Another update for you all!
Warning: This chapter also deals with depressing thoughts as well as self-image issues. Please know that you are all beautiful and wonderful, and I love you all so much!
I will get around to updating other stories as well, but my favorites right now are Guns & Roses and Scars because I feel like these stories are getting closer and closer to their climax and major events happening, and I am super excited about it!
But I will updates Sin, F.F., Caged, Endeavor and Stockholm Syndrome soon! Hang in there, loves! ❤
Chapter 24:
There was a knock on my bedroom door, and I slowly opened my eyes to see Ruth pushing the door open and glancing inside. I knew she was worried about me still. All I did after therapy was lay in bed without eating or drinking anything. It was probably killing her inside.
"Hey, Liam. I'm about to head to work. Nicola will be here if you need anything, okay? And dad says to use her phone to call him if you need to." I gave a small nod, not having enough energy to even force a smile. "And um..." She paused, chewing on her bottom lip nervously. "Zayn's here. He asked if he could see you. Do you want me to tell him now's not a good time?"
It was an actual option. I knew that Zayn would accept it without being dramatic or making a big deal about it if I just told him I wasn't in the mood to talk. He would understand, and it was one of the reasons I liked him so goddamn much. He was so selfless and forgiving; gentle and kind; patient and willing.
"No, it's fine," I said, looking at the dandelion painting again and remembering what my therapist told me to do. I had to let people in at my own pace. Zayn... he was easier to let in.
"Okay. I'll send him in. I'm heading out now. I love you."
"Love you, too, Ruth."
She left my room, closing the door behind her, and I laid there, mentally preparing myself. There was another soft knock at my door, and I swallowed before answering.
"Come in."
The door was pushed opened and Zayn stepped inside, a paper bag in his hand. He shut the door behind him and looked at me with a smile on his face, but I could see the crease in his brow that gave away his worry. Something about that made my heart ache more as I closed my eyes for a moment. I had to ground myself.
"Hey, Liam. Ruth told me you had a hard time today," He expressed, and I didn't bother with a reply because he was only stating a fact.
"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" I wondered. It was prime hours of business at the café, and Zayn would be the only help Laurence would have without me going in.
"Technically, but my uncle gave me the rest of the day off. It was pretty slow today." I had a feeling he wasn't telling me the whole truth, but I didn't pry or press. "I wanted to come and see you. I, um," He lifted up the paper bag he was holding, "I brought frozen yogurt."
I stared at the bag in his hands, remembering our deal to have frozen yogurt at least once a week. Zayn didn't owe me anything. He broke that deal once, and we would be even if he let me break it now. Instead, he went out of his way to bring me some. I wasn't interested in eating, however.
"I'm not hungry," I mumbled out, seeing Zayn's smile falter. I hated stealing that smile away, everyone's smiles away, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't play pretend anymore.
Zayn walked over to my bed, setting the bag down on my nightstand, and he sat on the edge. His hand reached for my face, his fingers running along my cheek and then up through my hair. It was such a delicate touch, and I closed my eyes, feeling calm under his caress.
"I do worry about you, Liam, but I won't constantly remind you of that. Instead, I'll just be here. We don't even have to talk if you don't want to. We can just sit and... stare at the walls," He tried to joke. Little did he know that was exactly what I spent most of my time doing this week. "Or you can sleep, and I'll be here to wake you if you have a nightmare."
I stared into Zayn's eyes, so caring with their shining amber colour. Every single part of Zayn was beautiful, inside and out, and it made it so difficult to be around him. There was a lump in my throat as I spoke up, feeling Zayn lean closer to listen to me as if my every word was keeping him alive.
"My therapist wants me to see a psychiatrist to screen for depression," I whispered out, the words still hitting hard. A diagnosis. I wasn't ready for that. "I'm scared." A whimper.
Immediately, I felt Zayn move to lay beside me, his arms wrapping around me and his body fitting perfectly beside mine. It was as if they were meant to lay beside each other, but I knew better. The world was full of coincidence. There was no such thing as destiny or fate. I wouldn't be swept up in such romantic notions. I shouldn't be.
