Sound Of Madness(COMPLETE)

(NOW FINISHED) Siobhan Kline has just started junior year. She doesnt expect much from it, she doesnt think anything special will happen. Nothing special happens to her. She has two close friends, a 1976 mustang, her author mother Loretta and her pet hamster LuLu. This is her life. Until she is partnered with the new boy Zayn Malik. He just moved to town and all the girls seemed to take an interest in him.
All the boys want to be his friend.
But he couldnt care less

Zayn Malik fanfiction ----Not Famous


10. Big Ben

Authors note: I do not own the song included.=)





Her body language took a turn when Damien left, I didn’t mind him leaving, but she did. After little conversation I decide she needs a little ice breaker. It was possible she was still a bit jilted after I got us both detention and her rant about a plan or whatnot. I follow her upstairs and recommend we go to the music room, when she doesn’t argue it, I guess she’s ok. Sometimes reading brail is easier than reading her. In the music room, she is at ease, she seems at peace and easygoing. Music and art must be her passions. She throws herself on the bean bag and looks at me with question as I pick up a guitar and sit on the floor beside her. “You play?”

“I dabble” I tell her with a grin. “Can I play or will it irritate your mom?”

“Play” she says and closes her eyes. I am about to leave this girl with nothing to say. The only other person who heard me sing(other than family) was Damien, but of course he had to, we were music partners. My fingers slowly brush along the guitar strings, the instrument is in perfect tune. I was unsure what to sing, I could always do a rendition of a popular song but that wouldn’t show her my creativity. I chewed the inside of my bottom lip and sighed. She was waiting, when her eyes opened, she looked right at me with a small smile teasing her mouth. I started to play a piece of the song I wrote while I lived in the UK. When I started to sing, she seemed pleasantly surprised.

Well I put up a good fight,
But your words cut like knives,
And I'm tired.
As you break my heart again this time,
Tell me I'm a screwed up mess,
That I never listen, listen,
Tell me you don't want my kiss,
That you need your distance, distance,
Tell me anything, but don't you say he's what you're missing, baby,
If he's the reason that you're leaving me tonight,
Spare me what you think and
Tell me a lie”

When the door opens, I stop, I can feel my cheeks inflame. It is her father and he pokes his head in. “Was that you?” he asks, I nod. “Aw shit. You can sing” her mothers head pokes in also, her blonde hair in a messy bun. “Anyway, we are going to the backyard if you need us. Did Damien leave?”

“Plans with his parents” Siobhan says and smiles at them. I cant tell if it’s a real smile or a fake one. Or maybe she just liked her parents, if I had parents like hers, I know I would. When the close the door, she looks at me, the smile remaining. I believe that is the first full smile she has ever given me and it feels monumental. “You exceeded my expectations” she takes the guitar from me and sets it beside us. “How do you sound without an instrument?” I sang the same thing to her without the guitar and she smiled again. Wow, I wish she’d do that more often. “You’re turn” I tell her. She furrows her brow and shakes her head.

“I don’t sing Zayn, not for people anyway. I prefer the comfort of my own shower” she responded and stood putting the guitar back in its spot.

“No, I mean show me a talent of yours that I don’t already know of”. I stand and gesture at the piano. “You must play if you have this beauty here, a piano like this isn’t just for decoration”

“No, I am not playing for you” she shook her head and opened the door. “I’ll show you some of my paintings I did this summer”

Fair enough” I say and follow her up to her attic. It is designed as an art studio, there are three easels and various shelves with jars of brushes. There is a wooden table that has two drawers, and a few tubes of paint are on it. “I like this place” I comment as she leads me to a corner where there are a few paintings leaning against the wall. I wonder why they are stashed in the attic and not on display in her house, surely her mother would take pride in it.
“My mom loves my work, but I wont let her hang anything up unless I am 100% confident in it”, she kneels on the floor, I do the same. “These are just some things I did out of boredom. My mother keeps the really good ones. Sometimes we sell them, or she gives them to her friends as little just because gifts. She always likes my work, even if I don’t think too much about it” she points to one painting. Its abstract, but somewhere in its shy madness I see a man and a woman, and they are making love. “This is called the horizontal tango” she grins then sheepishly points to the second one, it is of a man cleaning the pool. It doesn’t take me long until I catch on. “It’s our pool boy, I did it somewhat as a joke, but it came out good I guess” I nod as she speaks and look at the third one. It is colorful, and also abstract, but it is a paradox. I know it is supposed to be her. “And this is me”

