Zayn Malik’s mind knew that it had been pushed too far. There had never been a moment where it had felt so alarmed in all of Zayn Malik’s life, it had never pushed Zayn’s body around to do anything with such urgency before. The boy wasn’t used to it, this proved by the unsteady breaths that escaped from his lips with almost every rushed step. Even as the boy had sat at the front of the bus, his backpack clutched to his lap with his drawing book preciously tucked inside, his breaths had still tried to catch up with the fast pace that his heart had been beating within his chest.
His skin throbbed, the muscles beneath that were carefully wrapped underneath it aching to match. The raven-haired boy hadn’t exactly looked in a mirror yet; he didn’t have the time to as he quickly scuffed on his nearest pair of shoes before retreating from his Father’s front door. The back of his ankles hurt from where his trainers were digging uncomfortably into him, due to both the unusual position of them and the relentless way his feet dug against the pavement as he ran. The boy had finally been able to correct the way his shoes were when he had been able to sit on the bus, still making sure to tie an equal double knot in both his trainers when his hands and arms were half limp.
Zayn would let his breaths slowly catch up with him as his brown eyes went about their usual observing of their surroundings. This bus was starting to get very familiar to him now, the boy used the bus service atleast once a week. The seat was a little scratchy, the rough yet sturdy material causing his thighs to itch, the thin material of his school trousers not proving much of a shield to the bus seat. His arms were tightly wrapped around the backpack that was on his lip, his eyes catching as the passengers that would step onto the bus, pay their fare and walk past give him a certain look, a look he didn’t quite understand.
His poor mind was too fragile to even try to process the way that the various women would walk on with their shopping bags, their eyes drifting over him, the quick movements from their brightly coloured irises catching the cuts and bruises that the boy was yet to realise he owned. Their hands would subconsciously tighten around the pole that was next to his seat, helping to keep them sturdy and on their feet as the bus would push off from it’s spot. Some of the women would look to the floor and scurry off as if they hadn’t seen the boy, whereas the others would let their brow soften before they slowly trailed to the back to find a seat. All the raven-haired boy could do was hold onto his backpack tightly, trying to sniff away the little drips of red that would slowly slip from his nose and splash onto his white school shirt, a collection of red poppies that were sunk deeply into the material.
The more that the boy was sat on the bus, the more pain he began to feel. As the boy sat quietly and still on the front seat, his body slowly slipped away from what had been a highly adrenaline driven state which had forced his feet to run so hard to the bus stop. The more adrenaline that slowly dissolved from his blood flow, the more his body caught up with the reality of the original source of the adrenaline. Beneath the white school shirt and the small dripped drops of red, bruises were beginning to form. Zayn Malik’s olive coloured skin was coming out in camouflages of blues and purples, something the boy and his skin was often used too. His dark hair was messy and slowly slipping down from where it had been messily shoved from his face and back into it’s sloping position. The tips of his fringe would have gotten in his eyes if it weren’t for the glasses that were perched safely on his nose.
There were slight smudges on his glasses, which he struggled to see through. He simply sat on the bus and forced his eyes to look through the smudges. Of course, his beautiful mind would capture the detail of a thumbprint that was a cause of one of the smudges. His mind captured it, and the boy told himself that he would try to draw it out when his hands hurt a little less. His tightened grip onto his schoolbag didn’t exactly help either, his knuckles white from the force of his favourite possession.
The stop that the boy always got off at came along, and he slowly shuffled up and off from the bus, backpack still being carried by his front. The boy simply wanted to have the comfort of having what he loved in front of him instead of where he couldn’t see it. He stumbled from the bus, unaware of the curious glance that the bus driver had followed him from the bus with. Some of the passengers had also watched him go with the same expression, the silence thick in the bus air as they watched the battered teenager step from the bus and onto the path. Of course, they were all too stubborn and quiet to help.
Zayn Malik gave another sniff, his nose and eyes scrunching in the same discomfort as he started to taste blood at the back of his mouth. His mind told him to swallow a few times, and it seemed to work a little. His brown eyes didn’t look up from his feet and the pavement as they carried him down once again the all too familiar path. He caught the small details within the pavement stones that he always captured. The old and bent Coca Cola can that never seemed to move from it’s cramped spot next to a lamp post. Some chalk scribblings that were faded by the small amount of summer rain that Bradford was experiencing in the early September, left by a few children his mind suggested. Zayn felt sad that the small scribbles were fading, and hoped to himself that whoever left it there would be able to redraw it on again soon.
