One more update tomorrow to complete the week of updates! And then I was thinking of doing some sort of competition if you guys were interested in that. I have a few ideas for it.
Warning: This chapter contains heavy material such as mentions of sexual assualt and self-harm. It all deals with Zayn's past and his father, so please read carefully because I love you all so much. And you can message me about anything if you just need someone to talk to or to just listen. 💕
Love you all my strong, lovely angels. ❤
Chapter 78:
I looked over at Zayn, trying to take in every expression that crossed his face, but he seemed to not want to show any whatsoever. He was staring blankly out of the window, and I knew he wasn't paying attention to the scenery that passed by at all.
We were in Colette's car on the way to see Zayn's father. It was completely silent apart from the sound of the radio playing music, and I could tell we were all a little on edge. I could see the way Colette's fingers nervously tapped the steering wheel as she drove and the way her hands would rub over the wheel in anticipation at every stoplight.
The silence was thick, so heavy that it felt like it was pressing down on my chest and making it harder to breathe. It was an invisible weight that both separated us and brought us even closer together at the same time. It was a common divide and a common tie.
"We're almost there. About five more minutes," Colette finally voiced. Eventhough her tone was rather quiet and gentle, it filled the car, cutting through the silence like a knife.
I saw the slight twitch of Zayn's hand in the front seat, and I wished that I was sitting next to him in order to provide some type of comfort. I wanted to reach out and grab a hold of his hand, but I wanted to give him this time to just take a moment to think everything out.
We drove on in silence, and it felt surreal to be so close to the very person who caused Zayn and his whole family so much pain. It was the exact opposite of being at Zayn's mum's grave. There it was peaceful and felt pure and good. The closer we got to the prison, the worse I felt. There was something bad, something sinister beyond those walls that demanded to be felt in the form of a person's deepest fears.
"We're here," Colette announced in a small voice, and I looked out of the window at the dull building as we drove by to find a parking spot.
It was large, grey, and surrounded by prison guards. There were bars on any windows in sight, and I just knew that the building would be cold and dreadful.
We finally parked, and we all climbed out of the car after a moment of hesitation. My lungs already felt heavy, so I could only imagine what Zayn was feeling.
I glanced over at him and noticed the way his whole face seemed to blanch as he looked up at the building. With each step he took closer to the building, his resolve seemed to crumble even more until I saw the obvious sorrow and panic in his expression. Finally, he froze.
We were right outside of the doors, and Colette pulled one opened, looking back at the both of us. She noticed the look on his face as well and moved to walk back over to us.
"Zayn, you can do this," I whispered as I took his hand in mine. I felt how badly it was shaking, tremors that seemed to cause my own hand to shake as well. He looked about ready to burst into tears, so I grabbed his face and made him look at me.
"Hey," I cooed, "you're going to be okay. You can do this, Zayn. You're stronger than he is."
I still saw the uncertainty in his eyes, the troublesome look he gave me, the obvious way he wanted to retreat into himself again. So I offered him a smile and said, "You can squeeze my hand if you want. Just promise not to squeeze too hard."
His eyes held clear recognition of the phrase, and I felt a dash of relief as he smiled gently at me, the nerves still evident, but he noddedin agreement, ready to walk into the building.
"You can do this, Zayn. I'm so proud of you," Colette said as she pulled him into a hug, and I grinned at their support for each other. I knew it was a hard moment for both of them. They were both facing someone who completely turned their lives around.
Colette finally let go, and we all walked into the buidling together. Zayn and I stood in the back as Colette did all of the talking and filled out paperwork at the front desk. Then we were led through metal detectors and sniffed by drug dogs as well. Finally, we were ordered to follow a lady to the visitation room.
"My name's officer Sumner," The lady introduced. "Please follow me."
We all followed her down a long hallway, passing by several other officers on the way. Everyone seemed super busy, and I was suddenly aware that we were in a building with actual inmates, several of which were terribly dangerous. A spike of fear shot through me, but I shut it all out and focused on being present for Zayn.
"Alright, this is the visitation room. You'll have a good thirty minutes to chat, but you may leave sooner. I'll be right by the door waiting for you." The officer opened the door and allowed us to step inside, but she stopped Zayn along the way.
