not okay {ziam}

eight

one comment under the photo read, is that a ghost or zayn up there?

i think the strangest part of it all was that there hadn't been a single reply in regards to trisha's black sheep of the family.

i delved in further, going through public record. there weren't many names filed under zayn malik and i wasn't sure if it was fortunate or unfortunate. because it all became deafeningly clear, like someone had blew away the mist of the storm rushing towards me with endless pursuit. i see it all now, the unfeeling boy and his vicious behaviour. despite his calculating charm and desirability -- i knew what he really was.

possession of narcotics

the dark half moons under his eyes. the sheer courage that a pill can give you.

aggravated assault

the brutal bruises all over his knuckles — the violent way he had robbed men across town.

arson

the wildfire in his eyes.

around then i had fallen victim to my exhaustion, dozing off amongst a pile of mess. jolting awake in the middle of the night to a dream of embers and a beautiful fucking mouth.

-

i just didn't understand how when i wanted to see zayn, he was no where to be found.

all those countless times i couldn't seem to escape his presence, now he's disappeared. had he made it that way, to avoid me? had he'd known all along i was step behind him more often than not? or was it as simple as that he just didn't care?

in class, i wait for him. wait for him to show up late, give a half-arse excuse, slump into his chair with wanton eyes following him. how unattached he is to class and our assignments, the constant failing and rolling of his gorgeous eyes. he didn't care if the entire lesson was interrupted because of his behaviour. he didn't care if the teacher despised his attitude and unnerving answers to her questions. he didn't care if the entire world had to pick up crumbs just to be in the shadow of his company. but, again, he seemed to of vanished out of sight and out of mind.

in the cafeteria, i wait for him. waiting for the slouch of his shoulders with ease, amongst hoards of insecure and desperate teenagers. his inability to eat anything other than crisps, cheeks sunken with his careless negligence. the boys and girls who would clamber for him to sit with them at their lunch table and his quick refusal, every single time. the poignant defeat that would wash over the crowd from his brutal rejection. the students either losing interest of his elusiveness or grumbling about his superiority complex -- he'd just leave the cafeteria and disappear somewhere. and i'd just end up thinking about him.

but, he's not here.

around town, i wait for him. the cinema, the alleyways, the shops, anything. i'd die to see him anywhere, even if it just meant i had to witness him doing something horrific again. that i'd stumble down some dark street at night and find him there, getting into trouble with a stranger. frankly, i just needed to know he's okay. i needed closure. i needed clarity.

i find myself even waiting for him in the woods, hoping that if i sat by the water and begged to see his face hard enough, he would eventually appear. after following this ridiculous routine for a couple days, i start to wonder if he's even real, if he was merely just a reoccurring nightmare of mine.

a week passes with nothing but my utter doubt and faint betrayal driving me mad. my concern keeps me up at night, wondering if i'm a bad kisser, wondering about my confused sexuality, wondering when the taunting dreams of him will stop. one wet, dreary morning with the rain bucketing across the streets, i'm standing by my locker. i had lost hope, until strangely, i had felt something familiar seep down to my bones with a thrill. my entire body reacts, hair raised at the back of my neck and my pulse throbbing across my neck.

suddenly, i turn and zayn is entering the hall with that familiar black hoodie hung over his face. the school dies out with their mundane conversations once his freshly battered hands are pulling off his veil, damp raven hair dripping down the crevices of his sharp cheek bones and nose. his feathery lashes cast down onto the phone in his hands, lips adorned with small abrasions. my mind seems to fall down those familiar steps of what it feels like to see his dark beauty again, the auburn in his empty eyes and the agility of his lithe legs. how utterly attractive he is and the perplexing amount of relief i feel to see him.

but, as he comes closer, my heart stops beating.

his face is beaten. terribly. narrow gashes sliced across his cheek, blackened splotches of skin adorning his jaw — he had looked as though he had been crushed to a pulp. yet, his are eyes filled with indifference and the absence of, what you would assume, pain. he doesn't look at me, rather avoids my line of bewildered acknowledgement, striding past me like a phantom. suddenly an impulse takes over me and i'm following him, stalking beside his body.

i demand, trying desperately to calm my voice, "what happened to you?" resisting the beating, sudden urge to place a hand on his shoulder for a response — he denies me of attention.

without the turn of his shoulders and eye contact, "you mind," he mutters, emotionless, and i'm taken aback by it.

i find myself slipping back to that night, the way he had kissed me with his eyes clouded with lust and want. his impatient hands all over my body, the bite of his teeth across my collarbones, the excitement in his playful grin. i wanted to know what happened to zayn, but also, what had happened to us? i knew i became far too attached far too quickly, but i didn't understand it. the shift between that night and now, as if i had blinked and everything about him had altered completely. had he grown disinterested in me?

i'm still beside him, as he rattles away on his dimly lit phone, "—are you... okay?" i find myself asking, needing more. i refused for it to be this way. i refused to let this go. i am not losing one more damn thing over my ambiguity. but my question sounds far too civil for a boy without emotions and the tendency for violence.

"i'm here, aren't i?" his tongue runs over his ruined mouth, flecks of blood clinging to the flesh, as he picks up his pace with his phone beginning to ring.

by the grips of my control, i try to say something to catch his focus, "wait— i... uh, need to..."

but before i know it, he disappears like silk through reckless fingers. again.

-