Wasted.
memories
Zayn looked down the hallway and listened closely for the sound of running water. Once he was sure that Martie was in the shower, he pulled his phone from his pocket. He dialed Liam's number and put the phone to his ear.
"Hey, it happened again, bring everyone, yeah?" Zayn asked. Liam responded that he would get everyone and be over shortly. "Thanks man." Hanging up, Zayn put the phone back into his pocket and took a seat at the small breakfast bar. Licking his lips, Zayn covered his head with his head and sighed heavily. His elbows rested on the table and he glanced up at the time on the microwave across from where he was sitting. It was just a little past midnight.
Martina Gregory. He had known her since he was fourteen years old. She was a timid girl back then, but she had this glow in her eyes. That glow faded a couple of years ago though, the day she was slapped by him. Zayn clenched his fist tightly, remembering that bruise on her cheek. He was just about ready to kill for her, but she stopped him and swore that everything would be okay. A year later and it's not okay and it never has been okay. Zayn was sick to his stomach, Martie deserved much better than that.
No woman should ever have to be beaten or yelled at or called a whore or a bitch or a slut by a man who is supposed to love her. Running his fingers through his thick dark hair, Zayn Malik let out a heavy breath. He didn't know how much longer he could put up with it. Every time he heard her outside his door, breathing and crying, he just wanted to kill that man. He was sick and malicious, violent and hurtful. Martie was beautiful and kind, smart and charming, but those characteristics have been lost to her after a year of abuse.
Now instead of being this vibrant girl full of love and heart, she was just a broken puppet. If her husband yelled at her, she would bow her head in shame and apologize. When he wanted a beer, she brought him a beer. If he wanted food she had to bring it to him, she wasn't a wife, she was a slave to a bitter hateful man. Zayn couldn't take it any longer, he wanted to kill him.
"Zayn," Martie's soft voice, shook him from his thoughts. His rich brown eyes looked up and he looked to her, standing in the entry way of the kitchen. Her hair was a little curled and dripping wet. Her small petite frame was wrapped in a white fluffy towel and she was shivering. Climbing off of his chair, Zayn walked over to her and he looked at her for a moment.
"Come on, let's get you some clothes." Zayn put his hand on her shoulder gently and lead her back down the hallway to his bedroom. As he opened up the door, Zayn walked straight for his closet and grabbed a t-shirt and some shorts for her to wear. "Here, this should fit." He handed them to her and she took them from him.
"Thank you," Martie said.
Zayn reached for her face and lifted her chin. The faint glow from the lamp on the dresser made her pale face seem a bit warmer, but Zayn saw the bruise on her cheek. Her light green eyes searched his for a moment and Zayn pulled her chin back down. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against her forehead. "Get dressed Martie, the boys are coming." Zayn let go of her and walked out of his room, quietly closing the door behind him.
The moment Zayn was out of the room, he closed his eyes let out a breath, and gently fell back against his door. He just wanted to make all her pain go away, but he couldn't do it. That look in her eyes, she was lost and hurt and he knew that she felt so alone. Zayn took in a breath and pushed off of the door, walking back to the kitchen. He decided to start making some hot tea, to help get Martie to sleep and ease her pain.
He got a kettle and filled it with water, placing it down on the heating stove top. Leaning against the counter, Zayn crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the tile flooring. He couldn't understand why Martie was putting herself through that abuse. Twenty-three years old and she was already married to a man who hit her and treated her like a dog. Zayn remembered being their at her wedding and how badly he wanted to object, but he remained silent. If he knew things were going to get so bad, he would have stopped them from getting married a long time ago.
Martie swore everything would be okay, she put on that smile she used to have when they were teenagers. He believed her, but now he could see what a foolish choice he had made. Any man who hits a woman once was more than likely to do it again. The first three months of their marriage he didn't hit her, but he did yell at her and insult her. She used to just call Zayn crying, but soon those phone calls became late night visits, to staying over for a night, to staying there for the remainder of the weekend.
"I'm sorry I am so much trouble," Martie said, standing in the middle of the kitchen entry way. Zayn lifted his gaze to her as she stood there on slender legs dressed in clothes a little too big for her. He gave her a weak smile and shook his head, standing up straight. "I can go to a hotel."
"Martie," Zayn said her name and let out a frustrated breath. "I just hate seeing you like this, it breaks my heart, Martie."
She remained silent and Zayn shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. They had this conversation three times before and she still wouldn't leave him. It was becoming difficult for Zayn to continue standing by. He just couldn't take seeing her like that, broken and shattered, lost with no sense of hope. Licking his lips, Zayn turned away from Martie as the kettle began whistling. Turning off the stove and moving the kettle to a cooler section of the stove, Zayn looked at Martie and nodded for her to go into the living room.
"I probably deserve it," Martie spoke, her voice hoarse.
"Deserve what?" Zayn inquired with a furrowed brow.
"Being treated like this." She brushed her hair back behind her ear where Zayn saw her bruised cheek. He let his head fall between his shoulders and fought back his tears. She began to walk away and Zayn looked up and walked after her.
"How many times are you going to let him come home and treat you like shit?" Zayn asked her, shaking his head in pure disbelief. He couldn't understand what she saw in him, it didn't make sense. "Tell me, Martie, cause I can't keep watching you be like this if it's going to be forever."
She looked into his eyes and could see his pain. Looking away, Martie felt her heart breaking and the tears beginning to fall. "I don't know," she finally answered, which caused Zayn to look away in disappointment.
