Scars And a Cup of Coffee | Zarry [complete]

Chapter 21: Zayn

Scars And a Cup of Coffee

Zayn moved slowly out of bed, moving away from the reassuring warmth Harry exuded. It was three in the morning, and he couldn't fall asleep. In all honesty, he hadn't slept for the past week. He was constantly battling night terrors and sweat soaked sheets. Harry hadn't noticed, but Zayn had a feeling his boyfriend knew something was up.

Harry wasn't an idiot. Not in the slightest. Harry saw things that not many people noticed or all the things people ignored. Zayn's lover was as inquisitive and witted as most of Zayn's favorite authors.

Zayn sat at the edge of the mattress, his head in his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees. It was only a week away from the looming anniversary, and to say he was unprepared was an understatement.

Zayn sobbed as sadness panged strongly in his heart. He'd never felt so alone, and the ghosts of faces he knew by heart were beginning to fade. Zayn had trouble remembering what colour Raul's eyes were or whether his bunk mate had black hair or brown. He was missing his fallen platoon's tactile-ness, and how no one was afraid to ask for a hug or dog pile on a particularly cold night.

Zayn felt wet tracks going down his wrists, and he cried silently into his hands. He no longer wore long sleeves to bed so he lacked a makeshift tissue. His eyes stung and the weight he hadn't felt for so long came back and rested uncomfortably on his chest.

Blearily, he got up and stumbled to Harry's bathroom. The bright light that lit up the small room blasted his senses and jarred him for barely a moment. Zayn leaned on the sink when he felt like his legs would give out. Slowly, he looked in the mirror and was greeted by his crying face.

His left arm burned, but he couldn't care as memories from his days in war flashed in his mind. Zayn whimpered as the unclear faces of his friends would appear and the guilt he felt was overwhelming.

How was he supposed to talk about such amazing people? How was he to do them any justice? Why was he never good enough? Why didn't they live? Why. Why. Why.

Zayn could feel the starting of an anxiety attack. He tried to will it away but it wasn't so easy.

His vision was already beginning to cloud at the edges and his breaths were coming quicker. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed that he couldn't get air to fill his lungs. He tripped as he turned around, falling onto the merciless tiled floor. Zayn crawled into the tub, hoping that he'd be able to escape the fate of another attack.

He couldn't help the loud, echoing whines that fell from his mouth. He couldn't stop the tunnel vision. The faces of the dead, their screams, their memories, none of them were happy and he couldn't stop any of it. They were dead. Gone.

Now, he had to make a speech in their honor.

How was he supposed to wrap the emotion he felt, the loss or the guilt,  and the incredible personalities of the fallen in one speech?

He wailed, as his throat constricted.

Zayn missed them so much. It felt like his family had been torn away from him. They were his lifeline, and they were gone. God, he wanted them back.

He screamed as his stomach started to convulse. Forcing him to heave the emptiness in his stomach, ripping out air that burned his throat. The panic rose as his vision went black, and all he could hear was his own cries and the blood pounding in his head.

His mind played tricks as he saw the memory of him and his platoon around a fire, passing around a flask and talking about home. All of them were so excited to get back, and although none of them knew it,  they'd never be going back. Their families would never see them again, because all the funerals were closed casket. Zayn pleaded for it to stop, the torture was excruciating.

He felt like he was flying as the cold of the tub went away and was replaced by warmth. He sobbed because he still couldn't see and he could still only hear himself.

He felt something soft on his lips, he felt them tingle and spread throughout his whole body. Blindly, he grasped at anything in front of him. His heart stopping its jack rabbit beating and slowing down, as his fingers threaded through soft tufts of hair. The pounding of blood in his ears was fading and replaced with the beating of another heart. Healthy and beating slightly faster than normal, but still so alive.

The black in his vision edged away revealing, Harry, staring down at him. His lover's eyes were worried but filled with so much love.

"Hello, love." Harry whispered.

Zayn inhaled deeply, taking in the warm vanilla scent that seemed to belong to his Harry. Unique and passive, but filled with a hidden spice.

"Hello."

.

.

.

.

Did you guys like it???  Writing this absolutely broke my heart. I'm dying a bit on the inside. Please tell me in a comment what it did to you because I am crying like a baby rn.

Scars And a Cup of Coffee is also almost at its end, still not sure how many chapters are left, since I wing it and just write what I feel is right. So yes, it's almost done. I'm crying a lot on the inside. ;A; Thanks for reading, lovely lovelies.

Also, check out the other stories on my profile. :3 AND PLEASE,

COMMENT, VOTE, or FAN!

Xx, Mitchi