"You look rather nervous, kid. Who're you visiting?" She questioned, seeming pretty concerned about him. It was easy to see why. He looked nearly ill, but I knew it was all of his memories flooding back at him, assaulting him in every way they could, breaking down his barriers and shattering his strength to pieces.
"M-my dad," He said, jaw clenching at the mention of the man before he averted his eyes to the ground, pulling his hand from mine, a look of shame taking over him. He didn't need to feel ashamed at all.
The officer seemed to give a knowing look as her eyes trailed from where our hands split apart, taking in my slightly hurt expression and Zayn's guilty one. Her eyes trailed over the small white lines on Zayn's arms-- the scars of his past all laid out on display without his leather jacket over them. And she shook her head.
Her hand lifted up Zayn's chin, and she smiled kindly. "Never let your head hang. Keep it up high. And never be ashamed of who you are," She offered, taking both of our hands and linking them together again.
"Want some advice?" She questioned rhetorically. "Whatever the bastard did to you, you didn't deserve. He can't hurt you here, and I'll make sure of it. I can tell you're strong, kid. Never let him see you hang your head. Look him in the eyes and let him know why you came. You've clearly got a strong support system behind you. Don't waste it. Don't let him win. Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about toxic parents."
She gave a supportive wink and a pat to Zayn's shoulder before she let us walk through the door. We all took a seat at one of the visitation tables. Colette was on the right, Zayn in the middle, and me on the left still holding his hand over the table top.
I felt him shaking his leg up and down, so I ran my thumb over his hand and laid my head on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck, doing my best to show that I was here, and I wasn't going to let him face this alone.
Finally, the door for the inmates opened, and a police officer walked through with a prisoner in handcuffs. Zayn's father.
He was a tall man, and he didn't seem weak at all. He had hair that was similar to Zayn's, almost all of his features were a close resemblance to his, in fact. But his lips held a cocky smirk as he looked around the room, and I felt the coldness in his eyes as they drifted over me before finally seeing Zayn and locking onto him. And I felt it. The evilness in his stare. The way he looked Zayn over like a predator would his prey. And I knew he was far more dangerous than I could have ever been prepared for.
The police officer didn't uncuff him, and I felt like that was probably for the best. He slowly made his way toward us, his eyes never leaving Zayn's, and I saw the way Zayn clenched his jaw and sat up a bit straighter, trying not to back down. Colette's hand moved to rub his back in support, and I felt the pressure around my hand as he squeezed with all of his might, probably cutting off my circulation slightly, but I didn't complain. I only squeezed back in an attempt to comfort him.
His eyes still held fear, the kind that made your freeze up and turn away running, the sort that caused death due to lack of reaction, the kind of terror that filled a person when they experienced a near death situation. And I noticed him breathe out heavily, trying to regulate how much air he was intaking.
I also saw the pain. The numbing torture that usually made him curl up in a ball and break out into sobs, the pain that made him wake up screaming in the middle of the night because of a memory of the very man in front of him, the pain that seemed to freeze every vein in his body and froze the blood with it. Pain too intense to ever be understood.
Finally, the man reached the table, and he sat down across from us, directly in front of Zayn. It was only then that his eyes left his, trailing to where my hand rested on Zayn's shoulder. And a smirk filled his features.
"I see you didn't learn," He spoke, his voice sounding deeper than I imagined it would. The deep rumble that it held made it obvious that he demanded to be in charge. And it quickly became clear why Zayn couldn't win even when he did fight back.
"Ah, my lovely sister. How long has it been since you turned your back on me and threw me in jail? Four, almost five, years?" He pondered sarcastically, and I wanted to smack the look off of his face.
"If you ask me that it hasn't nearly been enough time. And you know why you're here. You have some nerve to accuse anyone of doing any wrong towards you," Colette spoke confidently, and I marvelled at her strength.
The smirk remained on his face as his eyes drifted over to me, and he chuckled. "I'm assuming you're one of Zayn's little boy toys. What lies did he tell you to get you here?" He questioned, mischief glinting in his eyes.
"He didn't tell me any lies," I commented, and his dad laughed before leaning back a bit and observing me. I didn't like the way his eyes roamed over my face before traveling even lower, taking in as much of me as he can, but I refused to show him just how intimidated I truly was.
