A/N: Heads up lovelies, may get a bit rough for some of you. Be brave, much love always. <3
“Your other glasses were always too impractical anyway, love.” Zayn’s Grandmother spoke lovingly, as she looked at her Grandson. Zayn was sat quietly on the kitchen counter. As a small child, whenever he was hurt after falling over when playing, she would bring him in here and place him on the counter. She would give him some words of encouragement as she placed a plaster over his tiny knees before delivering a kiss onto his forehead which made him feel all better. Yet, here they were. Her seventeen year old grandson was sat on the kitchen counter his long legs hanging off it, little sniffs often escaping from his nose as his hands stayed entwined together.
“They never stayed on your nose.” She said again, forcing a chuckle as she cleaned the spare pair of glasses she kept for Zayn at her house on a tea towel. Zayn was looking down at his knees and hadn’t made much eye contact with her, but a small smile started to show up on his legs.
“And you looked like Buddy Holly!” His Grandmother spoke up once again, before she reached over with her spare hand and tickled his knee a little. Zayn’s knee wriggled and caused the rest of his body to follow suit, as a wider smile fell onto his lips.
“Come on, handsome boy, look at your Nana.” She smiled softly, once she had cleaned the spare pair of glasses. She turned to face him, and Zayn slowly looked up at her, a small smile on his lips. She smiled lovingly at her darling grandson, before she placed his glasses back over his eyes. He gave a small smile and his shoulders relaxed from a tensed state. She knew that she had to get her grandson to talk to get him to fully relax.
She patted his cheek lovingly, before she walked over to the kettle and switched it on so she could make them both a cup of tea.
“I’m surprised you made it over here without your glasses. Your eyesight must be getting better, love!” She spoke lightly, as she turned around to look at him. He gave a slight shrug. She smiled at him, then turned away to hide the heartbreak that was hidden deep in her eyes. She loved her Grandson dearly, and it hurt him to see him hurting.
It was hard enough being a teenager who didn’t understand what went on around him. She didn’t have to be with him 24/7 to understand how his mind worked. She knew he kept himself to himself due to how confusing the other people were around him. She knew that Zayn didn’t understand what he was, and who he was. That’s what was sad; he was so busying trying to understand the people around him that he didn’t realise that it was himself that others didn’t understand. His autism caused him to take himself away from others. The big world was scary for Zayn, or any other with Zayn’s condition, but the last thing he needed was what he went through day after day at home.
Zayn didn’t understand why his Father would throw hard punches into his face, and he never would. Just like Zayn’s parents would never truly understand what was wrong with Zayn.
“Tom the cat brought a little mouse in yesterday! I never got round to catching it, the lucky thing got away quickly before my poor, old man could get to him.” She spoke, changing the subject completely, for both of their sake’s. Zayn’s head finally perked up.
“A mouse?” Zayn asked innocently, looking up at his Nana with a small smile. She nodded with a smile.
“Yes, a mouse! Only a tiny little thing, that’s all they ever are, barely bigger than the size of an egg. But Tom dropped him by my feet and whoosh, off the little blighter scurried. I can hear him squeaking sometimes. Go and see if you can hear him in the living room.” She encouraged him, before she watched as he nodded eagerly and jumped off the counter, before he rushed into the front room, his drawing book firmly in his hands.
She watched him go, before she turned her attention back to making the tea. So maybe it was a little white lie about the mouse, but as she heard him talk to the budgies in the living room, as he probably sat on the floor cross legged, hoping to hear a speak or shuffle of a mouse, he would be occupied on that, instead of replaying his Father’s harsh words and blows.
“I wonder where it is…” Zayn mumbled, before he pulled out his drawing book. His chocolate brown eyes were looking under the sofa, picking up on odd pieces of dust that any other eye would find hard to pick up. His hands didn’t fumble once as they went to a new page in the book. He then pulled a pencil from his top pocket. The pencil had been snapped in half, but a pencil was a pencil, and soon enough, Zayn was sat in the middle of his Grandmother’s living room, sketching what he imagined the tiny mouse to look like, as it sat under the sofa, little whiskers coming from its tiny nose. Zayn smiled, as he built up a small world around him.
There was the gentle sound of a couple of mugs being placed against a table top, and Zayn looked up to see his Nana place two cups of tea on a table before sitting down in her chair. He smiled a little before going back down to his drawing. His Nana smiled lovingly at him, and she was pleased that he was now focusing on his drawing.
“I couldn’t find the mouse, or hear it, Nana, but I’m going to draw it anyway.” Zayn spoke, even though his words were quiet as he concentrated on the drawing in front of him, as he thought of every mouse he had ever seen so that he could draw one.
“That’s nice, love. I’m sure you’ll draw him better than he could draw himself.” His Nana chuckled to herself, like an old hen. Zayn stopped drawing and looked up with twinkling eyes.
“Mice can’t draw, Nana.” He scolded her playfully, before he turned back to his drawing, leaving his Nana sat in her chair, chuckling away. The pair stayed like that for a little while, Zayn drawing the small, intricate features of how he imagined the small mouse to look like, as his Grandmother watched him with warmth and pride shining from her eyes, a shine that no one could ever take away from her.
“How is this Harry boy? I haven’t heard anything about him since last week.” His Nana spoke, and Zayn looked up at her with a wide grin, as the green eyed boy filled his mind. If only his Nana knew about the naughty words that fell from Harry’s lips. He would never tell her, of course, for fear of repeating them himself, but it didn’t mean he didn’t giggle with excitement of the memory. But, now a new memory had popped up.