An odd dandelion that had been trampled on too many times was almost pressed into the pavement that Zayn was walking on. His brown eyes softened and he slowly felt his feet come to a stop as he looked over the flower. It’s bright yellow petals were such a pretty colour, a colour that Zayn had many copies of within his pencil tin. He felt himself slowly bend over, his hand gently holding onto the base of the stem before he picked it gently from his former home. The half crumpled flower was slipped into his top pocket, before the boy began his walk once again. He passed the regular houses that he always passed before he finally walked up to the house that was such a warmth to him. His feet carried him in long strides to the front door, where he carefully rang the doorbell and stood holding his back pack in front of him, waiting for the slight glance of a figure and the click of the door handle that he always heard when he approached this house.
When Anne Cox had opened the door, she had been shocked by what she had exactly opened the door too. Seeing Zayn Malik stood on her doorstep was a common occurrence, and she had let him into her house many a time when her son was too lazy to open the door. She had to admit, that even that was rare. This particular sight was the rarest she’d experienced. Anne Cox had never opened the door to find a beaten and battered Zayn at her door, with large black bags under his eyes and a dried trail of blood slipping from his nose and down over his chin. She knew how the boy was and tried not to scare him, but she couldn’t contain the gasp that slipped from her mouth.
“Would it be okay if I saw Harry?” A small voice slipped from the split lips. Two big brown eyes looked at her rather pleadingly, and her heart twisted a little.
“He’s not in, sweetheart, he’s playing taxi to his friends again…but you come in and sit with me…what happened?” She spoke, before she tentatively reached for his hand and lead him into her house, closing the front door behind her.
Zayn felt the warm hand slip around his and he immediately smiled a little, the warmth from Harry’s Mother comforting him a little, the smell of their house also helping his mind to ease a little.
“Dad hit me too hard.” Zayn softly mumbled, as he was ushered through to the living room and the soft looking sofas that he and Harry always found themselves sat on.
Zayn slowly lowered himself onto the sofa and into the comfort of the fluffy pillows, his body snuggling down into the feeling of the blanket that the family kept on the back of the sofa. The smells and feelings of his surroundings were slowly bringing his body back to it’s normal serene state, but there was something about the way Anne was looking over him that made him still tense a little, his free arm tucked around his backpack tightly, never letting it an inch away from his chest.
“Let’s get you washed up a little and dressed then, shall we? We can sit and wait for Harry to come home, then you can stay here for the night.” Anne spoke softly, as she perched herself on the edge of the sofa, her caring eyes looking over the boy.
She’d always felt a little protective over the boy ever since she first saw him walking up to the primary school gates, when the two boys used to go to the same primary school together. The little boy with big eyes and no voice. All the Mothers at the gate had known there was something different about him, the bruises to match his hair colour enough to prove it, but she had forced herself to believe that any of that behaviour had stopped. Her son or Zayn hadn’t spoke of anything, and she hadn’t seen a mark on him ever since he had began dating Harry. She hated herself for not even probing a little closer to make sure, how could she have let it go this far?
A small smile from the boy in front of her seemed to erase some of the guilt.
“I’d like that, thank you.” He mumbled a little, and she softly stroked his cheek before helping the boy to get more comfortable within their home.
Harry Styles brushed his feet on the doormat before lazily kicking his school shoes off and towards the pile that the family had gathered over the years by the front door. He was surprised that he couldn’t smell any of his Mother’s cooking, his lateness causing him to think that she would have started to cook by this time, but yet he was proved wrong. The soft sound of the television coming from the front room was enough to tell him that his Mum was home from work nevertheless and was watching her regular TV shows.
He walked into his living room and ditched his schoolbag onto the armchair before he lazily glanced over to where his Mum was sat. Only there was a little surprise sat next to her. His eyebrow rose a little in surprise.
“What are you doing here, fluff?” He slowly spoke as he took in what he saw in front of him.
A smile would have slid onto his face at the sight and surprise of his boyfriend meeting him at his house after school, but he had to stop himself. Alarm bells were going off within his mind. His green eyes saw how his boyfriend was tucked next to his Mother, his skinny body wrapped in a dark red jogging bottoms and a cream, woollen jumper, a small smile on a beautiful but beaten to shit face. His boyfriend was sat cross-legged against the form of his Mother, his backpack gently next to him and Dusty the cat sprawled on his lap.