"I'll say this, at least he has good taste," He commented, and I felt myself stop breathing for a split second. "You've no idea what I'd give to just ravish something like you-" He began, and something snapped in Zayn.
"Leave him alone," He demanded, and the fear and pain in his expression turned into nothing but anger.
I saw his dad's smile widen, acknowledging that he hit a nerve, and he found enjoyment in that. His eyes never left mine, and I did my best to keep up my poker face as he spoke again.
"You can't blame me. His eyes are so fucking innocent, Zayn. It'd be such a rush to see them in tears of pleasure as I just-"
"Don't look at him!" Zayn growled out, his hand slamming down on the table, and his dad finally turned to face him, a hint of surprise in his eyes, but his smile held firm.
"Why so possessive? Tell me, Zayn, have you already fucked him? Would he still be nice and tight for me?" He said in an intimidating voice, and I didn't like the look he gave me, but I held the glare in my eyes.
"Elias, that is enough!" Colette demanded, still keeping her voice leveled so that he wouldn't take joy in pressing her buttons as well. "Leave that boy alone."
He looked over at Colette and raised his cuffed hands in mock surrender. "I just want to know his name, is all. What's your name, beautiful? It'd be nice to know for when I get to take care of my little problem." He smirked.
"You're a sick man," I stated, and I heard the obvious disgust and venom in my voice. I just couldn't hold it back.
"Maybe," He mused, "but at least I know what I want." He smiled, lust growing in his eyes, and I felt Zayn's hand squeeze mine even tighter.
"Don't fucking look at him. Look at me," He ordered, making his dad's eyes snap over to him. "You have no right to say those things to him. If you even think about laying a finger on him-"
"You'll what? Send me to prison? I'm already in one, Zayn," He dad reminded, gesturing around him. "Besides, he'll probably enjoy it. You always did."
Evil. That was the only word I could think of. Even the energy around him radiated pure evil. His soul was a blackness so thick that light couldn't exist within it. It would only get drowned out and lost.
"I never did," Zayn insisted, and I saw the flash of hurt that quickly shone through his eyes before it faded again. And I know his dad saw it as well.
"But you did. You use to ask for it, Zayn. Do you not remember that? You were so young. Such a good boy for me," He said, and I saw Zayn also grip onto Colette's hand as well underneath the table. She gave a worried look, but Zayn spoke before she could.
"I was too young to understand what you were doing. I didn't want it. I didn't like the touches. But you didn't listen. You didn't care. And I tried to fight you, but you always won," He reminded him, his jaw clenched heavily and his voice coming out low and dangerous.
"You let me win, Zayn. It was so fun to play our little games, wasn't it? Our little secret, my little bird," His dad cooed.
"Don't call me that. Don't ever call me that," Zayn ordered, getting slightly worked up.
"You were always so good for me, and you enjoyed it. The way your body responded wasn't just my imagination, Zayn, now was it?" He posed, and I saw the shame arise in Zayn's eyes again as his eyes drifted away from his father's for a split second, and the man knew he was winning. Again.
"No, I didn't... I didn't like it. I couldn't control my body, even if I tried. It's not my fault," Zayn said, trying to remind himself of that fact.
"No, it's not your fault. You just kept wanting more. You'd wake up crying and wouldn't stop until I went to your room-"
"I was afraid of the dark. I was young," Zayn said, tears welling up in his eyes.
"And you wouldn't yell out at all, just took everything I gave you-"
"I was in shock. I pretended that I wasn't there with you." Zayn's eyes were closed now, and his breathing was increasing. Colette began whispering to him, telling him that everything was okay.
"You would feel so good around me, and afterwards you'd always tell me that you loved me. And you'd promise to keep our secret."
"You manipulated me!" Zayn yelled, catching the attention of the prison guards who were now observing our table with cautious eyes.
"That's enough!" Colette ordered, seeing the way tears were beginning to run down Zayn's face. They were tears of pent up anger, resentment, hatred, sorrow, and blame. They were the tears he held in throughout the years, finally raining down from clouded eyes.
"C'mon, Zayn. I'm taking you boys home," She said, moving to stand up so we could leave, but Zayn shook his head. Pure determination was building behind all of those emotions in his eyes, and he held contact with his father's eyes.
