I slowly stretch my body and blink my eyes a couple of times, adjusting to the light. The smell of sweet tobacco and vanilla dominates the air. I feel quite sick and the smell doesn’t particular help me with the nausea. The smell is familiar but it’s definitely not the way my room smells. Also my bed never felt so small. I look around me to recognize where I am.
Bloody hell. I’m at Zayn’s house, on the couch in the living room. Only he is nowhere to be seen. I also don’t see or hear his parents or sisters.
Oh god. I suddenly realize what happened yesterday. After our perfect beginning of the date we ran into his friends. I hated that I had to pretend that I was just a friend. I certainly didn’t feel like I belonged there. It was just painful and awkward. And since I’m not good with awkward situations I decided to drink away my sorrow. I drank until I was completely wasted. And afterwards I puked in the middle of the streets. Zayn was furious with me, but apparently not angry enough to leave me alone in my vomiting state. Instead he must have dragged me to his house and let me sleep on his couch. I don’t even want to know what his parents have to say, seeing Zayn’s ‘friend’ lying almost unconsciously on their couch, breath reeking of alcohol. My parents would only shake their heads disapprovingly, but I don’t think Zayn’s parents will be so nonchalant about this. They probably think I’m this extremely bad influence on Zayn. Fuck.
But, where the fuck is everyone? Are they all still asleep? I look at my phone and see that it’s already past noon. Oh shit, it's a school day and here I am in Zayn's house. Did Zayn really leave me here and went to school? I need to go to his room to find out.
I have no missed calls or texts from Hazza. Dammit. I do however have 3 missed calls from my mother and 2 texts:
How is it? When will you be home? X
ANSWER ME TOMLINSON!
Oops. I totally forgot to text or call my mother. Truthfully, I probably wasn’t even able to text. I quickly text her back that everything is fine and I’ll be home soon.
I try to stand up and suddenly the room starts to spin, giving me a splitting headache. I need food in my stomach; I need some energy after I puked everything out.
With careful steps I walk to the kitchen; the smell of the vanilla scent growing even stronger. I’m just going to eat something very quickly and quietly walk upstairs to Zayn’s room. And hope to god that I don’t see anyone.
I open a cabinet above the stove. There are all these kinds of herbs which I’ve never heard of and I wouldn’t even know how to pronounce. I open another cabinet and luckily find a role of biscuits. It’s already open so I don’t think they would mind if I’ll take a few biscuits.
The biscuits taste old and disgusting; reluctantly I shove a few biscuits in my mouth.
As silently as possible, on my tiptoes, I maneuver around the room. I’m just a few steps away from the door when it suddenly opens. I’m startled and my heart drops. “Fuck,” I hiss under my breath as I take a few step back.
The moment Zayn’s mother walks inside the room I want to say fuck again, but luckily I can hold it in.
“Louis,” she nods.
“Hi,” I shriek.
“Why don’t you sit down again?” she asks me nicely, but demanding.
I quickly nod and swallow nervously. Dammit, where is Zayn?
I walk towards the couch and sit down again. Zayn’s mother sits down on the opposite side, staring at me with a look I don’t really understand.
“How are you?”
“Uhh…” I begin doubtfully. “I’m alright I guess.” I try to stay casually, but from the inside I’m a nervous wreck with a huge hangover.
“Zayn told me that you hung out with some friends of his and you got sick,” she states in all seriousness.
Did Zayn tell her why I got sick? I honestly don’t think he did, I better follow Zayn’s lead and go with that. “Yeah I didn’t feel well.”
“I see,” she says sternly.
I can tell that she doesn’t believe me. I can feel her eyes peering into mine, wanting to know the truth. I need to keep it together, because I can’t tell her what really happened. So instead I say, “I’m sorry that I slept on your couch.” I nervously scratch my neck.
“No problem,” she instantly replies. “I think it’s responsible of Zayn that he didn’t let you go home alone when you were feeling so sick. He is a very nice boy.”
I nod in agreement and without thinking about my answer I say, “very nice yeah.”
“Very nice huh?” she inquires.
I inwardly cringe. Shit. I probably sounded a bit too fond for a casual friend. I try to stay calm and shrug. “Yeah, it was very nice of him to let me stay here when I was dru- sick, you know?” I try to keep my face neutral as I speak but I feel like this is getting worse by the minute. Why can’t I just leave? Somehow her forceful stare tells me I need to stay put.
“He is always very thoughtful towards his friends. He is kind, sweet, and sometimes a bit stubborn.”