His Mother’s face never changed from it’s blank but serious expression, one that Harry had only ever experienced once or twice before, rather luckily. He knew that it was a bad sign to see that particular expression on his Mother’s face. There was a plate of chocolate brownies on her lap, and by the small crumbs around his boyfriend’s split bottom lip, he could tell that she had been feeding Zayn up.
“Came to see you, Harry, your Mum made brownies.” Zayn smiled, before a slight burp slipped from his mouth, which made his cheeks flush red.
Harry’s green eyes were too busy to observe the huge bruise that covered the majority of his boyfriend’s cheek, as well as the plasters above his eyebrow and on the bridge of his nose. His mind went into overdrive with worry. He had seen Zayn hurt before. He’d seen the odd bruise that was set onto his skinny stomach, or the small and odd scatterings that were left on his nose or cheeks, but he hadn’t seen him this bad. Harry knew deep down that there was something wrong, but this was past wrong, this was sick.
“You keep eating them, sweetheart, tell me if you want anything else, I’m just going to talk to Harry in the kitchen.” Anne spoke softly, before she softly kissed Zayn’s cheek and got up, making sure to keep the teenager cosy and cuddled up on the sofa before she near dragged Harry from the room.
Harry had never seen his Mother so forceful in his life. She practically pulled the boy into the kitchen and against a counter, trapping him within the kitchen by shutting the kitchen door to. She stood in front of him with arms folded, looking up at her tall son.
“Mum,” Harry tried to start, knowing what was going to come from her mouth already.
“Did you know about this? How long did you know? Why haven’t you told me, or a teacher?” The questions came in a forceful but hushed tone, his Mother’s dark eyes looking up at him with a glaze of anger. Harry sighed and looked to his feet.
“I knew there was something but I didn’t know what…he was coming to school with small bruises, he’s never talked about it or brought it up. Some of his injuries have been worse, but honest to God, Mum, I didn’t know what to do, I don’t even have evidence of who or what is doing it…” Harry spoke honestly, his deep tone trying to be as soft as possible so as not to cause any further alarm to the boy in the living room.
His words were the truth. Never once had his boyfriend spoken about the bruises, or even moaned about the pain of them. He’d never even seen Zayn make that much of a big fuss about them. Every now and then there would be one that would be a cause for discomfort, but Zayn was a hell of a good actor, or was just simply good at coping with the pain of them so much that he had become almost immune.
His Mother gave a slight sigh, and Harry’s own eyes teared up a little when he saw his Mother’s do the same.
“I wanted to do something, Mum, honest, but I didn’t know, I couldn’t throw around accusations…” Harry whispered, before sniffing as his mind reminded him of the state of the boy in the front room. He felt his Mother pull him towards her and hug him tightly, her hands rubbing his back in comfort.
“You have to tell me about these things…but I understand, Harry, and we can sort this out. For Zayn’s best. He’s covered in bruises and cuts, I had to clear him up, I’m still in awe that he hasn’t broken a bone…” Anne sighed, her mind also drifting to the state of the boy’s body as she tried her best to help him out.
“I don’t know who’s doing it, though, Mum…it’s definitely no one around school, he’s talked about his Dad once or twice, but he just doesn’t talk about himself, he’s too beautifully selfless.” Harry whispered, a tear escaping his eyes as his mind started to picture the state of the boy he was hopelessly in love with.
“It’s his Dad, I saw Zayn with bruises as a little one but I never thought…” Anne sighed and stopped herself, Harry watching as his Mother changed the subject of the sentence. “He told me himself. I can’t send him back home until I know he’s safe, and I can’t let this happen again.”
Harry nodded to his Mother in agreement, his soul telling him that he wouldn’t let anyone touch his boyfriend again.
“He told you himself?” He asked, looking down at his Mother, his green eyes still blurred with tears.
“Briefly, yes. We have to take action and help him to help himself, I’m going to call the police in the morning, I’ll keep you both off from school and we’re going to get that sick bastard away from Zayn.” Anne spat, and Harry nodded, his own words for Zayn’s father swimming in his mind, twice as vicious as his Mother’s. The curly haired boy swore that if he ever met Zayn’s Father he wouldn’t stop until he’d beaten him to death, and more.
“I don’t know if he’ll understand, Mum, I don’t think he realises his home life isn’t right. What if he scares and worries himself? I know how his mind works more than anyone else.” Harry spoke, his heart going out to his precious boyfriend.
