Scars (Ziam)

Rain Clouds

Sorry for the wait, but here's an update! (That rhymed!)

Anyway, I have decided that I will try to update this story and Sin every weekend while Floret will be updated every two weeks, unless I just get a rush of ideas pouring out. If anything changes, I will let you guys know.

Also, do you feel like this story is moving at a decent pace so far? I want to take things slowly between Liam and Zayn and build up their friendship first before anything else. Let me know what you guys think.

Love you all and enjoy!

Chapter 3:

"So, how was writing club?" Ruth asked as she plopped down onto my bed across from me. I was currently trying to work on some physics homework, but Ruth seemed intent on pushing me to tell her about my school life. It was my job to come up with a lie that will please her.

"It was fine. It was people writing and reading stuff every now and then," I excused, only offering half of my attention to her. Most of my attention was towards the numbers I was currently plugging into the calculator. That's the thing I loved about physics and math-- everything had a formula to give you an exact result. You always knew what you were going to get, and you always knew the right answer. You didn't get that with life.

"Did you write anything?" She wondered, and I automatically nodded. I had to seem like I at least participated in the club. "Can I read it?" She asked, and I shook my head 'no' in response as she whined. "C'mon. Why not?"

"Because I didn't write it for someone to read," I explained, thinking about the journal I had full of writings about my mother, her mental health, the accident, how everything changed. I had it all written down in poems, in short stories, in a couple of sentences, even some events in one word. Like the entry for my fifteenth birthday. I wrote one word down. Disappointing.

"You're in a writing club. Doesn't that mean you write and share it around or something?" She pressed, and I turned to the next page of homework as I answered her question.

"That's not exactly how writing works, Ruth," I began. "Sometimes people write things that are just for themselves. Like diaries, if you will. They're far too personal to share with anyone else. It takes a person time to be able to share those thoughts with anyone. You start off offering small, vague, and metaphorical writings for people to try and work out, and as you get more confident, you'll be able to share your deeper thoughts. I'm not exactly ready for that yet," I admitted, and Ruth nodded in understanding.

"Alright. Well, do you have anything that I can read? Something vague and not personal?" She questioned with a smile, and I shrugged my shoulders.

"I really just have to finish this homework, okay? Can we talk about this later?" I questioned, but I knew I was partly lying. As soon as she left the room, I'd probably give up on the homework and do something else to fill my time.

"Alright, fine. Finish your homework. I'll start on dinner. Love you," Ruth said as she climbed off of my bed and went to the door. As soon as she shut it behind her, I sighed heavily and tossed my book to the side. It wasn't that school work was becoming hard for me-- it was actually very easy-- but I lost the will to care about it at all. I lost my motivation. I mean, teachers could hardly look me in the eyes whenever I tried to ask them a question. I couldn't learn that way.

I decided to just read a book for a while, so I began reading Pride and Prejudice for the thousandth time. I basically memorized almost every word in the book. The fact that it was paperback meant that it didn't take long at all for the spine to become awfully worn down. Granted, that's how most of my books appeared since they were all purchased at a used book store, but a few were especially worn down by my excessive reading.