Chapter Sixteen

“And remember to tell your Mother that she owes me the money for those stupid pencils.” Zayn’s Father called out of the car, as his son slowly got out from the passenger seat. The minute Zayn got out of the car, the cool air hit his face and cleared his airways of the stagnant smell of cigarette smoke that came from the inside of his Father’s small, humid car. Zayn pushed his small glasses up the bridge of his nose from where they had slowly started to fall a little, before he turned to his Father, who was staring at him with an incredible amount of impatience.

His Father was a short man, yet strong and muscular from a life of going to the gym and boxing. Zayn had inherited his big brown eyes that had made many women, including his mother, fall to their knees in front of him in his younger days, and had also inherited the raven black hair, that was cropped roughly, unlike Zayn’s smooth fringe that went over his forehead, although now his Father’s hair was peppered with grey hairs. There was untreated stubble across his Father’s skin, which made Zayn cringe at the thought of how prickly it would be against his own skin.

Above his Father’s left ear perched a cigarette, which balanced perfectly over it, ready to be lit, and underneath his ear was a large tattoo that covered half of the man’s neck. It was a red rose, wrapped in barbed wire with a date in beautiful italic writing. When Zayn was caught looking at his Father’s tattoo, his Father grumbled a sentence of regret, before Zayn would receive a small hit around the back of his head.

His Father’s knuckles were gripped around the steering wheel, his lack of nicotine causing his grip on the wheel to be tight, his tattooed knuckles slowly going white under his inked skin. His tongue poked out of his lips for a moment before diving back in, a habit his Father had when he needed a cigarette. It was like his tongue peered from his mouth to see if the toxic smoke would be coming soon or not, ever eager to be greeted by it.

Zayn’s eyes picked up every detail of his Father everytime he saw him. Each detail etched into the boy’s mind, never to be forgotten or replaced. Zayn’s mind remembered a lot of details about certain things. They remembered the little flecks of brown in Harry’s green eyes that no other would be able to see without getting close enough, but they remembered the way his Father’s small tufts of chest hair would peak from the unbuttoned work shirts that his Father wore, or the way his nostrils would twitch and flare when his Father hurled loud, hurtful words at him like a game of verbal dodge ball. Of course, Zayn never could dodge the words quick enough. They hit him, each one.

His Father quickly shot a look at him, a hard glare on his aging face.

“Well?” he demanded quickly, and Zayn flinched a little. His innocent mind of the small set of pencils in a new, shiny and smooth metal tin that were tucked away in his backpack. He forced a small smile.

“T-thank you.” He tried to speak, but his voice was quiet from the lack of his use of his vocal chords, and for the cold stare he was receiving from his Father. His Father said nothing. He reached over quickly and grabbed Zayn’s backpack that was on the car floor of the passenger seat and threw it out of the window, aiming it at his son’s torso.

Zayn’s skinny little body took the impact and a small whimper caught up in his throat, before his arms flew down to where his backpack was now on the floor, face down on the pavement. He scrambled to pick it back up and brought it over his shoulders, as his Father gave another quick shout to remind Zayn that his Mother owed him money for buying his own son some pencils, before he leaned across and shut the car door, before setting off at a speed that Zayn knew was bad to drive at. He watched him go, before looking around the quiet gates of the school. He was atleast an hour late, he always was when his Father dropped him off, but he never had the courage to tell his Father that they were going to be late.

With his new pencils and his drawing book, as well as the rest of his things needed for school tucked neatly and safely into his backpack, he adjusted it over his shoulders securely before adjusting his glasses one last time. His foot put one step in front of the other and he walked through the school gates and towards the separate sixth form building which was around the back of the school. It would be atleast the start of second lesson, and Zayn bit on his bottom lip anxiously at the thought of being late for one of his many art lessons. He hurried along the pavement, his brown eyes subconsciously counting the blobs of gum that were so trodden into the slabs of pavement that they were flat, and not even sticky anymore. The different colours of the gum left to wear away on the pavement. Some were pink and red, others were white, but Zayn always liked a particular little blue one on the slab that was two away from the doors of the sixth form building.

