Chapter Twenty

Following the kiss that had plagued his mind for days, Zayn found himself on a constant cloud nine. Everything seemed ten times better for him, and his imagination seemed to set it’s self off on thoughts of Harry ever so easily. When he walked down the street, rubbish on the street wasn’t just rubbish anymore, it was left by Harry as a secret trail, wanting Zayn to follow it, where it would lead them to the art closet, and more little kisses.

Everything seemed to link itself to Harry, Zayn couldn’t help it, and his mind was just totally and utterly infatuated by the curly haired boy. He would sit and wait in the art closet until the boy of his dreams would walk in with a wide smile. Even on the days that Harry wouldn’t show up, obviously due to other engagements, Zayn would take it as a chance to catch up on his drawings. If he wasn’t drawings sunny beaches out of the travel magazine that he still carried around with him, then he would be drawing Harry.

Even as the boy sat in his small bedroom at his Father’s house, drawing in his book at the small wooden desk near his small single bed, his quiet hums echoed around the bedroom walls softly. Even though his Father’s house was small, and quiet, in one of the roughest parts of town, the boy’s lovesick humming seemed to lighten up the house. The sun shined in through the windows, as if encouraging Zayn to keep humming his tune, and Zayn loved watching the rays of the sun float through the window and light up all of the small particles of dust that were floating around his bedroom. The sun would hit each one and light it up like a string of tiny, floating fairy lights. It was just dust, but to Zayn’s eyes it was so much more, like most unnoticed objects were by the normal person’s eye.

Small lines of lyrics started to fall from Zayn’s lips. The words were most probably wrong, and jumbled, and his voice was so quiet and crackled that most of the words may not have been heard, but he could hear them, and he could sing them. He could sing them for Harry. As he drew Harry’s small face, his singing seemed to get louder. His angel like voice carried through the house. His pencil fluttered around the page, like it never wanted to do anything else. The boy sat singing softly, pencilling in his sketches, making sure that all highlights and shadows were in proportion. The drawing had to be perfect to reflect on the boy himself.

“What in God’s name are you making so much racket for?” the harsh voice came as quickly as the large hand that grabbed a fistful of Zayn’s raven locks, tugging them harshly, causing the brown eyed boy to squeak in fright. His hands fumbled to quickly close the drawing book. Of course, it was too late. The boy who had barely made a noise above a loud whisper was pulled backwards off the wooden chair and onto the floor by the back of hair. 

“What is this?” His Father’s rough voice came again, before he leaned over his son, who was lying on the floor in shock and pain, like he wasn’t even there. His Father’s beady eyes looked over the book, and he soon started opening pages, his eyes scanning over what the drawings contained. Zayn let out a squeak as he reached for the desk to try and pull himself up. He didn’t want his Father to see his drawings. As Zayn’s hand reached up to the edge of the desk, his Father’s hand quickly gripped onto it, his larger hand pinning his son’s hand to the table, hard enough to make another squeak of pain leave the boy’s trembling mouth.

“Are you drawing fucking boys?!” His Father yelled, carelessly throwing each page across to see more of his son’s drawings. Zayn said nothing, his eyes watered as he waited for the punches to come.

“What in God’s name is wrong with you?! Who is this little prick?” His father demanded, before his free hand ripped out a drawing of Harry. The page ripped half way down, going right down the side of Harry’s perfect face and ripping half of his jaw and his dimple from the drawing, before he held it up to Zayn’s face as a demand for an explanation.

“He’s my friend.” Zayn whispered, as his Father’s grip around his wrist tightened. The sun seemed to go behind a cloud, depriving the room of sunshine and warmth.

“Oh, you speak? You speak up for once now this boy is brought into it, huh?” His Father demanded, before he scrunched up the picture in his hand and threw it into Zayn’s face. His Father then started to get rougher with his son. Endless questions about who the boy was and what right he had to be drawn by his son. Zayn couldn’t answer anymore. When he talked everything seemed to get worse, it always did.

A large hand hit Zayn around the side of his face, causing the boy to scrunch up his eyes, his glasses flying across the room until they hit the leg of his single wooden bed and fell onto the floor. The boy’s blurred vision stopped him from seeing if his glasses were okay. His big brown eyes slowly opened, but closed once again when another hard hit was delivered to the back of his head, causing a thudding sound. It felt like his brain had been scattered inside of his skull. Zayn was like a tanned ragdoll, his wrist still pinned by one of his Father’s hands, while the other delivered the hits to his own son.

“Who is he?!” His Father bellowed angrily again, before the hand turned into a fist and collided into the side of Zayn’s face. His brain shook again, a whimper falling from his lips.

“Harry’s my best friend.” Zayn’s quiet voice answered, before his Father’s foot flew to his torso and the wind was taken from Zayn’s skinny little body.

