The Little Things; Ziall & Larry (AU) *Completed*

CHAPTER SEVEN; Neck Dimples & Serenity & Fuzzy Screens & The Sound Of Popcorn

AUTHORS NOTE; THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN WAITING TO POST! AHH! I COULD NOT EVEN BE BOTHERED TO WITHSTAIN THIS ANYLONGER... SO HERE IT IS... TELL ME IF IT WAS WORTH ALL THE BUILD UP!

His hair was greasy, slick and shiny on the top and getting increasingly clumped and oily towards the bottom. He pushed it out of his face, aggravated, his dark eyes shining in the dull orange and yellow, flickering light that was cast from the small desk top lamp. He looked like a snake in the darkness, shuttered eyes almost black in the reflection, thin lips that appeared to be nothing but a pink slash across his face; purple bags underlying his eyes thickly, his hair pooling sluggishly atop his head. The raven locks ticked the base of his neck, where he had two deep dimples when he sat up straight.

Kaden Simbleton couldn’t remember a time when he was happy with himself. Happy with the set of childish dimples at the base of his neck, happy with the strange color of his, so dark brown even in the day it appeared he was wearing Halloween contacts, happy with his ability to handle crazy situations. He was so unsure of everything, his body marked by the scars and burns he’d inflicted upon himself, telling a story that no teller could tell with a string of words and phrases that brought along a picture. This story would have to be seen with ones’ eyes. He was never happy. How could he be happy? His baby sister was in a wheelchair because of him, and the sixteen months he spent in prison for child endangerment would never heal the cold scar on his heart that guilt had left. He could he be happy with himself, when his star athlete sister, the best Fifa goals-men he knew, was imprisoned to a metal contraption and the only thing she could do was go to her physical therapist to get her legs massaged?

Who would find peace and serenity in a life that aligned with the point right in the middle of the average adults back? She was always sweet to him about it, always smiled, for she was happy with herself. Her non-working legs, and her crooked teeth, and her hair the color of burnt straw that framed her face listlessly. Happy with her bright blue eyes and the freckles, happy with her irrational fear of red drinks? Kaden never got that. He never understood how to be happy, how the hell does one think positively when sometimes they poop on themselves, and have to be cleaned with a wet wipe like a child?

He wished he understood. Wished that he wasn’t so infernal to everyone. That boy in his second period, he was so funny and nice with his wide, brown eyes and layer of baby fat on his cheeks, the red kid-ish waves that fell to the tips of his shoulders. The girl in his seventh period, with the long, slender legs always shown off by short skirts. That boy that was always late to study hall, with his shrewish grin and snappy comments. The blond girl in his music-tech class, the one with the platinum blond waves, who, when she said something dumb, everyone laughed with her and not at her. How could life deal such an awful deck of cards to one child, and such a good one to another?

Kaden sighed longingly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and thinking about those customers he served today. He loved the girls’ eyes, loved how warm and wide set they were, but avoided her gaze. He liked the sound of the Pakistani boys’ voice, deep and rumbling and stoic, but didn’t dare truly listen. He craved the light heartedness of the blond, the simple free handedness and carelessness, but he did not bother trying to pick up tips.

Because why try to steer a train that was destined to hit another one? Fate had its ways, as Kaden’s father used to say, to end a story with a flourish.

So if Kaden had no hand in his life, in the deck of cards handed to him, then he’d find a way. Find a way to deal cards, and he’d finally show all of those kids what it was like to be at the bottom of the barrel. The looser. The outcast. The last picker. The loner. The odd man out…. He’d make all of those children suffer; he’d plague them with nightmares and visions, flashbacks and recalls. He’d make the day one they’d never forget!

He’d show those kids, all of them, if only he knew who to start with…… 

~…~

“Harreh!” Louis shouted from the living room, “Oh my god! What high school does Niall go to?” Louis was standing only inches away from the TV screen when Harry walks in, his nose almost brushing the contraption. The boys’ body was shaking, he quakes as he stands under the heater only in his boxers, his shoulders looking profound and hunched… He looks…. Beyond frightened, which makes the spot under Harry’s belly button tingle weirdly out of fear.

“He’s a year twelve; he’s with the new kid today. He’s his au-per or whatever. Why?” Harry moves forward, tracing his fingers along the shorter boys’ spine, knowing it’ll make him shiver with pleasure.

“Oh my god, Haz, what is the name of the school?” Louis is breathless, and Harry can feel his pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Something with the name Harik in it, I think? Something with an H!” The boy responded, pushing his chestnut ringlets behind one ear with an aggravated huff.

“Harickford?” The Tommo demands, his body began to tremble more profoundly, one of his palms flat on the warm, fuzzy screen on the TV.
“Yeah,” Harry says, snapping his fingers as the epiphany hits him, “That’s it!” He smiles at Lou’s back charmingly.

“Oh my god… Harry… There’s been shots fired.” It seemed like time slowed, Louis heart seemed to flutter, Harrys’ skipped a beat. There breathing no longer mingled, but clouded the air around them and threatened to choke them. “Oh god. A student is killing people.” His voice cracks with the finality of it, and everything… Stops.

~.....~

All of the teachers were frantic. Lights were turned off, the hallways dimmed, everything was shut down. Books were stacked, chairs piled high, and teachers pushed things in front of doors and blocked the wood with their bodies. Niall was under a simple wooden table with blue bar stools, it stunk of antiseptic. The only thing he could feel was the hotness of the bodies surrounding him, the tightness in his chest and Zayn’s hand in his own. They were both slick with sweat, perspiration beading their brows and upper lips. No one spoke. There was only a simple library aid and a librarian in the room, as well as around 50 or so students who had been in study hall or make up hour. Niall couldn’t breathe, but Kaden could.

And he felt more alive than ever.

The gunshots sounded like someone was making popcorn.

How many people was he going to kill?