not okay {ziam}

sixteen

{sixteen}

beating, breathing, and terrified

-

a very disruptive form of dissociation strikes me as lunch finishes. it's as i'm walking down the halls of school and counting the beige tiles scattered across the floor -- i feel my legs prickle uncontrollably. there are tears in my eyes from the needle-like sensation, but somehow i relish in the confusing feeling. it reminds me that i haven't faded away into dust, that i'm still slightly breathing and most importantly - alive.

yet i can't help but to wonder if this is all real, or that possibly i'm just tumbling down an endless rabbit hole of my own fucked up subconsciousness.

i needed to be grounded by something -- or maybe someone. i was drifting away and losing control and my autopilot was running on an empty tank. just take a deep breath, one, two, three... in... out... my mind felt foggier with the air i had inhaled. the fear that burns cigarette holes inside of my stomach caused my hands to curl into tight, white fists at my sides. to the extent of my fingernails slicing fissures into my palms, desperately trying to snap myself out of it with the slight pierce of pain. i feel my vision blur and i suddenly wonder if i'm even walking at all, as the people that pass by are in slow-motion.

the scariest part of losing your mind is questioning whether it's all a terrible dream or if you have truly become certifiable.

my conscience tries to save me from drowning in my hysteria with the contact of my surroundings. what do i smell? come on, liam, something!  i just needed a whiff of fresh air, perfume, anything but the stale, hollow scent that engulfs me. every breath felt like it was my last and though it sounded peaceful, i didn't want to have any sort of suicidal episode in public.

water -- i need cold water.

in the restroom, i submerge my hands under the icy tap in an utter haze of total detachment. i felt like my limbs were floating away from me and that i had become blind with the constant hammer of my defiant pulse. suddenly as i blink and gaze at my pale fingers, the entire sink is full of blood. the gashes in my palms leak with these peculiar red ribbons as if it were smoke. i'm captivated with its beauty and the sweat that dribbles down my neck, running down the crook of my ear. the unique, dark color resembles a nebula from outer space -- a bizarre force of nature, a cloud of gas and matter that creates a galaxy of such brilliance. why did blood look so awfully alike?

suddenly the door opens and my eyes flicker towards the mirror. all i can see under the fluorescent lights are zayn's hazel eyes and the indifference in his expression, hidden behind his ridiculously gorgeous face. his cold and graceful stance and his unwavering stare, it still ignites a flame inside of my stomach. a tempting lick of desire across my skin, the way his lips quirk with something rotten he'd like to say. i can already see the way he tries to correct his brutality into something more socially amiable. however, he is incapable of it and we both know it. so no matter how handsome and alluring he truly is, he will always lack restraint and natural warmth.

and i can't handle it -- not in this particular moment of time. so i choose to refuse him, because his rejection might just kill me this time.

"why are you crying?" he asks and it shouldn't anger me at how emotionally insensitive he is. because i've always known this, it doesn't come as a shock because he is synonymous of trouble. the first day i ever laid my eyes on his depravity, he hadn't left a great first impression. robbing a man whilst simultaneously giving head in the middle of a forest didn't quite leave a fantastic taste in my mouth. or, rather, when he robbed an innocent man of his prized possessions, i knew right then and there i wanted nothing to do with him.