“Harry tells the best jokes!” Zayn gushed, dropping his pencil in front of him so he could now fully concentrate on talking about Harry Styles. His Nana smiled fondly.
“He was in the park, and the other boys were laughing so hard around him. I looked to see what he was talking about but I couldn’t make it out…the other boys laugh so loud, and shout too. I don’t really like them, but Harry’s voice is always soft and low…I like his voice.” Zayn spoke with a smile, as he remembered how thrilling he found Harry’s words.
“He really must tell the best jokes to have his friends laughing so much.” Zayn once again, smiling up at his Nana before he went back to his drawing.
“It sounds like it, my dear. I’m glad you’ve found someone to enjoy your time with. People can be confusing, but there will always be one person that will understand, Zayn, I promise, son.” She spoke with a smile, before she leaned over to him slowly and brushed his cheek with her hand. He leaned into her touch like a cat would, relishing her soft touch for a moment, before he went back to his drawing without a word. His Grandmother held back the sigh in her throat as she leaned back into her chair. As she tried to make her Grandson understand, he just didn’t. The irony was heart breaking.
“I can stay around here tonight, can’t I, Nana?” Zayn asked innocently, his voice almost childlike, even though his brown eyes never left the page. He was too busy drawing the small mouse’s paws to look up and talk to his Nana.
“Of course son, then you can go to your Mum’s in the morning.” She spoke, nodding her head along with the obvious answer. Zayn smiled as he drew and nodded too.
“Good boy,” His Grandmother mumbled, her heart saddened that she couldn’t keep her grandson with her all the time, but his Mother and Father had the custody all worked out, which meant all she could do was just be his Nana, and receive visits from him daily, even though both she and Zayn would rather have him here. But Zayn’s Mother was headstrong, and his Father always had his way.
“Good boy.”
“Hey!” Zayn chided, as the old grey cat started to put his paw on the drawing of Harry that Zayn was drawing. Zayn was cuddled up in a large duvet, in the small single bed of his Grandma’s spare room that was dedicated to him. His drawings from over the years that he had drawn for her were all over the light blue walls, and the radiator was always warm, which meant the room was always warm.
Tom the cat was cuddle up next to Zayn, watching as the boy sketched by lamplight. His Nana was already in her own bed and fast asleep, but like every other teenager, Zayn tended to stay awake longer then he should do. Zayn chuckled and dropped the pencil a little, before he softly stroked the cat’s head and ears, smiling as the soft fur of the cat brushed against his fingers.
“You’re so soft, that’s why I like you, Tom.” Zayn spoke quietly, before he turned his eyes and concentration back to the drawing in front of him, his hand still stroking Tom’s head lazily. His brown eyes looked across the drawing, as the image of Harry leaning back on his chair in that PSHE lesson shone in his head. Zayn had spent atleast fifteen minutes trying to perfect Harry’s angel like dimples. They were harder than they looked to draw. Zayn gave a long yawn, as his thoughts drifted back to Harry.
He wondered if Harry’s Father ever hurt him.
“How could someone ever touch Harry with such a bad intent…he’s an angel. He’s very handsome, Tom. Well, that’s what I think.” Zayn spoke quietly to the cat that was cuddled up at his side. Tom’s head seemed to look up lazily as the words left Zayn’s mouth, which made Zayn smile.
“But not a lot of people like to know what I think. People don’t really like me thinking at all, actually.” Zayn continued on, before the loud screams of his Father’s anger started to gather in his head like a swarm of flies.
Another book was thrown his way. All the thin teenage boy could do was press his back into the wall and take the feeling of the hard book smashing into his face. The pain had hit him like a brick, even though it was just 500 odd pages stuck together in a hardback book. Zayn flinched a little and let out a whimper.
“Stop whimpering! Be a fucking man! You’re such a little fucking pussy, how can you walk around and be yourself and be proud of it, you’re disgusting!” His Father had screamed. Zayn wanted to scream and cry more, but that always made his Father’s turns grow worse. Zayn had slowly looked up at his Father, to see if the beatings had stopped.
“Don’t fucking look at me!” His Father screamed into Zayn’s face. The belt that had been strapped around his Father’s bicep tightly was yanked off by fumbling, large hands, and hurled Zayn’s way. Zayn quickly turned away and covered his face, but luckily the belt had only hit him in the lower stomach.
“Why are you such a retard?” His Father had almost growled, before he’d shuffled away, coughing and spluttering as he went.
Zayn turned to look back down at the cat.
“I don’t know what a retard is, Tom, but it doesn’t sound nice. You aren’t a retard, and neither am I.” Zayn spoke softly, before a tear spilled over his eye. The cat watched it fall down his face, and the old cat mewed softly as a response. Zayn sniffled once again, before he turned the page in his drawing book. He kept turning and turning until he came to a page full of scribbles and harsh pen and pencil lines, large black crosses littered the page and Zayn’s hand quickly added more, as more tears fell down his face.
Retard. Retard. Retard.
It kept popping up in his mind, more louder and painful each time. Zayn held back a sob as he angrily scraped his hand across the page, before letting go of the pencil and watching it fly across the room. It hit the wall and flicked off and landed onto the floor, leaving Zayn breathing heavily, the page ripped from how hard the pencil had ripped into it.
Zayn dropped his book onto the floor and brought the cat closer to his body.
“I don’t think I like being me, Tom.” He whispered, before he clung to the cat, hoping that one day he would get away from here, and run away amazing looking countries, with his Nana and Harry and Tom the cat.