Drawn Out Dreams. [A Zarry Fanfiction.]

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.