Picture perfect ~Zaynmalik (completed)

Chapter 20

Fan FictIon - Picture Perfect Chapter Twenty

PREVIOUSLY:

"I'm fine, just go," I managed to say my eyes spilling.

I heard the footsteps on the opposite side fade away.

-

I had given up. They had given up. Everyone I knew had given up on me. Except him.

"Much better," he whispered licking his dark lips.

He pulled me back where the torture last left off. He smile at me jerkily and kicked his boots off. He was staring into my eyes the entire time, failing to move his gaze from mine. I tried to hold a strong look back, but it was indefinite and insecure much like the emotions clouding my head. He perched beside me unwrapping the cotton piece from around my neck where he left it and threw it across the room. His shirt flew in the same direction. I couldn't bare the oppressive pain albeit he hadn't begun yet. I felt no life in me, I couldn't defend, I couldn't fight, I was numb to every extremity. He pressed his chest against mine nonchalantly. I closed my eyes, still weeping. I just hoped he would be curt. And finish it off. Finish me off.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I thought I was done with. He rolled over and jumped up. But the thudding continued. I was mistaken. The thudding was not of his heart but from outside. A violent banging on my door. The last hit knocked the door knob from its screws swinging the door forward in my direction. Standing there was a figure with a crowbar nestled in both palms. The figure ran to me aghast in disbelief. Zayn's face neared mine as he stared into my soul. He swiftly turned around and charged for the man. Zayn's fists were being thrown at the man's face. A groan and yell after each cruel hit. Each one more severe than the next until I could hear the bones breaking.

"ZAYN STOP!" I shouted.

He released from above him revealing a bruised, battered and bleeding face.

Zayn kicked him once more before returning to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I was traumatized and scarred for all the years to come but regardless, I responded with a simple nod. He continued the piercing stare at me with an unreadable mannerism. The world felt as if it paused, everything frozen in its moment as his dark eyes set on mine. Everything was fine. Picture Perfect.

He ran. He got away. Zayn chased after him, sprinting. Everything managed to slip out of my hands that easily. Just like everything good here.

The black sedan, the same as it ever was faded into the corners of the busy London streets. Zayn kicked the gravel and began cussing horrendously. From the balcony I watched as he made his way back, his head down in failure. I only could imagine what he was going to say, or what I wanted him to say.

'I let you down'

Oh but the times I let you down.

'I'm sorry'

Why be sorry? I'm not sorry. I never have been.

'This is my fault'

Like every other choice I've failed to make right.

'I promise you everything will change'

Promises are only feeble words from the dry tongue.

I took a seat and exhaled loudly. My head was in my hands as I murmured to myself, "don't cry, don't cry. Crying is for the weak."

I laughed at myself. 'Weak'? I am the pure definition of weak. Every little thing that's happened here has got to me. Everyone and everything. Weak. Weak. Weak.

"Glad you can see the funny side to it?" I heard, the voice coming nearer as the person who held it neared. I looked up to see Zayn's silhouette slouching lethargically.

"I don't think there is a funny side," I mentioned.

"Then what's so funny?"

"It's nothing."

"Right..."

It'd been two weeks since I last saw Zayn but something majorly had changed. He knew what a lot of people never could learn about me. He stopped asking, stopped pushing me for answers. But he still cared.

"I hate it here," I finally confessed.

He scoffed to himself. "What is it you hate?"

"Everything."

"Is that so?" he questioned, "well then that'd mean you'd hate this..."

Zayn reached for behind his back to bring out a thick black book. My art diary. I let my palm hit the top of my head, I left it at this apartment that night. He swiftly opened it to the page he desired.

"This is mine isn't it?" he said pointing to the sketch of his Guns N Roses tee.

I nodded.

"And this was you?"

I remember this fondly. My charcoal sketch. A distressed young girl in the corner of a dark room surrounded in a puddle of pitch black tears.

"It is."

"Is?"

"Nothing good has happened since my arrival. That's why I'm going."

"Going? Where?"

"Home. End of. I'm going to the police station."

I grabbed my belongings and a coat and was making my way out of the doorway to hear the footsteps of Zayn behind me. I ignored him, pretending he wasn't there and made my way down the lengthy stairs towards the exit.

It had been already a 15 minute walk and Zayn still puffed behind me. I played on. If I pretend things aren't there, they go away. Classic teenage lesson of life.

As I power walked in the cold and my nose grew bright red at the tip I heard the shuffling of pence coins and car keys behind. Just seconds later the ignition of light and a puft of grey smoke followed creating a thick cloud surrounding me. At that I turned my head and witnessed Zayn take joyful care-free drags from the slender white sin-stick.

I tried reverting my focus to the route to the police station. As I passed the subway things became to get less and less common to my knowingness. As I passed more unknown places I began to doubt my knowledge of the whereabouts of this police station.

"Do you happen to know where your frankly going?" Zayn cynically commented putting out the butt of his 'fag' with the heel of his shoe.

"Of course, it's just that way," I guessingly responded pointing up the road.

"Yep, that way... a mile back."

I gave up on myself and turned around, Zayn grinning jubilantly. He ushered me the opposite way and walked me down the bend of the street. He took hold of my wrist as he pulled me along.

He'd turn every few minutes and smile at me pulling me in closer each time. But Zayn hadn't stopped there. The next moment his fingers were intertwined around mine as he smoothly rubbed the knuckle of my thumb with his thumb. Hand in hand in the city of London.