Scars (Ziam)

A Comfort

Ah! This was supposed to go up last night, but I completely fell asleep while writing! Sorry! Here it is, though. Love you all. ❤

Chapter 9:

      I laid in bed, staring at the painting Zayn gave me last night. In a brighter light, I could see every single detail. It was no wonder Zayn found success in art, he was incredible. It was difficult to imagine that he painted it all with the picture in his mind instead of holding one in his hands. I wondered how long it took him to reach the level he did with painting. Then, his painting made me think about my writing.

     When I first started out, I was rubbish. I wrote short stories in my preschool classes that I gave to my mum. She would hang them on the fridge and pretend to be proud of my writing, but I knew it wasn't very good at all. She was just doing what a parent was supposed to do.

    I remember one time, when I was about five years old, I rushed through the house to find my mum and give her another one of my stories, the fridge was already littered in them, and I found her lying down in bed. I crawled up with an excited giggle leaving my mouth, and I shoved my mum's shoulder, hoping to get her attention, but she had no reaction.

     "Mum," I called as I crawled around her to make sure she was even awake. I saw that her eyes were wide open, so she wasn't sleeping, but she didn't seem to hear me either. Her eyes were looking straight ahead, but they seemed to not see what was truly there. They were distant and sunken. They were sad.

     "Mummy?" I called out again, shaking her gently, but her eyes stayed focused straight ahead.

    "Please, Liam, not now. Please." She spoke so quietly that I almost didn't hear her.

    "I wrote you a story. Are you sick, mummy? I can read it to you. Maybe it'll help you feel better."

    I grabbed my story in both hands, bit before I could read, my mother dismissed the idea.

    "Not now, Liam. Not now."

    She looked so upset and tired, so I just nodded, pressing a kiss to my mum's cheek, and climbed out of the bed. I set my story down on the nightstand before walking toward the room door. Before I closed it, I glanced back once more at my mum, hoping she would pick up the story and start reading, but she didn't make a move. She stayed completely still, and I wondered what happened to make her so upset.

      My eyes drifted from the dandelion painting over to my alarm clock. I saw that it was passed my usual time to get up for school, and I wondered why Ruth wasn't barging in to force me up. Perhaps she was far too upset with me for what occurred last night.

    As soon as I arrived home last night, Ruth ran out of the house and threw her arms around me. She hugged me so tightly that it was almsot difficult to breathe, but I allowed her to. She thanked Zayn multiple times, so much that the words didn't sound real any longer, and Zayn simply said that it was no big deal. My father wasn't home at the time, and I left to my room for the remainder of the night. I was dreading facing my family. There was no doubt in my mind that Ruth told my father, and I wasn't prepared for his reaction.

     There was a soft knock on my bedroom door, and I heard Ruth's voice.

     "Liam, do you feel like going to school today? You could stay home if you need to," She offered, and I felt my stomach twist.

    I laid completely still. I didn't feel like moving or getting up for the day, but it was highly unusual for Ruth to offer me a pass out of going to school. What was worse was that she only offered because she thought something was seriously wrong with me. I didn't want her to have to worry.