"No. No, I'm going to talk. It's my turn to speak, and you're going to listen. You will listen to everything I have to say," He spoke to his father, and I felt his nails digging into the palm of my hand as he spoke and shook, but I refused to pull away.
Colette sat back down and offered Zayn a hand to his shoulder in support. We sat silently, allowing Zayn to have this. Every ounce of his being was screaming to let it all out, all of the memories and all of the past. It had to be laid on the table.
"When was the first time you touched me?" Zayn questioned, and his father raised an eyebrow.
"I thought you said I was suppose to just listen." He spoke smugly, and Zayn let out a humorless laugh, one that seemed completely disconnected. It scared me, but I remained by his side.
"Answer the question, Elias," He stated, and I saw his father's face shift as Zayn called him by his first name. It was the removal of his father title that caught his attention. And he knew Zayn was serious.
"When you were two," He spoke, and I saw Zayn's jaw clench again as he swallowed thickly at the information.
"I was two," He repeated, shaking his head. "I was two," He said once more, voice sounding raw and full of grief.
"I never even got a normal childhood. I could hardly say a sentence. I could hardly think for myself. And you took away the innocence I had," He said, glaring at his father. "You're pathetic."
His dad's gaze hardened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Zayn continued before he could even utter a word.
"I grew up thinking that it's just what dad's did. Until I realized I was wrong. And I did kick and scream and fight you. I've been fighting you for seventeen years. But you always managed to silence me again. And I couldn't do a thing to gain the upper hand, but I can now. Because I'm stronger than you ever knew I could be. And I'm stronger because I have people who love me. Who actually love me," Zayn spoke, a sad smile filling his lips as a few tears spilled from his eyes.
"You think I didn't love you?" His father asked, seeming overly confused about the whole situation now. He didn't get to have that right.
"No. I know you don't. Because you don't hurt the people you love like that. You don't make their life a living hell, you don't silence their speech, you don't manipulate them into believing your toxic ways, and you don't make think that killing themselves is the only way out," He spoke, his hold on my hand easing up a bit as he gained strength in his words.
"And I fucked up, too. I became mean like you. I pushed people away. I shut everyone out, and I closed in on myself. I bullied, and I caused pain, and I hated myself more than I hated you," Zayn confessed. It was a confession I've never heard him speak before.
His thumb rubbed against my hand before he completely let go, and he lifted his other arm onto the table, tracing his fingers over the little white scars. His father's eyes observed them, but he didn't seem impacted at all by the sight of them.
"You saw them. You must've," Zayn pointed out. "You saw the cuts on my body, but you ignored my pain for your own pleasure. Wanna know just how manipulated I truly was?"
His father's eyes met his again, and Zayn gave a tearful chuckle before speaking again. He was confessing it all, and I even saw shock on Colette's face as well.
"I was so far under your spell that I believed I was a sin. I even carved the damn word on my waist. Nearly. Every. Single. Day," He said, making it clear just how low he felt about himself.
"I can't even tell you how many times I tried to kill myself, but I stayed for one reason. One person," He said, and it was his father's turn to avert his eyes in shame.
"Your mum," He offered quietly.
"Funny you remember her. My mum. My wonderful, brave mum. Your loving wife." Zayn rubbed in, making his father's shame grow. But it wasn't shame for what he did to Zayn. It was shame for what he never told his wife.
Zayn has told me several times that his father did love his mum. He did anything for her, and he was devastated when she passed away, but it didn't mean he was a good father.
"You know, I came here to forgive you," He said, and his father looked back up at him with a look of disbelief, pure exasperation. He didn't feel that he needed forgiveness for anything. He still didn't think he did any wrong.
"But you don't deserve forgiveness," Zayn said, surprising me a bit, but I understood what he was doing. He thought he had to forgive his father in order to move on, but a man as evil and sinister as he was didn't care for forgiveness at all.
"I don't need forgiveness. I did nothing wrong," His father said, that smile growing on his face again, but Zayn didn't let it deter him.
"No, you don't need forgiveness. Not from me. But you should pray for it from my mum. Because she sees everything. Beg for forgiveness from her, live your life wondering what her decision is, and die never knowing what she concluded," Zayn spat.
