"It Just Hurts"|| z.m

[120]

120- Zayn

Zayn didn't know whether it was the alcohol or the fact that Amara was such a good listener, but he ended up telling her a lot. She was a commenter, commenting on what she thought sucked and was shit. Usually, that would annoy Zayn, but the breaks made it easier to retell. He was hesitant at first, but as he spoke, it was like a burden was slowly lifting off his chest.

"Oh fuck," Amara mumbled as Zayn told her about the part where Butch threatened to hurt him.

"Yeah," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "But when we went to this factory where Tom was, I found out they were going to pull the bank heist immediately."

"Wait, " Amara said with a worried frown. Zayn pushed it out off his mind. She barely knew him. "Was it an empty threat or did he actually do something?"

"Why would you think that?" Zayn questioned uneasily. Amara looked down at her hands with a smile. "I know that look on your face."

Zayn tilted his head, his heart twisting. "How?"

Amara looked up with a grin, but it was clearly a sad one. Zayn had seen that mask in the mirror several times these last months. And last year.

"Something happened. Nothing that matches up to yours, dude. Trust me, just keep talking. What happened then?"

Zayn kept talking. And drinking. By the time he was finished, he was talking like an idiot, no barrier or filter stopping him. "And I mean, the bastard had no remorse, I should've expected that, but for him to tell everyone out loud what he did," Zayn said loudly with a snort, eyes stinging.

Amara gasped, leaning forward. "What do you mean? What did he do?"

Zayn huffed, crossing his arms. "He hit me. He's fucking crazy, right?" Zayn suddenly realized he'd just spilled out to her. He waited for her reaction with dread. Amara's lips parted in surprise and she shook her head. "I damn hope he rots in jail."

Zayn nodded quietly, a little surprised. "Yeah."

"You must be happy," Amara said, her lips pulling into a smile. "The bastard's in jail." Zayn wiggled his feet which were crossed on the table. "Nope. Not feeling happy at all."

"Why's that? Bastard's in jail," Amara said, running a hand through her curly hair. "Still don't feel safe, huh?"

Zayn sent her a look. "How'd you guess?"

"Since we're sharing tragic life stories," Amara started, tapping her nails against the table. She smiled drunkenly. "My dad died a year ago. Drunk driver. The two of us were heading to watch a movie. This bastard couldn't hold his fucking liquor and crashed. I survived, my dad didn't." She grabbed the bottle of beer and emptied the last drop. She chuckled darkly, holding her empty bottle up. "To a better year and for both bastards to remain in jail."

Surprised and sympathetic, Zayn lifted his bottle which was half empty and clanked it against hers. "They caught the guy?"

"Yup, but what does it matter?" Amara muttered, her green eyes wide. "He fucked up my life. Can't even sit in a car without feeling my anxiety working up."

Zayn's heart squeezed, knowing exactly how she felt. He was suddenly very thankful that he hadn't lost someone, though he'd been very close to.

"Listen here, Zayn," Amara said, her eyes locking with his seriously. "These jerks don't get to ruin our life. Those bastards of yours are now in jail. I know how you feel, but for us to mope around is what they want. That guy who hit you, he's the kind of guy who'll thrive off you being miserable." Her eyes were piercing and Zayn let out a breath. "What about the drunk driver? Did he ever apologize?"