"It's okay. It's okay to be scared, Liam. You're only human, love."
Love.
The nickname made my heart skip a beat, and I moved in closer to Zayn. He was so warm and secure. His hand was soft as he lay it against my cheek. His voice was deep and comforting, like a lullaby. His scent was a mix of fresh bread from the café and the paints he was typically surrounded by. No. Stronger. Oil paint.
"I don't want to know what's wrong with me. It's better to ignore it. Maybe if my mum ignored her symptoms...." I trailed off, knowing it was a pointless and reckless idea. There was no possible way to ignore the symptoms. They snuck up one way or another. "Do you think I can ever get better? Ever feel... happy?"
I never once broke eye contact with Zayn, and he never looked away either. We were laying side by side, bodies pressed together and faces only a few inches away from one another. We were speaking in whispers, as if we were in a little bubble that would pop if our words became too sharp or loud.
"I don't know," He answered honestly. "I can't say because I don't feel what you feel, and I haven't been through what you've been through. But I do think that you're strong, and I know that if anyone deserves happiness, it's you. You deserve so much, Liam. So much."
I shook my head, feeling my cheeks heat up as I moved to hide my face against Zayn's chest. He only wrapped his arm around my shoulders, fingers playing with my hair as I gripped onto him. I didn't even care if his shoes were on my bed or that my blanket was stuck beneath him. Nothing mattered but being so close to him. So close that I could hear his rapid heartbeat in his chest.
"My therapist gave me an assignment today. I don't know if I can do it. Can... can you help me?" I questioned, needing someone to help me face the monster in the mirror. I wouldn't be able to flick on the light switch. It would be far too difficult on my own.
"Of course," He answered immediately. "What's the assignment?"
"I have to look at myself," I stated, feeling numb all over at the thought. "I have to look at my reflection and write about what I see and feel about it. Then, I have to ask my family, you, to write down what you all see to compare perspectives."
"...Does your family know?" Zayn wondered after a moment, and I shook my head, still hiding my face in his chest. His body was firm and solid compared to the soft and supple touch that he possessed.
"I haven't told them. I'm afraid to ask them to write something. Sometimes I feel like they only see the scars, just like everyone else. It feels like they have to look at me and constantly be reminded of their past. Like my face is a burden. A curse."
"I don't get that feeling from them at all," Zayn objected. "I think they see you, Liam. I really do. But I think they're just incredibly concerned about you. It makes sense. They almost lost you once."
I bit my tongue. I didn't want to say that they should have lost me. Zayn already knew how I felt about that topic.
"Can you help me look in the mirror?" I requested.
"Yes," Zayn agreed easily. We laid there in silence for a couple of moments before I finally moved to get up. I took Zayn's outstretched hand, allowing him to help me off of my bed and to my feet. We walked to the restroom, and I stared at the sink counter, becoming far more interested in the slight leak that dribbled out from the faucet.
"Can you grab my journal for me? It's on my nightstand," I informed, and Zayn listened without any hesitation. He was a strong presence, and I needed him more than ever right now. It was selfish on my part. As always.
"Here it is," Zayn said as he returned into the dark restroom. I was so frightened to turn on the light and look at myself. I didn't want to. How could Zayn stand to look at me?
"Can you turn the light on and write for me? Write what I say," I begged, tears already forming in my eyes at the very image of my reflection in my mind. I knew nothing I could imagine would be worse than the reality.
"I will. You can do this, Liam. I'm right here," He reminded, and I felt his hand grab a hold of mine, intertwining our fingers and squeezing. He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, making the first set of tears spill from my eyes and I motioned for him to turn the lights on.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the light, and I raised my head to look at myself in the mirror. Right away, I was horrified by the thing standing before me. Jaiden was wrong. It was worse than Frankenstein.
My tears spilt at a more rapid pace, hot and heavy down my cheeks, but then I heard Zayn's voice, felt his hand squeeze mine again.
"Tell me what you're thinking, Liam."
I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, and I let out a shaky breath as I stared at the figure in the mirror and began to speak.
