Zayn’s POV
(5 YEARS AGO)
The cut on my wrist stung, and that sting made me smile. Pain was the only thing that proved I was real. It wasn’t just pain anymore—it was a craving, a need. I felt alive only when my body screamed.
The door creaked open. Mom stepped in. I didn’t bother to hide the mark, though the smirk slipped from my face. She moved closer, her shadow falling over me, her eyes landing on the fresh line of red. Her lips were bruised, split at the corner, but she said nothing.
“Where is it?” Her tone was flat, like she’d asked this a hundred times.
I raised my hand and pointed. She walked over, pulled the belt free, and turned back.
“You know Mom loves you.”
The words twisted something in my chest, and a faint smile touched my lips—just before the first strike landed.
The
