Chapter 2
1797 Words
Zayn’s pov
The message came at 2 a.m.
Just two words.
Don’t come.
For a second, my breath caught in my throat.
A week of silence—and this was all she had to say?
Her name glowed across the screen. Alina.
The pale light flickered over my palm like mockery. My thumb hovered over call, but I didn’t press it. If she wanted distance, I’d give it to her… at least until I couldn’t anymore.
I tossed the phone onto the chair and collapsed back on the bed. The ceiling stared down at me, and the longer I looked, the more it felt like it was pressing against my chest—crushing, suffocating, whispering her name in the cracks of the plaster.
The door creaked open.
I turned my head and froze.
My mom stood there—her left eye swollen, her cheek bruised purple. The smell of alcohol clung to her clothes.
“Where is it?” she rasped, voice trembling with anger and exhaustion.
I pointed to the drawer without a word.
She walked over, pulled it open, and took out the belt. The metal buckle gleamed under the dim light.
I smiled faintly and pulled my shirt off.
“Go on,” I muttered, sitting still on the edge of the bed.
The first strike landed across my back, cold and sharp. The next, harder. I winced, but I didn’t move. Pain had become a language between us—a twisted kind of comfort she understood when words failed.
The iron part of the belt kissed my skin again, burning red lines. She hit me until her arms trembled. Then she stopped.
“I’m sorry, son,” she whispered, breath hitching as tears slid down her face.
“It’s okay, Mom.” I forced a smile. “I needed this.”
She dropped the belt and stumbled out of the room.
Silence settled again. I stood and faced the mirror. The cuts across my back were angry and fresh, but the sight of them made me smile. At least now I could feel something.
I pulled my shirt back on and winced as the fabric brushed against the wounds. The pain grounded me, steadied me.
And suddenly, I knew what I needed.
Her.
Alina.
I left the house quietly, ignoring my father’s voice drifting from the living room.
“Where are you going?” he asked, cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Getting medicine,” I said.
He didn’t even look at me.
Outside, the night was cold. I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked fast, following the path I knew too well. The streetlights flickered, and the wind carried the faint scent of rain.
When I reached her house, I hesitated at the gate. Then I climbed over and made my way to her window.
My heart raced as I saw her—curled up under the blanket, asleep.
Peaceful. Untouched by everything that kept me awake at night.
My fingers brushed the glass. I could almost feel her warmth through it.
I wanted to be in there, in that bed, beside her. To breathe in her scent, to drown in the silence that surrounded her.
I used to tell myself I’d stop watching her at night. That I didn’t need to anymore—not after sleeping in her bed, not after feeling her skin against mine.
But I lied.
I wanted to make my stay with her permanent.
She stirred suddenly. My heart slammed against my ribs. I ducked below the window.
“Is anyone there?” Her voice was shaky, laced with panic.
A small, dark smile tugged at my lips. She sounded even more beautiful when she was scared.
“How did I leave this window open?” she murmured to herself, closing and locking it tight before drawing the curtains.
I waited a few minutes after the light dimmed again.
Then I stood, staring at the now-hidden window.
A sigh escaped me.
I’d come all this way just to see her shadow.
But even that was enough—
for tonight.
***
It’s been over three weeks now. Three weeks of silence.
No messages. No calls.
Nothing.
All I have left is the ghost of her voice in my head — and the memory of her window, the one I used to watch her through. But even that’s gone. She doesn’t stay home anymore. I don’t even know where she is.
My phone sits on the counter, the screen black, cold. I keep staring at it anyway.
“Your drink, sir.”
The bartender’s voice pulled me back. I took the glass of whiskey and swallowed hard, feeling the burn crawl down my chest. I hated the taste. But the pain — the sting — that was something I could still control.
The club pulsed around me, heavy with bass and perfume that wasn’t hers. Laughter. Bodies. Music that scraped against my nerves. I sank deeper into the corner booth, hoping the noise would drown out the memory of her voice.
It didn’t.
“Zaynnn.”
The voice was syrup-sweet, too close.
A girl slid onto my lap, her perfume sharp, her smile smug — like she’d already won something.
“I didn’t know you were into things like this,” she said, tracing a finger down my shirt. “You’ve ignored me all semester, but now that we’re here…” Her eyes glinted. “Let’s skip the small talk, yeah?”