"You know, Martie, I just wish you could see how wonderful and beautiful you truly are." With those words, Zayn walked away and left Martie on his couch, crying silently.
"Hey, it happened again, bring everyone, yeah?" Zayn asked. Liam responded that he would get everyone and be over shortly. "Thanks man." Hanging up, Zayn put the phone back into his pocket and took a seat at the small breakfast bar. Licking his lips, Zayn covered his head with his head and sighed heavily. His elbows rested on the table and he glanced up at the time on the microwave across from where he was sitting. It was just a little past midnight.
Martina Gregory. He had known her since he was fourteen years old. She was a timid girl back then, but she had this glow in her eyes. That glow faded a couple of years ago though, the day she was slapped by him. Zayn clenched his fist tightly, remembering that bruise on her cheek. He was just about ready to kill for her, but she stopped him and swore that everything would be okay. A year later and it's not okay and it never has been okay. Zayn was sick to his stomach, Martie deserved much better than that.
No woman should ever have to be beaten or yelled at or called a whore or a bitch or a slut by a man who is supposed to love her. Running his fingers through his thick dark hair, Zayn Malik let out a heavy breath. He didn't know how much longer he could put up with it. Every time he heard her outside his door, breathing and crying, he just wanted to kill that man. He was sick and malicious, violent and hurtful. Martie was beautiful and kind, smart and charming, but those characteristics have been lost to her after a year of abuse.
Now instead of being this vibrant girl full of love and heart, she was just a broken puppet. If her husband yelled at her, she would bow her head in shame and apologize. When he wanted a beer, she brought him a beer. If he wanted food she had to bring it to him, she wasn't a wife, she was a slave to a bitter hateful man. Zayn couldn't take it any longer, he wanted to kill him.
"Zayn," Martie's soft voice, shook him from his thoughts. His rich brown eyes looked up and he looked to her, standing in the entry way of the kitchen. Her hair was a little curled and dripping wet. Her small petite frame was wrapped in a white fluffy towel and she was shivering. Climbing off of his chair, Zayn walked over to her and he looked at her for a moment.
"Come on, let's get you some clothes." Zayn put his hand on her shoulder gently and lead her back down the hallway to his bedroom. As he opened up the door, Zayn walked straight for his closet and grabbed a t-shirt and some shorts for her to wear. "Here, this should fit." He handed them to her and she took them from him.
"Thank you," Martie said.
Zayn reached for her face and lifted her chin. The faint glow from the lamp on the dresser made her pale face seem a bit warmer, but Zayn saw the bruise on her cheek. Her light green eyes searched his for a moment and Zayn pulled her chin back down. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against her forehead. "Get dressed Martie, the boys are coming." Zayn let go of her and walked out of his room, quietly closing the door behind him.
The moment Zayn was out of the room, he closed his eyes let out a breath, and gently fell back against his door. He just wanted to make all her pain go away, but he couldn't do it. That look in her eyes, she was lost and hurt and he knew that she felt so alone. Zayn took in a breath and pushed off of the door, walking back to the kitchen. He decided to start making some hot tea, to help get Martie to sleep and ease her pain.
He got a kettle and filled it with water, placing it down on the heating stove top. Leaning against the counter, Zayn crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the tile flooring. He couldn't understand why Martie was putting herself through that abuse. Twenty-three years old and she was already married to a man who hit her and treated her like a dog. Zayn remembered being their at her wedding and how badly he wanted to object, but he remained silent. If he knew things were going to get so bad, he would have stopped them from getting married a long time ago.
Martie swore everything would be okay, she put on that smile she used to have when they were teenagers. He believed her, but now he could see what a foolish choice he had made. Any man who hits a woman once was more than likely to do it again. The first three months of their marriage he didn't hit her, but he did yell at her and insult her. She used to just call Zayn crying, but soon those phone calls became late night visits, to staying over for a night, to staying there for the remainder of the weekend.
"I'm sorry I am so much trouble," Martie said, standing in the middle of the kitchen entry way. Zayn lifted his gaze to her as she stood there on slender legs dressed in clothes a little too big for her. He gave her a weak smile and shook his head, standing up straight. "I can go to a hotel."
"Martie," Zayn said her name and let out a frustrated breath. "I just hate seeing you like this, it breaks my heart, Martie."
She remained silent and Zayn shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. They had this conversation three times before and she still wouldn't leave him. It was becoming difficult for Zayn to continue standing by. He just couldn't take seeing her like that, broken and shattered, lost with no sense of hope. Licking his lips, Zayn turned away from Martie as the kettle began whistling. Turning off the stove and moving the kettle to a cooler section of the stove, Zayn looked at Martie and nodded for her to go into the living room.
"I probably deserve it," Martie spoke, her voice hoarse.
"Deserve what?" Zayn inquired with a furrowed brow.
"Being treated like this." She brushed her hair back behind her ear where Zayn saw her bruised cheek. He let his head fall between his shoulders and fought back his tears. She began to walk away and Zayn looked up and walked after her.
"How many times are you going to let him come home and treat you like shit?" Zayn asked her, shaking his head in pure disbelief. He couldn't understand what she saw in him, it didn't make sense. "Tell me, Martie, cause I can't keep watching you be like this if it's going to be forever."
She looked into his eyes and could see his pain. Looking away, Martie felt her heart breaking and the tears beginning to fall. "I don't know," she finally answered, which caused Zayn to look away in disappointment.
"You know, Martie, I just wish you could see how wonderful and beautiful you truly are." With those words, Zayn walked away and left Martie on his couch, crying silently.