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He watches as the love of his life injects himself with yet another shot of heroin, and watches as he moves around as if he’s in pain for a brief moment before relaxing and closing his eyes, a small smile plastered on to his face.
It’s only human nature for him to wonder where this all began, maybe when Zayn first made a deal with a drug dealer, or maybe when they first learned about drugs in 8th grade, and all the ‘popular kids’ thought it’d be cool to smoke cigarettes – that they had obviously stolen from their parents – at the back of the school, and Zayn only agreed because, c’mon, who wouldn’t want to hang out with the ‘popular kids’?
Or maybe it all began when Harry first met Zayn.
Maybe Harry is to blame for all this, if he had only been there for Zayn, actually been there at the start of their friendship. He knew something was wrong when Zayn would come to school with a new bruise somewhere on his body, but yet all he did was ignore it.
There wasn’t much he could do back then, being only in 7th grade and still figuring out how to work his alarm clock, he thinks to himself. He tries to convince himself, but maybe all he had to do was tell his parents.
And maybe then Zayn wouldn’t be coping with all of the hardships of his life now, 10 years later, through injecting himself with his own ‘medicine’.
“Do you ever wonder if you could just… start all over again?” Harry questions, and he’s not sure if he’s asking Zayn or himself.
Zayn laughs, his voice raspy and rough, he holds Harry’s hand with his own cold, bony one. “I would, babe, but there’s no more.”
In Zayn’s eyes, all that matters is the ‘medicine’, all that’s ever spoken about is the ‘medicine’, and Harry wonders if he’s only there to help Zayn get it.
“I’m not talking about… that. I meant if you could start your life all over again, quit this, find a job, become healthy again, something.” He avoids Zayn’s menacing glare and focuses on the hardwood floor, he isn’t so sure how Zayn will react, if he’ll shout, or if he’ll just scoff and ignore him like Harry’s used to, this is the first time Harry’s ever listened to his conscience and tried to get Zayn to get his life together.
“You’re crazy,” Zayn says, he thinks he’s always right, and that the rest of the world is and always will be wrong. “I need it, Harry, it’s my anchor, it helps me, and it keeps me sane.”
Harry’s not sure if Zayn even has his sanity to show for it, no sane person would be willing to ‘take care’ of someone in order to have more of what’s destroying him. “Well… what about me? I thought I was supposed to do that.”
Zayn smiles, a genuine one that Harry rarely sees. He hugs Harry tight and kisses his forehead, and just enjoys holding him. “You’re everything to me, Haz, but even that’s not enough sometimes… I wish it was.” He pulls away and frowns.
All Harry can see is the pain and anguish Zayn’s had to endure for who knows how long in his eyes, and only one thing comes to mind. “What did they do to you…?” he whispers, he’s afraid of what talking about it might do to Zayn, that it might trigger something and cause Zayn to lose control of himself, of the very little control he has left.
He just doesn’t want to lose Zayn, no matter how many times Zayn has stepped on him, pushed him away, made him feel awful about himself, he still loves him no matter what.
So he doesn’t argue when Zayn kisses him and leaves the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s been a week since Harry has talked to Zayn about turning his life around, he’s sitting in the same exact position he was in last time, hugging his knees tightly and against the wall. He’s watching Zayn take his ‘medicine’ again, watching as Zayn scrunches his eyebrows in pain, before completely relaxing.
Zayn opens his eyes and looks over at Harry. “I’m gonna need a few hundred pounds, I’ve run out and need to buy more.”
He ignores Zayn completely and stares out the window, lost in thought. “You could still be what you’ve always wanted to be, y’know? You always talked about it with such passion, it’s not too late, Zee.”
They had known each other for exactly six days, and Harry had already developed a crush on the young, raven-haired boy. They were both sitting by a tree during recess, and Zayn was drawing in the sketch-book that never seemed to leave his grasp. Harry always loved to watch Zayn draw, it was something Zayn was so passionate about, something that meant the world to him.
Kind of how Harry felt about Zayn.
