It Started With A Drunk Kiss (Zayn Malik Fan Fiction) [EDITING] COMPLETED

Chapter 34 - When Wounds Turn Into Scars You Cover Them Up

When I got home I immediately popped an anti-depressant pill in my mouth and swallowed it dry. I went straight to my room, turned off the light and snuggled into bed. As I got comfortable, the lights switched back on and I saw my dad standing by the door.

“Honey, medication won’t make it go away. You can’t isolate yourself from people and distract yourself. Look at the time, it’s only 6:30pm and you’ve convinced yourself you’re ready for sleep.”

“Dad, I don’t want to talk. I’m actually feeling tired anyway.” I wrapped my blanket around me and rolled over, my back facing towards my dad.

“Well, perhaps it’s because you haven’t been energising yourself by eating. Listen to me, hop out of bed and I’ll make some dinner.”

He walked out of my room, leaving the light on and the door open and I knew that there was no getting out of it. I didn’t want to socialise, I wanted to sleep. The fact that I had depression probably made me even more depressed and I just wanted to fade into darkness.

Dad and I talked at the dinner table about helping me. Well, it was actually just my dad talking. I merely nodded and shook my head, forcing myself to swallow the pasta salad to make him happy. He asked if I wanted a therapist, but I didn’t want to discuss my personal problems with a complete stranger. He asked me about joining a support group, and that was an even worse idea.

When I went to sleep that night, it felt as if it was a long time since I got a peaceful sleep. On Thursday morning I could definitely notice an improvement already, but I still wasn’t happy. I went into the kitchen that had all the cereals and other breakfast options displayed – which was my dad’s way of forcing me to eat. I had 2 pieces of toast not because my dad would get mad at me, but to benefit myself.

As usual I didn’t want to go to school. It was mostly with people I hate, but dad talked to me about how I should hang out with Tin or join a maths club or something that would get me socialising at lunch times.

I came to school and opened my locker, as I suspected there were once again roses. This time it was 9 pink roses though. For the first time I thought to myself how much effort and money Zayn was putting into these roses, but then the thought faded when I read the card that made me feel hung over him.

Pink roses mean admiration.

You’re stronger than anyone else I know, except you break yourself easily.

I know I am the one on crutches, but a little bird told me that you need to get better quicker than me.

I care about you. Admire the roses.

Love, Zayn.

I put the card in the most front pocket of my back. I moved the bouquet of roses over so I could squeeze in my bag. In my last minute decision though, I took them out, smelled their sweet scent then dropped them in the bin. I felt like keeping the roses would mean giving in to Zayn, which means giving up on me. I assumed my dad has come in contact with Zayn and they probably both planned on pulling me out of my little hole of misery.

Zayn said I was strong, so that meant I’m strong enough to push my feelings aside and throw the roses away. But perhaps this is a case of me getting in the way of…myself.

 I started feeling a routine coming up throughout the days. I would wake up, take some anti-depressant medication, go to school where I would find a bouquet of roses, go home, get some exercise, have dinner with my dad and I’d squeeze in studying in between.

On Saturday morning I was woken up at 9:30am by the door bell ringing. I opened the door wondering who it could be to find that it was the postman with 7 roses. They were yellow with red tips. He handed me the roses with a friendly smile and the card going along with it as well.