EAT » [ziam]

three

[Come and take a walk on the wild side. Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain. You like your girls insane]

~**~

The sounds of forks clashing against ceramic plates fill the Malik household kitchen. Zayn had just walked through the front door after staying late after school in the art room to catch up on his drawings, but that was just a bullshit excuse to stay away from his house as long as he could. He used to actually love coming home when he was younger. Zayn would run through the front door and give his mother a kiss, bragging about how well he would do on spelling bees, before sitting at the table and enjoying a snack. His father wouldn’t judge him and actually had civil conversations with Zayn and kept his unkind thoughts to himself. Now it’s the complete opposite and he wants nothing more than to just stay away forever, but Zayn’s life wasn’t fair and of course he was going to have to go home.

Trisha’s face lights up when she sees her son enter the house because she was going on a rant earlier about him being late and possibly getting kidnapped or raped and things of those sorts. Basically, she was just being a typical worried mother, but Zayn didn’t want her pity. He hated his mother almost as much as his father, for different reasons though. Trisha wasn’t this vicious human being like Yaser, but the fact that she would just sit back and let her son be harassed made her just as guilty as Yaser.

She struts over to him and hugs Zayn being shocked at how thin and bony he really was. “Where were you, honey? I was worried sick.”

Zayn slowly slips Mrs. Malik off her and answers his question. “M’fine, I just stayed late to finish my art project.” He starts to rub the back of his head. “There’s nothing to get worked up about.”

“Well in that case, have a seat honey. I was just serving dinner,” encourages Trisha enthusiastically while tugging her son over to the kitchen where Safaa and Mr. Malik are seated.

Zayn gulps and just wants to slap his mother’s hand away but he just can’t because he was just too weak. Instead he went along with it and never spoke his mind like usual, but on the inside was literally skinning his mother alive with his thoughts. Why was she offering him food? Was the damn woman blind? It’s like she was egging Zayn on. Could she not see the lumps of fat spewing from his sides? Maybe she secretly just got a kick out of Yaser insulting Zayn and wanted to amp it up.

“M’not hungry mum,” muttered Zayn while slipping the sleeves of his over-sized sweater down until they hovered over his frail hands.

“Zayn Javaad Malik, just eat,” she insists.

Just eat? She acted like it was just that simple. That was like asking a cripple to get up and walk. Trisha wasn’t the one crying there self  to sleep every night, weighing themselves constantly, and watching and counting every single spec of food that would go into their body like their life depended on it. She had not a single clue in the world.

Zayn sighs before walking over to the wooden chipped window to take his place at the table. His mother lowers a plate in front of him and scoops a generous amount of Chicken Alfredo on top of it. A clear amount of heavy steam covers Zayn’s tanned face as he pouts to himself.

“Thought I’d go a little Italian tonight!” jokes his mother before sitting back down.

Zayn looks at his sister Safaa, her loud slurping catching his attention. She was indulging in every single bite of the cheesy pasta. In way, Safaa was like Zayn when he was younger. She was a positive fresh breath of air whose smile could light up a room. Zayn used to be that way until his father sucked the life and happiness out of him like a vacuum cleaner. Just like Zayn used to, Safaa would eat anything she wanted without worrying if she was gaining any weight because kids at her age shouldn’t care about their body image. Safaa was only eight and Zayn (now sixteen) could only hope she wouldn’t get the same treatment Zayn got when he was ten.