Secrets (Zayn Malik)

Chapter 9

I take a step back and am greeted with the force of Zayns chest against me. I look up at him, and he's in complete shock. This is not what I wanted. I wasn't expecting my worst nightmare to show up, right when I was about to make it out of here unscathed and unnoticed.

What was he doing here anyway?

"What are you doing here?" I whisper, my voice sounding much softer than I intended it to.

"Apparently, my release from jail last night was at the perfect timing considering I got a call from the hospital saying they need me, your father, to give them permission to discharge you." He folds his arms, and I feel the urge to slap the confidence and smugness off his face.

"But she's above eighteen, your assistance isn't necessary." Zayn interrupts.

Michael glances toward him, and scans his body up and down. A certain look, I can't name, flashes across his face, but is gone as quick as it came.

"And you are?" He grins.

"Zayn, asshole." The vibrations from his speech run down my spine and suddenly I'm completely and utterly grateful he was here with me. Otherwise I'd end up right back in that hospital bed.

"I don't think it's fair for you to be so rude when you don't even know me!" He raises his hand to his chest, pretending to be hurt.

"Alright, well since you're so smart, I guess I'll leave you two alone, since Sherlock here knows everything." He points at Zayn.

"Please do." I spit.

He walks up to me, and holds my hand between both of his cold, rough ones.

"I'll be seeing you again, with or without Zac."

"It's Zayn."

"Whatever." He rolls his eyes and as he lets go, I feel a piece of paper fold in my palm.

He walks out, and shuts the door softly. Odd for his character, considering I always remembered the front door being shut the exact opposite way all throughout my childhood.

I glance down at the paper in my hands and unfold it slowly. I hear Zayn mumbling obscene things about Michael over by the window but I'm too overwhelmed to acknowledge his insults.

As I study what I now know is a photo, resting in my palm, I scan the faces in it. The wavy, blonde hair and bright blue eyes automatically tell me it's my mom. The other faces, I'm not so sure. Come to think of it, I'm not so sure of anything anymore. I take a look at their clothing, and my heart plummets to my feet.

"Oh my god."

~

"What does this mean then?" Zayn asks, his breathe creating a light fog in the air.

"I'm not sure." I whisper, keeping my eyes glued to the concrete as we walk towards the parking lot of the hospital to his car.

"You're not sure you know, or not sure you want to accept it?" I can feel his eyes burning a hole in my temple, and I know for a fact if I look up, his expression will give the obvious answer.

In the very back of my mind, I don't want to come to terms with what I'm very well aware is the truth. The truth hurts, and I've had my share of pain to last a lifetime. My mother was involved in prostitution. I can't seem to figure out how I could've been so blind. The late night tuck ins, with her skimpy fish net top, and leather skirt. She would reek of alcohol and drugs, but of course at the time, to me it was just a funny smell. She always seemed to carry extra cash on her but it never made a difference to me because it was money. Something we used to struggle with before this period of time, and I was not about to question her sudden abundance of it.