Fill Me Up

Part 3 2/2

~*~ NIALL'S POV ~*~

I hadn't seen Zayn since he had left my house in his car exactly three days ago. I didn't know where he was or what his father was doing to him but I knew it couldn't be anything good. He had looked so incredibly small and broken after the encounter with his father. I couldn't let that happen again. I won't. Yet, here I am in the cafeteria of Wilson Senior Highschool, munching away at some crisps and pretending to listen to Louis' ramble about some girl while Harry watched him with his sad puppy dog eyes as Zayn was being tortured by an adult who was not even a fourth of the man Zayn was. I was incapable of doing anything. I was weak. Pointless. A complete waste of space.

The craving was back. I've tried to resist cutting ever since I saw Zayn frail, lying on my bed, torn apart by those who are ment to build him up. It wasn't fair for me to cut when I didn't have to deal with the things Zayn had to. He was living a life that was full of more pain than mine was. I had no right to. But all logic and reasoning left my mind as I remembered Zayn lost and sobbing on the floor of his living room. I had caused that. I triggered him not once, but twice. I was a monster. I caused Zayn grieve. I harmed him- "I gotta go piss mates, be right back." I sprung out my seat, clutching my backpack tightly to keep me stable until I reached the restrooms.

I pushed my way in quickly, I was starting to lose all selfcontrol. But I was not alone in the bathroom. A freshman stood about to wash his hands. "Out." I barked at him.

The kid refused to look at me "Who are you to tell me-" I latched on to his collar, spining him around. One look at me and he was out in a flash. What have I become? My knees began to tremble as I saw my expression in the mirror. The scowl on that face didn't belong to me, the fire in those eyes wasn't mine. But still, they did. My legs gave out and I tumbled onto the floor in a heap. I dragged myself to the door and locked it. I didn't want a repeate of last time. Oh Zayn, why didn't you stay with me a bit longer. Pain spiked through my system as I thought of the lovely boy. I couldn't stand mental pain, but physical was a different story.

My blade. That was the only thing that could restore me to who I was, who I still am hidden behind this horrid exterior. The only thing that can rid me of the anxiety I feel everytime I think of Zayn. The only thing that helps. I tore open the bag, digging a bit before a sharp pain caused goosebumps to ripple throughout my whole body. I pulled it out, angled it on my wrist.

You're despicable. A joke. You hurt Zayn. You made him return to his father. He rather be with his father than with you. The thoughts whirled around in my head, each one earning its own mark against my translucent skin. You're not good enough for him, he doesn't want you. You couldn't help him anyways. You'd just make him worse. I didn't want to stop. Once I filled my forearm I moved on to my legs, drawing a heart on my inner left thigh for Zayn. For all the pain I caused him.

Because he made me realise I was gay the day he left. Another abnormality. Great.

The blood kept getting in the way of the drawing but it was better than I had expected. I drew more with the tip of the blade, my skin getting tattooed with seemingly meanless designs. But each meant something no one else would understand.

I was broken out of my blood party by a knock at the door, "Ni?" it sounded like- no thats impossible but maybe... was Zayn here?

I looked down and saw the small puddle of blood on the floor. Zayn would pass out if he saw that. Even I was a bit lightheaded. Yet I sat there a bit, admiring the shimmering red liquid and letting the world dissolve into nothing but the crimson at my feet.

Another knock sounded. "Niall?" I got up quickly and wiped the blood off the floor with a wet towel, proceeding to clean myself up as well. After I was bandaged, I pressed my arm tightly to my side to hide the evidence of what I had done. Why did I have to wear short sleeves today?