“It’s finished!” a young Zayn shouted, quickly showing Harry the portrait of his head.
“Wow, you even got the curls right,” Harry mumbled in awe. It was the best portrait any 7th grader could possibly draw, minus a few weird looking marks, but it was still the best Harry had ever seen.
Zayn giggled and hugged Harry tight before they both collapsed on to the itchy grass. They watched the clouds slowly move on by in silence.
“I want to be an artist,” Zayn whispered.
“Sorry?”
“I want to be an artist, one of those famous artists that have their work in a gallery and everyone goes and comments about how amazing it is, that’s what I want to be.”
It’s one of Harry’s favorite memories of Zayn, back when Zayn had real goals, and was confident enough to believe in himself.
“That was a long time ago, Harry, things are different now.”
“What’s so different?”
“Everything.”
And so Harry leaves it alone because there’s no winning with Zayn, or maybe Harry’s just lost his ability to fight for what’s right, maybe Zayn’s not the only who’s messed up.
Harry has lost himself, too.
Another week rolls by, and Harry has yet to give Zayn the money he needs, Zayn’s in the living room, his leg shaking viciously from anxiety, and he keeps on running his hands through his hair.
You’ve got a warm heart
You’ve got a beautiful brain
But it’s disintegrated
From all the medicine
“Harry I need that money, now,” Zayn spits out, he’s gets up and grips Harry by the shoulders, shaking him as if the money will just come right on out.
“No,” Harry merely says, he’s finally standing his ground, Zayn needs help.
Zayn grabs his hair in frustration and lets out a loud yell. “I need it!” he shouts, he falls on the floor and starts thrashing around.
“Zayn.”
But he isn’t listening, he gets up and starts knocking everything over, a vase breaks, magazines go flying, he even chucks the remote at the T.V and leaves a big crack. “Harry, I fucking NEED IT!”
“Zayn.”
Zayn collapses and hugs his legs tightly, rocking back and forth, a quiet sob leaves his mouth. “Please…”
Harry kneels in front of Zayn, and holds him in his arms, kissing his forehead. “Zayn, I’m trying to help you… Look at what this stuff has done to you, without me you’d be living on the streets for crying out loud! You’ve been alive for 23 years and what have you got to show for it? You need help, Zee.”
“No, no… I don’t need you; I can do this by myself.” Zayn pushes Harry away and heads for the door, reaching for the doorknob with shaky hands.
And it’s enough to break Harry’s heart, the words ‘I don’t need you’ repeating themselves in Harry’s head. “Zayn, don’t…” Harry tries one more time to help him, but Zayn never loved Harry like he loved his ‘medicine’ so he leaves.
He cries himself to sleep that night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few days later, Harry decides to call the police and report a missing person, he just wants to know that Zayn’s safe, and he knows it’s dangerous, considering Zayn could get arrested for getting involved with drugs, but he needs to know that Zayn’s okay, that he hadn’t done anything reckless, that he’s still alive and breathing.
It’s only a couple of hours later that someone knocks at his door, and Harry rushes to open it, half-expecting it to be Zayn in the clutches of the police, but he’s confused when it’s just an officer, alone.
“We found him in an alley with a bullet lodged in his chest, we’re not sure how long he’s been there, but it had to have been maybe 1 or 2 days from all the blood that was lost. He’s gone, I’m sorry, son.”
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
The words repeat themselves in Harry’s mind like a broken record; he shuts the door and cries. He just cries and cries because it isn’t fair.
If his parents had been actual parents instead of monsters, Zayn would still be here.
If Harry had stopped them and helped Zayn, he’d still be here.
If Harry kept his mouth shut and gave Zayn the money, he’d still be here.
He wanted to marry him, adopt children, grow old with him and maybe they didn’t have to do all of that, but he’d still be able to be with Zayn.
And it hurts because that’s all Harry wanted, he just wanted to be with the same Zayn he met all those years ago.
And now he can’t.
Because of the drugs.
It’s just medicine, he tells himself.
It’s just medicine.