Scars (Ziam)

The Reflection

  "I do worry about you, Liam, but I won't constantly remind you of that. Instead, I'll just be here. We don't even have to talk if you don't want to. We can just sit and... stare at the walls," He tried to joke. Little did he know that was exactly what I spent most of my time doing this week. "Or you can sleep, and I'll be here to wake you if you have a nightmare."

   I stared into Zayn's eyes, so caring with their shining amber colour. Every single part of Zayn was beautiful, inside and out, and it made it so difficult to be around him. There was a lump in my throat as I spoke up, feeling Zayn lean closer to listen to me as if my every word was keeping him alive.

   "My therapist wants me to see a psychiatrist to screen for depression," I whispered out, the words still hitting hard. A diagnosis. I wasn't ready for that. "I'm scared." A whimper.

  Immediately, I felt Zayn move to lay beside me, his arms wrapping around me and his body fitting perfectly beside mine. It was as if they were meant to lay beside each other, but I knew better. The world was full of coincidence. There was no such thing as destiny or fate. I wouldn't be swept up in such romantic notions. I shouldn't be.

  "It's okay. It's okay to be scared, Liam. You're only human, love."

   Love.

  The nickname made my heart skip a beat, and I moved in closer to Zayn. He was so warm and secure. His hand was soft as he lay it against my cheek. His voice was deep and comforting, like a lullaby. His scent was a mix of fresh bread from the café and the paints he was typically surrounded by. No. Stronger. Oil paint.

   "I don't want to know what's wrong with me. It's better to ignore it. Maybe if my mum ignored her symptoms...." I trailed off, knowing it was a pointless and reckless idea. There was no possible way to ignore the symptoms. They snuck up one way or another. "Do you think I can ever get better? Ever feel... happy?"

    I never once broke eye contact with Zayn, and he never looked away either. We were laying side by side, bodies pressed together and faces only a few inches away from one another. We were speaking in whispers, as if we were in a little bubble that would pop if our words became too sharp or loud.

   "I don't know," He answered honestly. "I can't say because I don't feel what you feel, and I haven't been through what you've been through. But I do think that you're strong, and I know that if anyone deserves happiness, it's you. You deserve so much, Liam. So much."

   I shook my head, feeling my cheeks heat up as I moved to hide my face against Zayn's chest. He only wrapped his arm around my shoulders, fingers playing with my hair as I gripped onto him. I didn't even care if his shoes were on my bed or that my blanket was stuck beneath him. Nothing mattered but being so close to him. So close that I could hear his rapid heartbeat in his chest.

   "My therapist gave me an assignment today. I don't know if I can do it. Can... can you help me?" I questioned, needing someone to help me face the monster in the mirror. I wouldn't be able to flick on the light switch. It would be far too difficult on my own.

   "Of course," He answered immediately. "What's the assignment?"

  "I have to look at myself," I stated, feeling numb all over at the thought. "I have to look at my reflection and write about what I see and feel about it. Then, I have to ask my family, you, to write down what you all see to compare perspectives."

  "...Does your family know?" Zayn wondered after a moment, and I shook my head, still hiding my face in his chest. His body was firm and solid compared to the soft and supple touch that he possessed.

  "I haven't told them. I'm afraid to ask them to write something. Sometimes I feel like they only see the scars, just like everyone else. It feels like they have to look at me and constantly be reminded of their past. Like my face is a burden. A curse."