I stared at her for a long second. Then I scoffed. “I understand.”
Her smile widened — a mistake.
“Good. We—”
“Get the f**k off me.”
Her grin faltered. She stumbled backward, hit the floor hard. Gasps rippled through the air, cutting through the music.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she snapped, scrambling to her feet.
“Don’t ever come that close to me again.” My voice came out low, sharp — more like a growl than words.
Her shock twisted into something cruel. “The rumors are true, then. You really are gay, huh?”
I didn’t flinch. She wanted a reaction.
“You’re pathetic,” she spat. “You’re not even man enough—”
She grabbed the whiskey bottle, raised it high.
I didn’t move. Maybe it would hurt less if she did it.
“Hey! Wendy! What the hell are you doing?”
Liam’s voice cut through the chaos as he caught the bottle midair.
He glared at her. “Seriously?”
“She—he—” Wendy’s face twisted. “He assaulted me!”
Before I could respond, Jay appeared, cigarette dangling from his lips, grin lazy and dangerous. “Assaulted? Zayn? The same guy who won’t even hug his friends? Nice try.”
He laughed and flopped into the booth beside me like nothing had happened.
Wendy’s face flushed red. She spun around and stormed off, her heels stabbing the floor.
Jay laughed again. “You’ll be on the school blog tonight, bro. She’s gonna roast you alive.”
“I don’t care,” I muttered, pouring another drink.
He handed me a cigarette, and I took it without thinking. The first drag hit deep, smoke curling up with the taste of bitterness.
Jay watched me through the haze. “Expecting a message?”
I didn’t answer. The phone sat on the table, face down, screen dark — but my eyes kept going back to it, waiting for a light that never came.
Jay leaned back. “You know, I’ve known you for years,” he said, voice softer now, “but I still don’t know you. You keep everything locked up like a goddamn vault. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
“I’m not gay,” I said suddenly. My tone was flat, matter-of-fact.
Jay raised an eyebrow, lips quirking. “Who said you were? Chill, man. I was just—” He paused, exhaled. “You know what, forget it. I’ve talked so much about my family, but you’ve never told me anything about yours.”
I scoffed, swirling the drink in my glass. “What would you like to know?”
He leaned forward, curious. “I dunno. Family dynamics, maybe? Are you the first child or—”
“I’m an only child,” I cut in. “And I’m glad it stayed that way. I wouldn’t wish anyone into a family like mine.”
Jay laughed lightly. “Come on, all families have their ups and downs.”
I chuckled, the sound sharp. He has no idea.
“Alright then,” I said, turning to him with a smile that wasn’t one. “Do your parents ever watch you starve? Does your mom hit you just to ease the pain your father gave her?”
His eyes widened. “Zayn—”
“It’s a joke,” I interrupted quickly, still smiling.
Jay hesitated. “Right. A joke. Good. For a second there, I thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “You know what? Let’s talk about something else. Something fun. Have you ever dated anyone?”
I leaned back, letting the smoke from my cigarette drift between us. “No,” I said quietly. “But my life belongs to someone.”
Jay tilted his head, studying me. “That’s… intense. Tell me about her.”
I smiled, faintly this time — the kind that hurts to hold. “She was older. Too old for me. Married, even. But when she smiled…” My voice faltered. “When she smiled, I stopped caring about what was right or wrong. I just needed her to see me.”
“Married?” Jay’s eyes widened. “That’s… kinda a sin, bro.”
I laughed, soft and dark. “Every time she looks at me, I remember the rule I already broke — and the sin I can’t stop committing.” I glanced down at my drink. “I think I’d choose to sin for the rest of my life.”
Jay frowned, clearly unimpressed. “You’re obviously joking. You don’t have to make fun of me if you don’t wanna talk about it.”
I smirked, but didn’t bother correcting him.
The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy. The music faded until all I could hear was the hum of lights and the clink of glasses somewhere behind us.
Then my phone buzzed.
My pulse spiked.
I grabbed it before the second vibration hit.
Alina.
Jay peered over. “Who’s Alina?”
I didn’t answer. I opened the message.
We need to talk.
The club noise dissolved around me. My heart stopped, then started again, too fast.
“Finally,” I whispered, pushing my chair back.
- Writer