“This is my favorite” as I say this, she smiles again. In the music room she is at peace, in her makeshift art studio, her eyes sparkle. She is most comfortable in her own comfort, which is her home. I run my fingers over the painting. “This should be hanging up somewhere”

She snorts. “You sound like my mother, she wanted to hang it in her office” as she speaks, my eyes go over the self portrait again. She stands and heads to make her way out, when I stop her she seems caught of guard. Standing, I walk from the corner and to the middle of the room. “I showed you my talent, I actually did it for you. Show me how you create these things”

“We’ll be here a while” she shakes her head.

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t have plans” I smile and sit on the stool, she hesitantly grabs a blank canvas and puts it on a easel. “Carry on, as if I am not here at all”

She stared at the blank canvas for a good ten minutes.


What the hell did he expect me to paint? Sitting on my stool was easy for him, I hope he isn’t poking fun at me, or judging me. I felt pressure, but it was somewhat of a challenge and face it, who doesn’t love a good challenge. I dip my brush into a brown oil paint and start, I feel him watch. Those incredible eyes focusing in on me. Ten minutes later I step aside, his face twists. “And that would be?”

“The Big Ben in London” I feel stupid saying this, oh hell, why didn’t I paint something different. Why couldn’t I settle on a flower or a person, I had to go for a major landmark in London. Talk about an idiot…. “Its not finished, to be honest, I don’t think I want to finish. But you get the idea, I paint” I set down the brush, when I turn to him, he is standing behind me. I feel my heart leap into my throat.

“Pick up the brush” he says, and I do it, no hesitation. “Now the clocks on Big Ben actually tell time, so you need to make the hands of the clock” I dip my thinnest brush in smoke grey paint and make the numbers of the clock in roman numerals. He is so close to me I feel his body heat radiating off onto me, it is enough to make me spontaneously self combust. “It is eight o clock” he tells me. I start to put the hands on the clock when Zayn reaches over and puts his hand over my own. His other hand snakes around my waist. Oh no, I feel every muscle, bone and sinew of my being stiffen up. He quickly pulls away. I wait for him to say something, anything, and maybe he will apologize for doing this and say he had a reason and not just because he wanted to. I want him so bad to have a reason because its hard to think he would want to touch me….even if I have desired it for so long. “Did I scare you?” he asks, his hands at his sides. I put down the brush and look at him. “Those were not my intentions”

“Its okay, really, don’t worry about it” I muster and turn back to my pathetic painting of Big Ben. I looked at the way the building wasn’t as straight, or pretty to look at. Damn!

“Is it?” he asks, I feel his breath on my neck. Turning to face him is probably one of the bravest things I have ever done, because when I do, he is inches from me, and his eyes are fixated on mine. My heart is dancing fiercely in my chest. I don’t do the romance thing too well…and I should, Loretta Kline is my mother for crying out loud. “You tensed up”

“I guess you make me nervous…” I want to slap myself silly the minute it comes out of my mouth. How could I just let him know that he made me weak….shit! My words feed his ego, I can see it in the way his eyes brighten. “You’re awfully close to me…”

“Yeah…” he takes one more step, and places his lips on mine. They are hot, and enthusiastic. My skin is hot, his hand touching my cheek.

“Darling, and when you get that kiss. Kiss them with the same passion you use for anger, be passionate and don’t be afraid to touch” It is my mothers voice in my head, of all times to remember, I remember now. Like a good, bad girl, I follow her instructions.



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