"The abomination I see in the mirror is not me," I began, blinking rapidly yo try and stall my tears. If anything, it made them fall faster. "Rather, it is a ghost that haunts me. A perfectly petrifying poltergeist that invited itself into my life."
I heard Zayn scribbling down my words to the best of his ability, but my eyes were trapped on the demon in the mirror. It was exactly like the car wreck. Too terrible to even dare look away. I understood why everyone stared.
"It is present in the mirror, in the car's window at night, in every puddle when it rains, in every terrible picture day photo, in every shining reflection in a door handle... in the surface of the hardwood floors," I listed off, remembering how terrible it was to walk inside of the art gallery with such shiny floors. Everything was too clear. All of the damage was seen no matter where I turned.
"It is a grotesque being, scars littering its skin,flesh deformed and defiled, horrid and helpless."
I was shaking now. My hand was trembling in Zayn's hold, and I knew he felt it because I heard him drop the pencil he was writing with to lift his other hand to my neck, thumb pressing against my pulse point.
"Do you need to stop?"
He didn't say it as if I was broken. He said it as if we were running a mile, and I was running out of breath. As if I was physically winded and needed a moment to breathe. In a way, it sufficed.
I looked away from the stranger in the mirror and stared down at Zayn's hand overlapping my own.
"Please don't leave," I found myself begging, though I had no idea why the fear crept into my mind. Maybe it was because, more than anything, I wanted to run away from myself. I would understand others leaving as well.
"Hey," Zayn hushed, fingers running along my knuckles. "I'm not leaving. I wouldn't do that to you."
I nodded along to his words, not offering a response to them. Instead, I took a deep breath before turning back to the mirror, trusting that Zayn meant what he said.
"The monster stares at me with my own eyes, browns that are dull and lifeless. Already dead. Even though it haunts me, it's full of so much sorrow.
It doesn't want to exist either," I whispered out, the tears blurring my vision as I stared at the reflection. I did my best to understand it.
"It is a face not even a mother could love. The scars run from the left eyebrow to the right of its lower lip. All randomized, jagged, mixes of red and violet lines where the glass created a perforated mess."
I heard Zayn scribbling down my words, trying to keep up while also rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand in support. All of his attention was on me. He was never faltering. Never once shocked.
"It is a face that will never know the caress of a lover, nor the kiss of one," I said, the tears streaming down faster as all of my attention slipped away from the mirror to look at Zayn.
He was leaned over the counter, writing my words down and listening intently for me to continue. I felt his thumb stop its soothing pattern on my skin, hesitating at my words, then continuing as if nothing was ever said. A slight twitch to his fingers and a abrupt stop to the sound of scribbling before it all continued. A tiny block in a river before it could flow easily again.
I didn't want to allow myself to hope; to read into the situation, so I continued.
"Its feeling is too rough and worn. Damaged. Ruined," I confessed, wondering how Zayn could stand to touch my cheek in those gentle moments. "Living proof of someone else's demons."
I pulled my hand out of Zayn's, making him look up at me in curiosity and concern.
If I was going to be completely honest with myself, then I had to look at the full picture. All of the damage needed to be on display.
My fingers reached for the hem of my shirt, shaking terribly and breathing out a laugh, hoping Zayn really meant what he said. Then, I was pulling my shirt up and over my head, dropping it to the floor and revealing the giant scarred flesh of my side. It was a sensitive wound that felt like it would never heal, though I was told that was only my nerves.
It was the first time anyone ever saw it outside of my family in that hospital room. I prepared myself to hear Zayn let out a disgusted gasp or leave in horror at the sickly sight, but he didn't make a sound. Instead, when he moved, it was to reach out and touch at the skin near the wound, fingers soft and careful as always.
"What happened?" He wondered. His tone was free of any judgment. It was like he was asking what the weather was like outside.
"The car that crashed into us was a truck that was transporting metal pipes. They said that the crash caused several to break loose, shooting out in all directions. Nobody else was injured. I was just... unlucky," I recounted, remembering the doctor's words after waking up with a fever and burning pain in my side. "The surgery took hours, and the bleeding was excessive. If it had been in a slightly different position, I would have died." I should have died.
