wedding she forgot about."

"Who forgets a wedding?" I ask in disbelief.

"I know," she says.

We have a moment of silence. She sits there, hands folded on her lap and her legs crossed. Even in her sweatshirt and jeans, she looks absolutely beautiful. "So maybe we should start the project," I finally say.

"Right," she grabs the laptop off the table and opens it. "I have an idea for the project."

"I'm excited to hear." She grins. Honestly. All of Jessie's ideas amaze or amuse me somehow. I move over to the couch she is on and watch her on the laptop. She had pulled up some pages on Salvador Dali, the artist our project is on.

"He did some of his paintings on his dreams. So maybe the four of us can combine our dreams into one and paint or create it somehow."

"Sounds good," I say. "What's your dream going to be about?"

She almost laughs. "I don't have too many dreams," she says, her eyes glued onto the screen.

"Nightmares?"

She looks at me, then the floor, then the ground. "I, uh," she stumbles.

"What's wrong?"

*Jessie's POV*

I look up at Zayn. He almost looks terrified. Should I tell him? I think. I have to. He will not stop until he finds out what is bothering me. That is just his nature. I take a deep breath, not sure where to begin.

"For the last couple of days, I've been having dreams about my father's death." I pause, expecting some sort of reaction. He says and does nothing, so I continue. "On Monday, it will have been six years." My voice gets weaker. "I get the worst nightmares every year." The dream from last night replays in my head. Tears gather in my eyes. I remember that Zayn is here, and I look up at him. No response. I am an idiot, I think. I regret telling him. He must think it is stupid, still crying six years later. I am about to excuse myself when he takes my hand. That is when I realize how tightly my arms were wrapped against myself. He gently pulls my hand closer to him. I look at Zayn, confused. He holds my right hand in both of his.

He looks down at our hands. "Jessie," he speaks softly. "I'm so sorry." Zayn looks into my eyes. "Do you- do you want to talk about it?"

There is sincerity in his voice that makes me speak up. I slowly tell Zayn how my dad died, the memory as clear in my head as if I was experiencing it then. I wonder if he even hears me half of the time though, I talk so quietly. He has not made a sound or movement since I started speaking. He looks more shaken than I am. "I'm sorry," he says again. He stares into space thinking about God knows what.

"Don't be. It was my fault anyway," I mutter. And with those seven words, I seem to have lifted Zayn from the dead. He starts to tap his heels on the ground, and he subconsciously rubs my hand in his. Well, I think it was subconsciously. He furrows his brow.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true."

"I doubt that," Zayn says. He examines my face, I guess to find a hint that I was joking.

"Really," I bark. I pull my hand away from his. I adjust myself so I am facing him. "You know what my parents were arguing about before my dad drove off the street and died?" With the last word, the tears that have been begging to leave finally escape. My voice cracks. "Me."

*Zayn's POV*

She starts to cry. I have no clue what to do. "I don't know what to say." I figure that that is better than nothing. It is obvious that Jessie did not cause her father's death, but arguing now would just add fuel to the fire. For a moment there is no sound. Her arms are once again crossed tightly against her chest.

She shakes her head. "I," she says. "I'm sorry. I'll be right back." Jessie leaves the room.

I sit on the couch trying to decide what is more awkward: right now, all alone, or two minutes ago, with a crying girl. I am stuck. I hear footsteps coming down the hallway, and I am not sure if I should be nervous or grateful. Jessie sits next to me.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She smiles. She actually looks better, like the past few minutes did not even happen. "Yeah, I'm fine," she says. She still speaks quietly, like is she talks any louder, she will break. Jessie takes a deep breath and unsteadily releases it. "So back to our project." She grabs the laptop.

"I had a dream once," I say. "I was locked in a janitor's closet at school, and a mop turned into a zebra, and it started to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Then everything turned into zebras and started to sing."

She looks at me with wide eyes and bursts into laughter.

"What would you have expected me to say?" I defend myself. She wipes her eyes.

"I thought your dream would've been a little more sophisticated."

"I was six," I say. "Teen." Not my best defense, but I am not trying to win. She brushes her hair out of her face, and smiles at the ground. "Do we need to get some supplies for the project?"

"Yeah," she says. "There is this art store by the beach. You want to go?"

"Sure," I say. Isaac walks through the front door. He throws his stuff on the kitchen table.

"Hey," he says. He eyes us, and I become aware of how close Jessie and I are sitting. "He's the only one that showed up?" He asks bitterly.

"The others couldn't make it," Jessie says. "We're about to leave. We are going to the art store by the beach."

Note:

Ugh. See what I meant? It was really cheesy. Anyways. Comment, vote, follow. All the usual stuff. Ok thank you:)