“Who is southman, Niall?” The therapist asked me.
The room was warm and the red, warm color on the walls calmed me down even before I manage to get the picture of him inside of my head.
I sat with my legs crossed, my hands clenched together. The typical position for a person like me.
The clock on the desk was ticking loudly and the sound repeatedly hit me like a slap to the cheek.
“Southman…” I whispered his name to somehow understand that the name actually did exist.
“Is he a real man or is he a part of your subconscious?” The woman asked me, the tone of her voice like a song.
“No, he was real.” I said and took a deep breath. It was like I’ve been banned to talk about him, and now it felt more like a relief.
He can’t get inside of these walls, he is long gone and I am safe.
“When you say was, what do you mean? Is he dead?”
I nod slowly and pull my lower lip between my teeth. “He is dead.” I answered.
“Who was he, Niall?” She asks again. I want to tell her, but it feels like something is pulling me the other way, like it tries to tie my tongue in a knot.
“It was…” I urge and look up on the beautiful woman on the couch in front of me.
She pushed her glasses closer to her brown eyes, looking at me with curiosity.
“It was me.” I finished and rose. There, I said it. I walked over to the desk and picked up the clock to stare at it.
“I don’t understand…” She said after a long time of silence and ticking.
I stole another inhale of air before heavily breathing it out again.
“Even though I do not longer have these hallucinations I still remember the things the other me used to see. How Zayn was a criminal, how he killed the people around me. All of it, it’s like a dream, or a memory of some sort.” I walk to the window and look out on the garden of the hospital.
The flowers were at bloom, coloring the ground with red, yellow and pink. I gave them a smile and squinted up to the sun, blinding me with summer.
“I remember Southman, but he wasn’t Zayn, nor was he my father. I have a vague memory of watching the news, where he was mentioned.”
“He had abused a 14 year old girl named Jessica Parker.” I continued and turned to her. The room was a lot brighter now because of the light I had just stared into.
“Jessica Parker doesn’t exist either… I have already looked it up.” I said and moved back to the sofa.
“Jessica Parker and Southman…. Both of them are me.” I finished as I sat down.
She looked stunned on me, like she was listening to nonsense.
“Don’t you see? Southman was the criminal and Jessica Parker was the poor victim. It is all made inside of my head, but it is also symbolic. I pretended to be a Jessica Parker during my worst days. And I pretended that Zayn was Southman. But really, I am both of them. I was abused and unfairly treated during my childhood by my father. At that point I was Jessica. When I killed him, I had turned into Southman.”
“My subconscious knew all along about the two sides of me there was. How a person could be so torn apart that he no longer know the real him. That is why I blamed Zayn for being the bad person, because I was trying to find out which one of them I was.”
I visualized Zayn in my head as I spoke, his beautiful face filling my mind with love.
“It was as if I was Jessica, the abused victim. While Zayn was playing the villain part of Southman. But it wasn’t true; he was neither of those characters. He was the love that I felt in between. Even though Zayn was the criminal, threatening me and killing people around me, I couldn’t help but fall for him over and over again. That feeling, that was Zayn. He was in between my two alter egos; still making me feel wanted and loved.”
My therapist was now smiling.
“You really love Zayn don’t you?” She asked and put her notepad down.
I was now the one smiling, thinking about the family waiting for me at home.
“With all of my heart.” I replied.
--
I unlocked the door to our new home. The house was now representing the Malik family, me, Zayn and our child. It felt good, calling something home, calling someone family.
I know it can be hard to understand, my story really is a confusion. My past had been haunting me, creating a picture inside of my head that made me see things that weren’t there.
Jessica Parker is gone, so is Southman. Here to stay is Niall Malik.
I closed the door behind me and was immediately greeted by the scent of dinner.
“Welcome home!” I heard Zayn sing from the kitchen. I grinned as I walked inside to find the table set, Tyla sitting on one of the chairs with a big smile on her face.
Candles were lit, the room was dimmed and the rosted beef and baked potatoes were ready to be eaten.
“We are celebrating.” Zayn said and pecked my lips before taking off the apron.
“What are we celebrating?” I asked and sat down next to Tyla.
She took my hand and held up a drawing for me to see. It was of the three of us, in front of our house. And in my hand, was a book.
“Your book has been sold out in England love, you already know that!” Zayn said and sat down.
I didn’t need to celebrate that, I wanted to celebrate something else.
We all started eating, laughing, talking, just being lucky.
Before I went to bed that night, I sat on the porch with my book in my hand. My past and my hallucinations were all written in this book. All of it like I once had imagined, how Zayn was a criminal, how I fell in love with him, how we lived happily ever after. All of it were written in this book.
QUIET.
There you go! I hope you liked it! xxx
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Silent Mind (z.h)
FanfictionHigh school student Niall Horan's life turns upside down when London's most wanted criminal climbs through his open window one night. Trapped in his own home, Niall struggles to keep himself and his friends safe while battling his own mind. While be...