I want to chuckle. Zayn can be really stubborn. How many times have we bickered about the silliest things we didn’t agree on?
“You seem to agree,” she says with an examined look.
“Pardon?”
“You had this smile on your face when I talked about my son.”
My eyes slightly widen in panic. “Oh well yeah I just think you have a great son. Speaking off… where is Zayn?” I try to deflect.
“He is at school as he should be. He wanted to stay here for you but I told him I would take care of you,” she explains. “He is indeed wonderful, thank you.” And for the first time I see a genuine smile on her face. She really loves her son.
I politely smile back, “okay.”
There is an uncomfortable long silence before she speaks again.
“I don’t think you’re a bad kid Louis, but you have to understand that Zayn has a different life. He comes from another background, lives in a particular community, with other norms and values. He isn’t like you.”
I’m completely baffled by her words and I have no idea how to respond. “Oh,” I breathe out, for lack of better word. I just really need some time to think about everything that has happened. Preferably at home, but right now Zayn’s room has to suffice. I’m overwhelmed by everything. From Zayn and Hazza bickering to Hazza ignoring me and from faking it in front of Zayn’s friends to his mother and her overpowering words. All together with this bloody hangover. “Is it okay if I go to the bathroom to clean myself?”
She nods. “Sure.”
I nod thankfully and start to walk out of the room, to Zayn’s room.
“Don’t you want to know where the bathroom is?”
I freeze in my step, cheeks flushing. “Oh yeah,” I stammer. “Where is it?”
“Upstairs, first door on the left.”
I open the door to Zayn’s room and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. That was completely awkward. It felt so tense downstairs and I just want to lie down for a minute and wake up when I feel less nauseous.
She doesn’t know that I have been here after our first time meeting. She doesn’t know that I have made out with Zayn on his bed. Well truthfully I think she knows. She might not know the details, but she does know more than meets the eye. Her knowing looks, her words; it all says enough. But what did she want to convey with her words? I’m really too exhausted and sick to think it over.
I plop down on Zayn’s bed, my head lies comfortably on his pillow. Initially I notice the smell. It’s a combination of a very fresh and sweet scent. It smells like Zayn’s perfume and surprisingly it helps me to feel better. I bury my head even more into his pillow, realizing how odd this probably seems, when I feel something hard underneath the pillow.
Surprised, I sit up and lift the pillow and look at the object underneath me. In complete shock I stare at the object.
Oh my… there it is. The scariest and most feared object: his diary! It must be his diary. It looks similar to the one I once had, but I only wrote it in for two days. After those days I completely forgot about it.
I take the diary in my hand and notice that the lock is open. I feel my heartbeat rise, this is it. Different thoughts go through me. My first instinct is to recklessly open the book and read it. I want to know what he has written in his diary. What does he really think? How does he really feel? Somehow I feel like all the answers might be in this book.
The thing is, just because I’m pretty intimate with Zayn doesn’t mean I know him that well. Yeah, he told me things about his family, friends and community, but truth be told; most of the time we make out. Or argue (although lately, we mostly kiss and grind onto each other’s body). I really can’t complain about that, but it does make me curious. What does he keep from me? What has he written?
It could also be just a simple logbook, something utterly boring. I won’t know until I open it, but something is stopping me. My moral sense. Yes I do have some, just not much. If I open this book I will invade his privacy on so many levels, it’s just so wrong. And what if he finds out? Will he trust me after this? I seriously doubt it… and I will feel terrible about it.
I still have the diary in my hand, sitting frozen. I know I shouldn’t read it, but my curiosity takes the overhand. And let’s be real, I never do the right thing. Might as well do something wrong again. Might as well just get it over with and read it.
With slightly trembling hands I open the diary at a random page.
The time seems to be standing still and I hear no sound except for my own heartbeat which is pounding loudly in my chest.
My eyes fall directly on the following words:
-It’s just so hard feeling the way I do, having those feelings, knowing that its wrong. I don’t think it’s wrong to feel love for another boy but sadly other people do. People don’t understand how hard it is to never be truly myself. For always having to lie about who I truly am, with everyone. I can only be fully myself when I am alone and then I’m still feeling like I’m betraying my family. My community. My religion.
Sometimes I don’t know how to deal with it, to live with it. My parents will not understand. Lou can’t understand it. Nobody can.-
As I read those words I feel a lump in my throat and tears form in my eyes. The pain he feels makes me so sad. As much as I knew how hard this all was for him, I didn’t know it was like this. I didn’t know it was something that is tearing him apart. And he is right. I can’t really understand how he feels because I’m not in his situation.