"I'm glad you didn't," Zayn said, looking up at me, and I smiled even though my heart was breaking with his every touch and word.
I looked at the mangled skin in the mirror and continued with my assignment.
"But even worse than the scars that linger over its face is the deep scar on the side of its stomach. A gruesome disfiguration at the courtesy of a pipe
right through the organs. A gaping hole... like a demon's mouth opening wide, trying to collect another soul."
I moved my hand to touch at the scar. I usually tried to avoid touching it when I changed. I flinched as soon as my fingers met the skin. It was rougher than the smoothness that surrounded it, and it was quite a jarring difference. It was another thing I didn't think anyone could love.
"Looking in the mirror, in the light, where other eyes can see... it is a fate worse than any other." I wanted to turn the light off and be left in darkness. At least it was safe there. I didn't have to hide my face when nobody could see it. "I think... the monster should have never came to be. What a cruel joke to play, its existence."
I let out a deep breath and turned away from the mirror, letting Zayn know that I was finished. I couldn't bare to look into it for another second.
"I don't see a monster," I heard Zayn say after the silence stretched out between us. I heard him close my journal, and then I was turning around to look at him, expecting him to still be by the counter instead of standing right in front of me. "You said that we get to write from our perspectives for you, right?"
"Yes. That's what my therapist suggested." I just wasn't sure if I was ready to read what everyone else would write. Would my family even mention the crash? Would they even be honest?
"Okay," Zayn said, leaving it at that, and I became curious as he led the way out of the restroom. I followed him out, finally turning out the light.
"What are you thinking about?" I wondered reaching out for Zayn's arm to stop him from walking. He turned to me with a smile.
"I'm thinking about going home right now and writing about what I see when I look at you, but it may take me a while." I let my hand fall away from his arm, looking down at the ground. Zayn's hand moved to my chin, lifting my face up and looking me in the eyes. "It's not because I don't know what to write, so don't even think that. It's because I want to get it right. Your writing is always so vivid. You make people feel what you write, Liam. I want to do that for you-- make you feel my words."
"I'm sorry," I said, crying once again and feeling like closing in on myself. I wanted to hide my face away, but Zayn wouldn't allow it. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away. I'm sorry for ignoring you, I just- I- I-" I tried to explain, but I didn't even know where to begin.
"It's okay, Liam," Zayn said, both hands cupping my face and offering me such a kind-- nearly loving-- smile. I was crying heavily now, hiccuping and vision blurring once more. "You don't have to explain yourself. I'm not mad or angry. I was only worried. You never have to explain to me."
"I'm still sorry. You didn't deserve it," I apologized, but Zayn shook his head.
"Don't worry about me. I'm fine, Liam," He promised, taking my hand in his and leading me back over to my bed. I sat down on it when his phone suddenly rang. He dug it out of his pocket, looking at the screen and pausing for a second before declining the call and setting his phone down on my nightstand. I was curious on who was calling him to make him hesitate, but it wasn't any of my business. "Here, why don't you lay down and try to get some rest? Do you need me to get you anything or make you some soup?" He offered, hand never letting go of mine.
"No," I barely spoke, liking the way his hand felt in mine, liking the attention he gave me, not even glancing at his phone as it vibrated with an incoming message. "Can you stay with me?" I wondered in a quiet voice, almost ashamed of myself.
"Of course," Zayn said, moving to kick off his shoes and take his jacket off as I crawled under the covers. He laid down beside me, facing me, and smiled once more before wrapping his arms around me and holding me close. It was only when Zayn's hand traveled to my side, fingers grazing over the scar there, that I remembered I was still shirtless. His gentle caress never faltered, and I felt him press a kiss to my forehead. His lips were like a burning rod of iron branding my skin.
He didn't have to say anything. I knew what he was saying based on his actions, but it only made my heart ache more. It was a splintering agony riding out through my whole body, tears pricking at my eyes. But I had to ignore it all. I couldn't let myself pretend.
I couldn't allow myself to hope because hope only led to disappointment.