Once again, his words were the truth. His boyfriend was so set in his ways that his mind wouldn’t have even let him start to understand that there was such a big problem and difference in his home life compared to many of his classmates. Zayn Malik was used to his life, and Harry feared that his mind would have trouble coping to such big changes.
“I don’t want him hurting anymore, Mum.” Harry half whispered, before he looked at his feet as the tears spilled form his eyes. He felt the pad of his Mother’s thumb wipe his cheeks before his chin was tilted to look down at her.
“You’re going to have to be there for every moment of this, he needs you, he looks to you when he’s confused and unsure…he needs you to be strong so he can try and understand what’s going on.” Anne spoke softly, before she patted her son’s chest with a slight smile.
It was going to be a rough few days, and both Mother and son knew that it would be a lot to process for Zayn’s mind. They just hoped that they could find him some sort of comfort throughout the rough that was to come. Anne was just as determined to keep the precious boy wrapped up in cotton wool within the safety of her own home just as her son was. She just hoped that everything would turn out well, even if it meant that Zayn was re-homed, she just begged that it would be close to them. The boy thrived around people that could understand him, and both Anne and Harry knew that if put with new people in a new environment, it would be as hard as his past predicament. Mother and son both crossed their fingers mentally.
“We need to go and tell him, sweetheart.” She spoke softly, and Harry nodded, his mind telling him that it was only right if he was the one to speak to him.
Harry Styles knew that it was time to be strong, and so he took his Mother’s hand and slowly lead her back into the front room. Throughout the slow and short walk down the family corridor and into the living room, Harry’s mind had started to go over the situation, and what he was going to say. He could already see Zayn’s face within his mind, and he sighed heavily at the thought of what was about to come. His boyfriend had spent so much of his life in such confusion that he didn’t want to add to it, but this had to be done. The reassuring squeeze from his Mother’s hand confirmed this.
“Fluff? Can we speak to you about something?” Harry spoke softly, as he glanced up from his feet and towards the skinny boy in the corner, which still had remnants of chocolate brownie around his mouth.
Zayn’s big eyes slowly went over the two, his hand subconsciously scratching behind the back of Dusty the cat’s ear softly, his mind taking in their faces and Harry’s deep tone. For a moment, the boy thought that he was in some sort of trouble, that maybe it wasn’t okay to come to Harry’s house without being invited. It was a naughty thing to do. His lips fell a little, an apologetic look coming over his face as Harry and Anne sat either side of him, Dusty making no effort to move.
Harry softly smiled and used his thumb to wipe some of the crumbs from the corner of Zayn’s mouth, feeling as Zayn’s face moved towards his thumb almost subconsciously. The move gave Zayn’s comfort levels away to Harry, and the curly haired boy knew that these little touches were going to help Zayn get through this conversation.
“What your Dad does to you, Zayn, it’s…it’s not good. It’s not okay, and it shouldn’t be happening to you.” Harry spoke slowly and softly, keeping his hand by Zayn’s cheek, trying to be ever so light with his touch due to the injuries on the boy’s face. Zayn stayed quiet, not taking his eyes away from the green ones that he found so enticing.
“We need to take you away from your Dad so that you’ll be safe and he wont hurt you anymore, fluff. We’re going to help you find a safe place where you don’t have to be scared anymore. Do you know where I’m coming from, babe?” Harry spoke softly, keeping his tone slow and consistent enough, his green eyes not glancing away from Zayn’s.
Zayn softly broke into a small smile, his cheek still slowly pressing into Harry’s hand as his mind slowly took in Harry’s words. Of course, his mind was still confused, but he would take Harry’s words over anything, and would do whatever Harry said. Harry always picked things that Zayn liked, and so Zayn knew that whatever Harry wanted him to do would be just as good too. His mind did manage to compress the fact that he wouldn’t be seeing his Father anymore and something within his heart felt a little relief.
“Can I still see you? And Nana? And Tom?” Zayn asked with a small hopeful smile, before a small kiss was placed to his lips by Harry’s own.
“Of course, fluff. We’re going to sort this out, together…you won’t have to be scared anymore.” Harry spoke, still smiling at his boyfriend with pride that he had managed to try and take in the information as much as possible.
“And we’ll still be boyfriends?” Zayn asked again with a small smile, which made Harry chuckle and softly kiss him again.
“Of course, fluff. What do we always say?” Harry said with a grin, his long arms slowly pulling the boy into his body, careful as not to even knock a bone in the boy’s body.
“You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
“Exactly.”