I swallow and sniff, trying to keep my sounds as quiet as possible. I don’t want Zayn’s mother to sneak up on me and see me reading Zayn’s diary. I already feel so awful reading this.
A big part of me wants to shut the diary down and go away, but this little part inside of me needs to continue. I can finally know what Zayn thinks of me, thinks of all the things he doesn’t speak about. I just need to know.
I look further in the book until I’m at the last thing he has written and I start to read again:
-It was a disaster! The date went so well until we ran into my friends. When my friends saw Louis I knew in that instant that they knew something more was up. They would never believe that I would be just friends with Louis. Shahid knows about my situation, but he would never speak of it, just like my family.
To be honest, a few months ago I wouldn’t have believed it myself that I would be friends with Louis. That is the thing. If I haven’t gotten to know Louis because of our assignment I would probably still hate him. I would still think he is a racist. I would probably still feel like we just don’t belong. Just like all the others that think that we don’t belong.
And why? Because people are judgmental, looking at the outside and judge. Judge the way they look and the world they live in.
Louis and I are completely opposite when you look with that perspective. Louis is a white gabber boy and I’m a Pakistani Muslim. We have nothing in common, except something that my world doesn’t accept: Love.
When you finally try to look past all the judgments, you look at the inside. And from the inside we are the same. We do belong with each other.
Sadly the world can’t or doesn’t want to see that. The world isn’t ready for it. My world isn’t ready for it.-
I feel so stunned reading this. I honestly don’t even know how to feel or what to think except feeling sick to my stomach. I feel the nausea coming up, making me feel dizzy. As terrible as I feel reading those words, like an autopilot I keep reading the diary, transfixed on reading. On knowing.
I quickly scan further through the pages until I notice he has written about the encounter between him, me and Hazza. My hands are shaking, my body feels overheated, my mouth is dry, but I read the part:
-The moment we walked towards this Harry I noticed something different with Louis. I don’t know what it was exactly, but somehow he seemed at ease. That is the best way I can describe it. And I hated to see the change, because it was a good one. Just writing it I feel upset about it. But it was nothing like the feeling I had when I looked into Harry’s eyes, who was looking at Louis. When I saw him looking at Louis, I realized that he is madly in love with him. It was as clear as day. And it made me so angry. It wounded me.
They hugged and kissed each other and in that moment I realized. I knew it all along; they love each other.
I felt so out of place, I felt my heartbeat rise, but I couldn’t do anything. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t so affected, but for my feeling I failed miserably.
When I shook H’s hand I smiled, but it felt more like a grimace. How could I act normal after this? After seeing Louis so comfortable and in love with this ‘Hazza’, knowing that this guy is also madly in love with Louis, with my boyfriend.
The moment Louis went to the bathroom we confronted each other. Well actually I confronted H. I told him that he would never accept me and Louis. I didn’t need to say that and I certainly didn’t need to add that he is in love with Louis, because that is like stating the obvious. He was clearly annoyed by my words and he told me that it wasn’t true. We argued for a moment, I honestly can’t remember what we said. Until he said the words that are still engraved in my mind: ‘I would do anything for Louis’ happiness, unlike you.’ He said that he would always make Louis his top priority and he would never make him lie or not be his perfect and complete self. He said that it wasn’t fair that I expected him to hide for me, to not be fully part of my world.
I hated him so much when he dared to tell me that. I hated him more than anyone in my life and I really, really wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him for judging about my life without knowing what it’s like, for being in love with Louis, but above all I hated him because I knew he was right.-
I collapse on the bed, feeling completely crushed. Tears uncontrollably fall down on my cheeks. I feel the wetness on my skin but it’s nothing like the feeling inside. The feeling of being stabbed in the heart. I keep swallowing the tears away and wipe them with my shirt, but the tears just keep coming. It takes all the willpower within me not to just cry out loud. It hurts so badly, finally knowing the truth. It hurts more than I could have anticipated on. The reality hits me right in the face like a forceful slap.
All I hear are the thoughts running through my mind
We don’t belong. Zayn’s world will never accept our love. His friends and family will never accept our love.
Hazza will never accept our love.
----
From the very beginning this was one of the chapters I knew that needed to be in the book!
It's a very long and emotional chapter and I'm really curious what you guys think of it.
And one promise: Hazza will be in the next chapter, yeey!