Broken // Zayn

Chapter Thirty Seven

37:

This entire thirty hour trip to Texas, I've been thinking about One Direction. I really just want to pretend like I never met them and act like they're just another boy band, but I do know them and they're not just another boy band. I don't want to think about it anymore. I keep replaying the scenes in my head where I yelled at them and Zayn leaned down in my face and said, "If you're not going to change your attitude towards everyone here, I suggest you leave right now."

My head wasn't bleeding anymore but it left a nasty scab on my head. I was planning on wearing my hair in a bun, but I decided on a side part. It hurt like heck still and I'm nearly positive that I have a concussion.

I headed out of the airport with only about one thousand five hundred dollars left. I'm scared to spend any but I'll need to do something. I sighed and continued walking rather than calling a cab.

Walking around in the darkness brings me back to the end of July when it all started. At least it wasn't raining this time. I dragged my suitcase through the streets, the only thing on my mind was the five idiots that I used to call my friends. And sleep. Definitely sleep.

Every time I try to get them out of my head, I see them again. Either on a shirt, a poster, or on social networking; they're always there. I just want to apologize and hug them all but at the same time, I want to hate them and punch them in the nose. My mixed emotions about them caused me to turn off my phone. I know at this point, they're in New Zealand and probably have to do a concert soon. They're going to have to stop all the texts and calls eventually.

I stopped and sat down on a bench waiting for a bus maybe. I know exactly where I want to go.

***

I approached the house, still remembering the address, and thanked The Lord that I was finally there. I looked up at my old, gross, two-story house. I hardly even got to go up to the second floor since I was kicked out of my room, unless it was to clean it. The lawn didn't have beer bottles scattered everywhere like it usually did; it actually looked clean and mowed.

I took my first step on the rickety stairs and took a deep breath with my heart rapidly beating in my chest. My bags were left on the sidewalk and I was now standing on the porch. I know they're home. The truck is parked in the driveway.

I hovered my finger over the doorbell and hesitated. I put my hand back down to my side. I could've just walked in with the key under the mat, but that'd be even worse to surprise them like that. All I want is answers and the rest of my things.

I raised my hand to knock this time but the door opened quickly and out of nowhere. Mom stood there with a garbage bag and a shocked expression. She looked...better. Her eyes weren't as dull and sunken in as before, they were teary. Her hair had been put into a bun, like mine was, and she had bruises up and down her arms. She and I looked more alike.

"Hollister?" her voice asked me. It didn't sound harsh or angry, it cracked at the end.

"I sort of go by Holly now." I made this sort of awkward smile. She lunged towards me with her arms wide open, but I dodged it. "Mom...don't hit me. I'm not afraid to call the police anymore." I said confidently, grasping my phone.

Mom stood there with a sad look. She approached me again slowly and wrapped her arms around me. "I'm so sorry." she cried. "I know you hate me, but I have no one left. I finally understand what type of person I am. I'm so sorry for what I did to you. I would've apologized sooner but I didn't know how to contact you."

"No one? What about dad--"

"He was crazy on drugs and he began hitting me. Then he just took a gun and shot himself in the head." Mom cried some more. "Please know that I'm sorry. I really am." she sniffled.