“How does a shithead like you get best friends?” His Father scoffed, releasing Zayn’s wrist and sending the boy backwards onto the floor. He slowly opened his brown eyes, and looked up at his Father, who was stood over him. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the veins going down his Father’s forearms were bulging through the tight, tanned skin. Zayn knew to keep his mouth shut.  

“Back to not fucking speaking.” His Father huffed, kicking his son in the side once more, before he rolled his eyes.

“As if I couldn’t hate you more, a puff for a damn son.” Another hurtful scoff came from his Father. Zayn looked up at him, his mind wondering what he was talking about, but his Father’s foot made contact with the bottom of his jaw, and a crack echoed around the room. His Father stepped back and a few mumbled curses fell from his mouth.

Zayn cried out in pain, his eyes scrunched up as he held onto his jaw, which felt like it was on fire. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, and Zayn whimpered again as he tried to move his jaw a little.

“God damn it, it’s probably just your fucking tooth.” His Father snapped, before he crouched down at took his son’s painful jaw into his hand, roughly. Zayn let out another squeak of pain as his Father’s tattooed fist held his jaw still, pressing on it and causing the pain to increase.

“Stay still, retard.” His Father snapped, and as the painful word hit Zayn’s ears he forced himself to stay still, even though the pain in his jaw was so bad it made him want to kick about and lash out in pain. His Father’s hateful eyes examined Zayn’s jaw and bottom row of teeth, and quickly realised that he had knocked one of the boy’s teeth out of place.

“Told ya, it’s your fucking tooth. Go and wash your mouth out, stop being a fucking pussy.” His Father spat, letting go of his son’s jaw quickly, which caused more pain to the seventeen year old. Zayn repressed the small whimper in his throat and slowly opened his eyes again. His Father was looking at him expectantly.

“Go wash your damn mouth out, stupid! And have a fucking shave while you’re at it, too! You’ve got patches of fucking stubble everywhere, you ugly shit.” His Father spat again, before walking from the room with a slight huff, snapping at his son that he was going out and wouldn’t return for a few hours. As the sounds of his Father leaving the house echoed around each wall, Zayn leaned over to where his glasses were and quickly pushed them back over the bridge of his nose, his vision becoming clear once more.

For the first time ever, Zayn disobeyed his Father. He scrambled over to where the drawing of Harry was now half scrunched up on the floor, and he quickly opened it and tried to flatten it out, with watery eyes. His Father had punched him a few times, winded him and kicked him so hard in the face that it had made one of his teeth become wobbly and out of place a little, but that didn’t hurt as much as the ruined drawing of Harry.

Zayn sniffed a little, as his hands slowly flattened out every little crick and crease in the paper. He would sit there for hours straightening out the photo until it was perfect.  The small house had been deadly quiet as Zayn straightened out the drawing, his Father long gone.

A knock on the door was the only sound that changed the silence. Zayn whimpered a little from the sound, as thoughts of his Father coming back to hit him more echoed around his head, but he knew he had to open the door for him. Prolonging it more would mean that the hits would come harder. Zayn quickly placed the scrunched up drawing of Harry inside of his notebook before he hid it under his pillow, hoping it would be safe from his Father there. The feeling of betrayal was lying thick in his stomach, even though he was unsure as why.

His feet carried him to the front door, and when there was another knock, showing the impatience of his Father at the door, Zayn almost sprinted to the door. His shaking hands flew it open, but his expected sight of his angry Father dissolved. A girl stood at his door, a small smile on her face. Zayn looked over the girl that he had never seen before, quickly picking up on every detail of her face. There were faint bags under her eyes, but her eyes were a hazel colour, light brown with flecks of gold going through them, her long lashes framing them. Her hair was scraped back into a high bun, some small curls escaping being tied up and hung around her face. She was dressed in a small, white tank top, some denim shorts and had a pair of scuffed up trainers on her feet. She took one look over him, and bit on her lip.

“Damn, I was right.” She sighed, before she stepped into the house. Zayn let out a slight squeak of confusion, but said nothing. She shut the door behind them both, before she took his hand and led him through the small house up the stairs. Zayn’s big brown eyes were wide and weary as the small girl led him through the house, her hands were soft in his, but they were smaller, unlike Harry’s were. The girl seemed to know her way around the house, even though Zayn had never met her or seen her here before in his life. She led him into his bedroom, before placing him down on the bed.