"You're the only one bringing your mum into this," His father objected, but I could tell the thought of his wife never forgiving him, knowing every bad deed he did, was slowly breaking his shell.
"No. You brought her into it the very moment you decided to celebrate her death by assaulting her son," Zayn reminded, voice overtaken with emotion. "It was everyday. That's not mourning, that's just sick. And I will never forgive you for it."
"I loved your mum. I cried just the same as you when she died. We only had each other, Zayn."
"Yeah, we only had each other. But you used me, and who was there for me? Huh? Who? Nobody. Nobody until I realized that I could tell someone. That mum would have wanted me to. And Colette is a better parent than you ever could have been."
I saw a few tears drip from Colette's eyes as well, but she quickly wiped them away. She adored Zayn, and I knew seeing him like this as both hurting her and filling her with pride. Because he was winning this time.
"I use to wake up everyday and beg for death... sometimes I still do," Zayn admitted, sparing a glance at Colette and me because he knew the pain the words caused us. "But I'm happier now. I'm still depressed, I still hate myself, I still feel unworthy, and I still crave the childhood that I never had, but I'm working on it all. I'm getting happier, healthier. I finally have someone to care for me, I still have my best friend in my life, and I found someone who I love more than I hate myself."
Zayn gave me a smile, and I had to fight tears back. Hearing Zayn's confessions felt like a stab to the heart, salt in an opened wound, but it meant that he was accepting it all, and he was getting stronger; always stronger.
"I cried when you went to prison because I was scared of what the future held, but I know now, and I wouldn't change a thing. Now I cry and scream in terror because of the past, but I know that it doesn't define me. It can't crush me anymore. I won't let it. And I'm not apologizing. Not anymore." Zayn seemed to be close to finishing, and I felt so proud of him.
"So you can find another victim because I'm done. I won't be one. I'm not a victim anymore. I'm a survivor. And you're a sad excuse for a father and a waste of space. You can rot in prison."
Zayn stood up, and Colette and I stood as well, getting ready to go. His hand was in mine again, and I saw his father stare at where they were joined. But his opinion wouldn't matter anymore. It wouldn't worry Zayn, and I could see that.
"You're a sad excuse for a father, and a lowlife who doesn't even deserve to breathe. But you're in my past, and that's where you'll stay. I'll walk out of door, and I'll never see you again. And it'll be a weight off of my shoulders," Zayn concluded.
"You'll burn in hell for loving that boy!" His father yelled as police officers grabbed him to escort him back to his cell.
"I just hope I'll get to be the one torturing your soul," Zayn replied before turning and walking back to where the same police woman was waiting for us.
She offered Zayn a smile and closed the door behind us. "There's no need to look back anymore. You've got a beautiful future ahead of you," Officer Sumner said before leading us back the way we came and out of the building.
As soon as we exited, Zayn let out a deep breath, and Colette pulled him into a tight hug as he began sobbing. And I didn't know what he was feeling; I wouldn't pretend to.
Every sob made is whole body heave and shake, and I heard Colette whispering to him. "I'm so proud of you, Zayn. You're such a strong, brilliant boy. You're so loved. So loved. Your mum is so proud, love."
We stood there for a few moments, and I took in the scene. Finally, Colette let go and smiled gently. "I'll go start the car. Take your time, loves."
She pressed a kiss to both of our cheeks before turning and walking down the stairs and to the parking lot. I turned to Zayn, and we both smiled at each other.
He stepped directly in front of me and captured my lips into a kiss. It felt lighter than any other kiss we've shared, and I knew that Zayn was feeling a sense of freedom. And when he pulled back, those bars behind his eyes were slowly breaking.
"Thank you. For loving me. I couldn't have done this without you here," He said, and I let out a breathy laugh, not being able to express how happy I was for him in that moment.
"You did it, Zayn. You did it," I reminded him, and I only noticed that tears were spilling down my cheeks when Zayn reached up to wipe them away with the gentle touch of his thumbs.
"Fuck, I love you," He breathed out, kissing me again as if my lips were the only things keeping him tethered to the earth. "Don't ever leave me."
"I love you, too. And I could never even dream of it," I admitted, pulling him down for another kiss that we were both smiling into.
And it felt like the bird with broken wings was finally healing. All it needed was a little love and care.