Sin (BoyxBoy) (Ziam)

Weary

So sorry for the lack of updates, but I am getting back into writing now. There were so many other issues I was dealing with, so I have done my best to write in between. I am back now, and I should also be updating other stories soon as well!

WARNING: This chapter does contain triggering language and brief mentions of suicidal thoughts. Please read carefully and always talk to someone if you are feeling helpless. My messages are always open, love. <3

Love you all and enjoy!

Chapter 48:

Past

   "Zayn, what's wrong, love?" My aunt asked. She walked into the room-- the spare room that she converted into my room- to see me sitting on the edge of the bed. I was fully dressed for school, shoes and school bag on, ready to go. But I couldn't bring myself to stand up. It felt like gravity was weighing down on me worse than before, like the way the ocean pulls you down into the deep.

     "I don't want anyone to know," I voiced, though the voice didn't sound like my own. It sounded like someone else speaking in that low, fearful whisper. I didn't have a voice to call my own.

    "Zayn, there's no way anyone could possibly know. Even if they did know, you have nothing to be ashamed of," My aunt said, walking over to me and sitting down beside me. She pressed a kiss to the side of my head. "Nobody knows, Zayn, except those that you choose to tell. It's your choice, love. It does not define you, and it isn't anyone else's business unless you want them to know."

     I nodded, but most of her words were going in one ear and out of the other.

    "You'll have Louis with you. You'll always have Louis," My aunt tried to reassure, but it only caused a sinking feeling in my heart and a churning in my stomach.

    Louis didn't know. He knew that my dad went to prison, but when he asked me what happened, I told him a bold-faced lie.

   Drugs. That was the lie I went with. I told him that he was involved in a massive drug operation with some pretty terrible people, and Louis didn't even question me once. He seemed to take everything I told him as the complete truth, and I felt terrible for ever lying to him, but he could never know. Nobody else could ever know.

   "Yeah," I said, forcing a smile onto my face. 

     The doctor that we worked with recommended counseling or therapy of some sort after everything I went through, but I figured I was pretty good at acting like I could get through all of this on my own. My aunt tried to push me to go, suggesting that it would help, but I wasn't ready to talk about it. I was more than ready, however, to slowly block it out and learn to forget. It could be swept under the rug and never have the chance to see the light of day again. I could walk around and pretend that nothing ever happened-- that I was never abused by someone who should have loved and protected me. I could pretend that I was just like everybody else.

   But I knew the truth. I was a useless, filthy sin, and nothing could ever change the fact that I knew all of that.

     My aunt wouldn't even know the full extent of what I did; what I went through. She would never know how many times I tried to end my own life, each time feeling shameless, stupid, and so weak that I couldn't follow through with it, wishing more than anything that I could just close my eyes and drift away. She would never know how deep the cuts went that hid beneath the waistband of my jeans. She would only ever see the faded white lines on my arms and even those were hidden so well. She would never know how grotesque and horrific the things my dad made me do truly were; the things I did.