Drawn Out Dreams. [A Zarry Fanfiction.]

Chapter Fifty One

The stop that the boy always got off at came along, and he slowly shuffled up and off from the bus, backpack still being carried by his front. The boy simply wanted to have the comfort of having what he loved in front of him instead of where he couldn’t see it. He stumbled from the bus, unaware of the curious glance that the bus driver had followed him from the bus with. Some of the passengers had also watched him go with the same expression, the silence thick in the bus air as they watched the battered teenager step from the bus and onto the path. Of course, they were all too stubborn and quiet to help.

Zayn Malik gave another sniff, his nose and eyes scrunching in the same discomfort as he started to taste blood at the back of his mouth. His mind told him to swallow a few times, and it seemed to work a little. His brown eyes didn’t look up from his feet and the pavement as they carried him down once again the all too familiar path. He caught the small details within the pavement stones that he always captured. The old and bent Coca Cola can that never seemed to move from it’s cramped spot next to a lamp post. Some chalk scribblings that were faded by the small amount of summer rain that Bradford was experiencing in the early September, left by a few children his mind suggested. Zayn felt sad that the small scribbles were fading, and hoped to himself that whoever left it there would be able to redraw it on again soon. 

An odd dandelion that had been trampled on too many times was almost pressed into the pavement that Zayn was walking on. His brown eyes softened and he slowly felt his feet come to a stop as he looked over the flower. It’s bright yellow petals were such a pretty colour, a colour that Zayn had many copies of within his pencil tin. He felt himself slowly bend over, his hand gently holding onto the base of the stem before he picked it gently from his former home. The half crumpled flower was slipped into his top pocket, before the boy began his walk once again. He passed the regular houses that he always passed before he finally walked up to the house that was such a warmth to him. His feet carried him in long strides to the front door, where he carefully rang the doorbell and stood holding his back pack in front of him, waiting for the slight glance of a figure and the click of the door handle that he always heard when he approached this house.

When Anne Cox had opened the door, she had been shocked by what she had exactly opened the door too. Seeing Zayn Malik stood on her doorstep was a common occurrence, and she had let him into her house many a time when her son was too lazy to open the door. She had to admit, that even that was rare. This particular sight was the rarest she’d experienced. Anne Cox had never opened the door to find a beaten and battered Zayn at her door, with large black bags under his eyes and a dried trail of blood slipping from his nose and down over his chin. She knew how the boy was and tried not to scare him, but she couldn’t contain the gasp that slipped from her mouth.

“Would it be okay if I saw Harry?” A small voice slipped from the split lips. Two big brown eyes looked at her rather pleadingly, and her heart twisted a little.

“He’s not in, sweetheart, he’s playing taxi to his friends again…but you come in and sit with me…what happened?” She spoke, before she tentatively reached for his hand and lead him into her house, closing the front door behind her.

Zayn felt the warm hand slip around his and he immediately smiled a little, the warmth from Harry’s Mother comforting him a little, the smell of their house also helping his mind to ease a little.

“Dad hit me too hard.” Zayn softly mumbled, as he was ushered through to the living room and the soft looking sofas that he and Harry always found themselves sat on.

Zayn slowly lowered himself onto the sofa and into the comfort of the fluffy pillows, his body snuggling down into the feeling of the blanket that the family kept on the back of the sofa. The smells and feelings of his surroundings were slowly bringing his body back to it’s normal serene state, but there was something about the way Anne was looking over him that made him still tense a little, his free arm tucked around his backpack tightly, never letting it an inch away from his chest.