The Memory Jar [Zayn Malik]

Chapter 10: Confusing

Look guys, an update! :D So, the first thing I should say is that I wrote the first half of this at two in the morning on Sunday night because I couldn't sleep... And I'm basically apologizing in advance if it completely sucks, but i did edit a couple times just now. 

AND, I figured that I really should update on time, especially since I was mean in the last chapter and left you hanging with that line. :3

ALSO, for those unaware of what 50's style dresses looked like (what the woman was wearing), it's essentially like the picture on the right! ----->

So, I'll let you get on to the story now, which you may have skipped to already... Hmmm, if you DO read my author's notes, thank you! If not, that's okay too. :)

Rambling... sorry. Read on! :)

Dana

            “Even though we don’t have a lot of what normal people have Dana, I want you to remember that we do have each other.”  

            All I could make out were the dry, calloused hands in front of me, holding out the metal bracelet like an offering. The bracelet was bright and glittering in the sunlight, despite the various scratches marking the delicate surface. 

            In contrast, the rugged hands seemed so out of place to be holding such a fragile looking object. The hands touched the piece of jewelry gently, as if it were a living creature that could accidentally be crushed with the slightest touch.

            The voice of the person matched the hands though. The voice was the same one of that man, the one I’d been constantly seeing with the boy. His voice was still gravelly and deep, though still managed to hold a gentle, loving tone to it that made me feel like I could believe him. Like even though we didn’t have much, we had each other, and that made it all right.

            My own hand stretched out horizontally then, allowing the man’s hands to wrap the bracelet around my thin wrist, and clasp it snuggly. 

           The metal felt cold against my bare flesh, but I already felt myself warming up to it, just as the metal began gaining heat from my body.

            “That’s all I could ever want,” I heard myself faintly murmur in response. 

          As I finish jotting down the memory on a slip of paper, I sigh and look at the very same bracelet, still encircling my wrist. It’s got quite a few more scratches and dents, but it still holds some sort of beauty, especially in the engraved letters that spell out the word, ‘family.’

          Smiling slightly at the bracelet, I force myself to rise from my bed and slip the piece of paper inside my Memory Jar, where it drops down to join the rest.

             Suddenly, I wonder if I should tell Zayn about this or not. He doesn’t always react well when I recall memories to him. Sometimes he gets a faraway look, like he’s off in a whole different world, and other times he’ll build up that wall and take on a stony expression like he doesn’t care.

           After a bit more mental debate, I decide that I won’t. Not for this one. I don’t want to see him wall me off again, especially since it’s this memory, which somehow seems more important than the others. Or at least more special to the me that remembers, according to my gut and its feelings.

         Zayn and the boys have been at an open concert all morning and just got back. Glancing outside, I see that the sky is clouded and dreary. Not a very nice day for an outdoor concert, though I’m sure hundreds of fans showed nonetheless.