“Wait here a sec, hun.” She smiled, before going off again. Zayn could only sit on the bed in confusion. His body was scrunched up as he sat on the edge of the bed, his knees by his chest, his arms wrapped around them like a small child. There was a light humming as the sounds of the girl echoed around his house, before she entered his bedroom once more with a slight smile. In one of her hands was a bag of frozen peas, and in the other was a glass of water. She took a look over him and smiled softly, before placing the objects by his feet, and going off again. His brown eyes eyed the objects cautiously, before she came in again, this time holding a bowl of water, a white flannel floating on top of it.

“This is going to hurt, sweetheart, but, swish that around in your mouth and spit.” She told him gently, and her soft voice seemed to bring him from his shell a little. She passed him the glass of water, and when he took it, she sat on the edge of the bed next to him, holding the bowl of water. Zayn frowned a little, before he did as he was told.

He took as much of the water as he could into his mouth and swished it in his mouth, but it caused a heavy stinging sensation on one or two of his bottom teeth on the right side of his mouth. His throat made a slight whimpering noise as his eyes scrunched together, before he spat the water back into the glass. When he opened, he saw how the water was now tainted red with his blood, and a small tooth was floating on the top of the water too. His eyes widened, but the girl next to him took the glass from him with a small smile.

“Stings, doesn’t it? And you lost a tooth!” She spoke up, before placing the glass onto the desk. Zayn watched her every movement with his brown eyes. Soon, her hands were wringing out the wet flannel, before she gently washed Zayn’s face, letting out an occasional giggle when his nose would scrunch up. She wiped off his mouth, being extra careful, before she placed the flannel back into the bowl and put it by her feet.

“You’re the boy that doesn’t talk, aren’t you? Zayn, right?” She asked, before she raised the bag of peas to his jaw, where he had lost his tooth. He flinched at the coldness of the peas, which caused her to whisper an apology, but he tried to nod anyway. She smiled a little.

“I thought so. I see you walking around here sometimes, with your book in your hands.” She smiled, and Zayn smiled a little too, before his hand reached under his pillow and brought out his drawing book, holding it to his chest like a comforter as the cold peas did their work on his chin, cooling him down.

“Ah, there it is! I live next door. My bedroom is just next to yours, actually, s’why I came over, cause I heard your Daddy shouting at you.” Her voice was soft on the sensitive subject, and her smile reflected sadness. Zayn continued to look at her silently.

“But yeah, I figured you might need my help. I hated the thought of you sat here on your own or something…it’s a little maternal habit I have.” She spoke again, before forcing a small giggle from her mouth, as she kept the peas pressed gently to his jaw. Zayn smiled a little.

“Thank you.” He spoke quietly, which made her smile grow wider.

“You can talk! I never thought you could…there was a rumour that you couldn’t…or didn’t, more like.” She smiled, her voice much more happier. Zayn smiled and shook his head a little.

“No one likes it when I talk.” He spoke quietly, even though an innocent smile was still on his face. She looked at him sadly for a moment, before her small smile propped back onto her face once again.

“I like it when you talk. Makes me feel special, knowing you talk to me and no one else.” She giggled a little, before she glanced at the clock on his wall and back at him.

“You’re really nice. I like talking to you.” He spoke again, even though the longer sentence caused his jaw to ache a little, and he winced. She smiled a little, but shook her head.

“I’m not, but thanks anyway.” She shrugged a little, but he shook his head.

“You are nice, very nice! You remind me of my Nana. You’re very pretty, and very nice.” He persisted. His mind didn’t understand why the girl wouldn’t take his compliments. She was very nice, and he did like talking to her. She didn’t treat him like he was stupid, she was like a girl version of Harry, and he liked her when she smiled, it made him happy.

“I’m really not, trust me. I’m worthless.” She sighed a little, forcing a smile, before she lifted up Zayn’s hand to hold the cold bag of peas to his face, before she stood up and started to gather up the bowl and the glass of blood. He looked at her in confusion, and she saw that and forced a smile.

“My Daddy told me so.” She spoke, before she walked from the room, leaving Zayn to listen to the sounds of her moving around the house. He listened to her pour the taps, and the sound of water swishing around, and soon enough she walked back into his bedroom.

“I need to go back home. But remember, Zayn, you ever need me just knock on the wall, and I’ll be here. I promise.” She smiled, as she stood at his bedroom door. He smiled widely and nodded his head.

“If you ever need me, you can knock at the wall, too. I’ll come and put peas onto your hurtful spot.” He smiled, and she smiled widely and thanked him.

“It’s nice knowing that I have a friend here. See you round, Zayn.” She smiled, and he waved a little at her.

“Bye,” He went to say her name, then remembered that she hadn’t told him. She must have caught onto this and giggled a little.

“Hayley. Sorry, I tend to forget to introduce myself to people. Bye, love.” She smiled, before she walked out of his room, and he listened as she left the house. He smiled to himself, thankful in knowing that he had another friend here too, who was just as nice as Harry was.