As he walked towards the doors, Zayn’s mind wondered to the green-eyed boy that had his constant wave of attention. He wondered which class Harry would be in, whether he would be paying attention or not. He could imagine Harry’s green eyes looking up at the board in front of him, scribbled over in writing from the teacher who seemed to talk for hours. Zayn imagined if Harry’s Dad ever drove him to school. He wondered what Harry’s Dad looked like. Maybe Harry inherited his Father’s green eyes, and brown curly locks. Maybe Harry inked the padlock to his skin after seeing his Father’s own tattoos? He wondered if Harry’s Father ever threw his backpack at him and yelled at him. Zayn couldn’t imagine that, Harry was a far too beautiful person to shout at.

A magazine collided with the back of Zayn’s head, forcing the boy to let out a slight squeak in fright, his eyes closing quickly in fear, before reopening to the sound of his fellow classmates laughter and a sarcastic apology. The boys that were sat in the common room were all on their free periods, and that meant that they would throw things at Zayn. Zayn didn’t understand why the boys in the sixth form that took P.E as an A Level had such a bad aim, always making things hit him instead of their friends who they were throwing it too. Zayn’s brown eyes looked down at the magazine, and the long strip of yellow beach that was on the cover immediately jumped out at him. He bent down slowly and picked it up, the shiny cover of the travel magazine reflecting the lights in the ceiling, as his fingertips touched the smooth paper cover. It was glossy, and made Zayn smile.

He set off again towards his lesson, while he looked down at the magazine. It was obviously for the students taking either Geography or Travel and Tourism, but the exotic looking photos on the front cover set Zayn’s imagination off as his brown eyes took in every detail of the beautiful blue waves, the fluffy looking clouds in the sky and the people running along the beach in bright swimming clothing. Zayn started to imagine all of the drawings that he had drawn like this one, and as his fingers skimmed through the pages, he was greeted by a million other photos of the most amazing places that he had ever seen in his life. An innocent smile spread on his face as he dreamed of going to all of these places, keeping this magazine as a checklist, and seeing the world, away from all the people here, that would cause his mind so much pain and confusion.

“Here he is, the rebel of the hour!” A charming voice suddenly spoke quietly, and Zayn looked up and flinched in fright once again, but two soft green eyes showed him that he had nothing to fear. Zayn immediately smiled as Harry walked towards him down the empty corridor.

“Were you partying hard last night?” Harry spoke again, his green eyes glancing around the corridor before looking back at Zayn. His brown curls were covered by a dark grey beanie, even though a few of them poked out like they were revolting, and as Zayn’s brown eyes looked over how perfect each small curl was as they poked out of the cosy looking beanie. When Zayn remembered that Harry was talking about a party, a frown immediately flooded onto his face in confusion. Harry smirked a little, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“You know, like you partied hard, had a hangover, that’s why you’re late to school…rebel comment?” Harry started, his voice quiet as he waited for Zayn to catch onto the joke, but Zayn didn’t. His face went blank, and he innocently shook his head before smiling at Harry.

“Right, doesn’t matter then…my Mum made cake, so lunch today. Be there or be square.” Harry spoke, before he walked away, checking his watch as he went. Zayn watched him go, holding onto the straps on his backpack with a small smile, hoping that maybe one day he would be as charming as Harry, and have a blue watch like his too. He rolled his blazer sleeves up to the elbow like Harry’s, before rushing to his art lesson.

The boy sat down in his art lesson, making as less noise as possible so that no one would see him slip into the room. The more invisible he was, the less his teacher would ask about his whereabouts. The teacher, or any of the other boys barely glanced up at Zayn, and the boy bit on his lip, holding in a sigh of relief as he quietly brought out his new pencil tin and his drawing book from his backpack, before putting them onto the table. Zayn’s hands then brought out the travel magazine, and his eyes sparkled in delight as he flicked through the pages quickly. He couldn’t wait to draw every one of these, and he wouldn’t stop until the small pencilled sketchings of long beaches or high mountaintops filled the invisible bullet holes that his Father’s words left in his skinny body.