Living Without You

Sometimes I look back and wonder what made it so heart shattering? The event itself or how I was the last to know...
Whatever it was, nothing could stop the pain.
It is like an open wound, blood gushing out and nothing to stop the flow.
And the worst thing is, I knew he would want me to stay alive, to stay strong through this and to live on despite him.
I feel myself smile. Good old Zayn, never selfish, never wanting to cause a fuss. And maybe that's why I had been so naïve in the first place?

(AU where Zayn is dead)

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1. ...

I stand in the doorway, still unable to enter the room.

I haven't been able to go in there ever since he left. It's been left completely untouched.

I know I should probably move out of this place, it's far too big and I can barely afford it.

But I want to keep it, because it reminds me of Zayn.

Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting lying on the bed, reading, and he comes in with his mug of coffee.

He'd walk to the bed and sit down next to me, then we'd kiss.

I'd ask him how his class went and he'd tell me about it. About how he hated the professor and most of the people in it. I'd just nod and listen of course, taking in his beautiful, angular features.

Then he would stop talking, and I'd still be mesmerized by him.

'How're you then?' He'd ask me, the corners of his lips turning up into a little smile, one of those smiles he'd always have on whenever I was like that.

'M'good.' I would smile too and kiss him softly on the lips. 'I missed you this morning.' I'd say, deepening the kiss.

Then I would wake up. 

I'd always wake up from one of those dreams with both a feeling of happiness and sadness, because I knew that would never happen again.

After I'd been called - by Trisha of course, as the police didn't bother - and told what had happened I had been utterly confused. Everything had seemed fine. He had always seemed fine.

So it didn't make sense to me why he would do such a thing.

It made more sense once Trisha told me how she'd found out he had been seeing a pyschologist and was depressed. 

Except I had never noticed a thing.

Sometimes I look back and wonder what made it so heart shattering? The event itself or how I was the last to know...

Whatever it was, nothing could stop the pain.

It is like an open wound, blood gushing out and nothing to stop the flow.

And the worst thing is, I knew he would want me to stay alive, to stay strong through this and to live on despite him.

I feel myself smile. Good old Zayn, never selfish, never wanting to cause a fuss. And maybe that's why I had been so naïve in the first place?

I know I shouldn't keep thinking about it but it's impossible.

Everywhere I look I'm reminded of him.

Sometimes I'd see a nice restaurant and I'd think about how I wish I could've been there with him.

If I saw a particularly amazing painting I'd think how much he would like that.

So many things to make me think of the person I don't have anymore.

It sounds selfish, his family lost him too but it's just as hard for me as it is for them.

Zayn was like family to me.

He was there when no-one else was and that was all I needed.

And now I've lost the one thing I need.

It's going to be hard living without him but I need to cope.

I walk back into the kitchen and get a pen.

I go to the calendar, crossing out the day.

One year since he died.

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