The Memory Jar [Zayn Malik]

Chapter 8: Wondering

I'm sorry this is so short guys. Also, it has zero editing, which I am also really sorry about. It's probably poor quality, but I'm dealing with some things that are just throwing my whole life out of whack.

Anyways, like I said (in my post), I'm updating tonight so yay for that. If you didn't see, please check my message board for a VERY IMPORTANT update about this story that I think you should all be aware of. 

Thank you all SO SO much for reading! It absolutely means the world and your comments make me really happy. :) You're all amazing and beautiful! 

Dana

            Wrapping a towel around myself, I step carefully out of the shower, using my hand to brush away the steam coating the mirror.

            Looking at myself, I sigh and flash my reflection a small smile. My hair, even in the bright light, is still dark as the night and my skin tanned. Really scrutinizing myself in the mirror, I try to find the resemblance between Zayn and I. I suppose if I think about it, we’ve both got the same shape facial features, though not the same face shape itself. His own is more boxy and defined, while mine is more like an oval. 

       The scratches and bruises on my face from the accident are fading now, though I still have a slightly sickly look without any make up to cover them. 

        On the rest of my body I have other scars and marks, long healed. I can’t help but wonder how I got some of them, what memories they hold that I can’t even remember anymore. How many of them were from childhood incidents and how many of them from birth? A large part of me aches inside to know; maybe I could connect better with Zayn and the other boys, maybe with myself.

            A little over two weeks today. 

            Two weeks since the accident that completely altered the life I once knew. Dressing myself quickly, I exit the bathroom and flip on the radio channel on the television.

          Interestingly enough, it’s quickly become my favorite channel. Maybe I’m so fond of music because my brother is an international pop star, or maybe I was always like that. Who knows?

            Just as I lay down on the bed, listening to Adele’s voice, I hear a careful knock on my door before Liam pops his head in.

            “Hey,” I say, mildly surprised, seeing as I expected Zayn doing another of his continuous checkups.

            “Hi,” he smiles faintly. “Uh, I just wanted to tell you that Zayn’s going to take you to your next appointment in about half an hour.”

            My brow furrows slightly. “What appointment?”

            “Well,” he pauses, like he thinks what he’ll say next will offend me in some way. “Therapy appointment. For your memory.”

            My jaw drops. I completely forgot about that. “Thanks,” Is all I tell him, my throat going dry.

            He stops and gives me a look of concern and worry before nodding. “Alright, he said to just meet him downstairs or call if you need anything.”

            After he’s gone, I turn and face the desk where my Memory Jar is sitting, practically taunting me with its four lone scraps of paper resting on the bottom. Cautiously, I make my way over to it, as if it’s a wild animal that’ll attack me if I’m not slow and careful with every movement.