His Guitar L.P.

"He's just a boy on the street with no shoes on his feet, but man is he good at playing guitar."


4. Encounter 3


~Encounter 3~


  Zayn wipes off the layer of sweat that has formed on his forehead. The humidity of the bus is almost unbearable and, judging by the red faces of the other passengers, they would agree with him.


  Thread-like veins pop out of the cream-colored boys bloodshot eyes. That, along with his shaking figure, making it extremely obvious that the kid is high.


  Taking his trembling index finger, Zayn traces the "Zap" tattoo painted on his cocoa arm. The large tat is the only one that he received while coherent. He doesn't quite know when or where he got the other 25 tattoos, as he spends a majority of his life stoned. 


 Pulling a pastel cigarette from behind his pierced ear, Zayn places it between his teeth before lighting it with his Zippo.


  He doesn't exactly know where the vehicle in which he is riding in is taking him, but its destination is bound to be better than his grungy hometown. 


 "Hey, you can't smoke in here!" the bus driver announces in a gruff voice, making Zayn's eyes snap towards the middle-aged man.


  "Well, that's too bad," Zayn counters, continuing to inhale the drag. The Bradford boy isn't too sure on when he developed his bad attitude, but he guesses it's about the same time he started sniffing cocaine. Chuckling at this ironic revelation, Zayn presses his lips together before puffing out a cloud of white smoke. 


 "What's too bad is the fact that you're going to have to exit this bus sir," the bearded bloke speaks up once again, pulling the double-decker over on the side of the road.


 Letting out a small snort, Zayn slowly rises to his feet. It's plain as day that he is making no effort to rush as he stretches out every muscle in his body and exhales a heavy yawn.


 "Antime now boy," the bus driver expresses as he cranes his neck back to see Zayn's testy actions.


 "Oh, right," Zayn stutters, as if he has no clue that he is stalling.


 With one last smirk, Zayn clambers out of the bus, the vehicle revving off as soon as he steps foot outside.  


  Running a hand through his un-styled hair, he pleats it down with his palms, giving up on the whole quiff up-do he had going on for a while. In fact, he has no idea why he ever attempted to fix it in the first place; he never had, nor will he ever have, anyone to impress.


 It's not too long before the lad reaches the gas station; a place that he visits daily to refill on his six-packs. The bell on the door chimes as Zayn opens it, the simplest of sounds somehow coming as a relief to the young man. Perhaps it's because the tune is the only constant in Zayn's life.


 Upon buying a carton of Marlboro Lights, Zayn exits the run-down building with a small grin on his structured face.


 "What's in your hands?" 


  Zayn's head rotates tenth side as he comes face to face with a shaggy-haired boy perched against the chipped building.


  The boy's voice wasn't taunting like the many people Zayn had come across on the streets. No, this lad's tone was more... Curious?


 "Uh, cigarettes," Zayn breathes, moving to lean against the wall beside the tan kid.


 "I heard those kill you. Is it true?" The boy lets out another seemingly-innocent question.


 "Ya, I guess so. But they take away the pain for a while, ya know?"


 Though he tries to hide it, the fact that the boy is staring longingly at the poisonous package doesn't go unnoticed by Zayn.


 "Would you like to try one?" Zayn questions with a grin, almost certain that the stripling will accept the offer.


 The boy seems to ponder the proposal for a few seconds before opening his pale lips to speak.


"U'know, as much as I'd love to, I'd rather pass away unhappy, yet peaceful rather than unhappy and infested with lung cancer. It's not worth it mate."


With one last empathetic smile, the stranger picks up his guitar and heads down the crowded sidewalk.


In this moment, something snaps inside of Zayn. Maybe it's the fact that the young boy was so straight-up with him. Or the realization that, although he's desperately trying to keep himself alive mentally, Zayn is slowly killing himself internally. Heck, maybe it's not even that serious; maybe he's still high.


Regardless of the reasoning though, Zayn slowly lets the cylinder slip through his long fingers, causing it to collide with the cement ground.


Zayn winces slightly at the sight of his combat boot coming in contact with the cigarettes. Something about the way the ashes grind into the ground beneath his shoes eases the discomfort through. Almost as if he is getting back at the unanimous substance for silently inflicting pain with him ever since he started smoking years prior.


With one last scrape of his shoe, Zayn sets off towards the bus station once again, chunking the opened pack of coffin-nails in the dumpster on the way out. It hurts a little less when he throws the rest of the carton away as well; he realizes that maybe, just maybe, drugs were one of the major factors in his life that were holding him back from the start.


"Thanks stranger," Zayn whispers, knowing that the boy that quite possibly saved his life is long gone by now.



Hello friends, It's Ruth here (the author of the book) I wanted to say sorry for not updating any of my books for a long time. It's been insane for me lately, I'm starting my sophomore year in high school. But, as some of you may know I'm home schooled, So I came up with this plan to essentially graduate high school in May 2016. So my schedule is INSANE. I promise I'm not going to give up on this book because I have so many ideas for it. It's not going to be like my other books I written that where it's basically shit... This is going to have a purpose; A meaning. I'm trying to get a message across, So please just stick with me , favorite the book, and I SWEAR you will not regret it. ~Ruth


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