GO TO HELL, CAPTAIN (Preview)

1: LAYLA ABD AL-TUNAIJ

بِسمِ الله الرّحمٰن الرّحيم

ADAMAWA STATE, NIGERIA.

"...I know, just think about what you will get in a month. That is more than what you get here for an entire year! I don't know why you are being so fucking stubborn about this because it's simple. Very simple." Fatima scoffed, quaffing down the cool water she's brought with her to the garage.

Layla raised her head away from the car's hood where she is currently repairing it's engine. She surveyed her little friend from head to toe as she sat on the plastic chair she's brought inside just for her to sit on. Her boss is the only person allowed to sit on that chair that looks like a throne. But he would lower down his principles whenever Fatima is in the garage, she looks and is rich after all. He is always after the little change left in the garage for him, it is never too small.

"Tee, I don't know what you want me to say." She muttered, a bit distracted with the task at hand. Her eyes went back to engine, using a plier to remove something forcefully before cleaning her blackened hands on her indigo overall.

Fatima breathed through her nose, looking at her best friend in disgruntlement. They've been friends for more than eight years now but she's never understood the girl even though she tells her time and time again that she is the only person she's allowed close to her and the only one that knows most of her darkest secrets. It's hard to believe that when she is always close to removing each and every strand of her hair from her head in frustration at the prospect of never able to persuade her off her independency.

She won't agree to work with her grandmother's clothing brand R&F as their model. Not because she wants to help her get more financially stable —like Layla had thought— but the potentials she has, it is there. Even her mother and Aunt admitted that she would be a nice asset for the company but Layla won't believe them. She thinks they are doing it to help her headstrong ass get some more cash so she refused to accept the proposal from years ago. They've been talking about the same thing for years, but she is more obstinate and unyielding than they'd initially thought.

The way she walks, her height, face and everything screams model. She doesn't see it though.

Biting her lower lip to bite back an embittered scream, Fatima murmured in a kinder tone. "Can you just think about it? It's been five years since grandmama started talking to you about it. She needs a model now more than ever. All the rival companies now working with her are getting more popularity than hers, it shouldn't be ruined now after years of hard work. Aunt Fatima wants to take over the company now so she can give Aunt Betsy whole power over the foundation. She said she is done working as a therapist, she wants to see how managing a clothing brand will work out. Can't you at least do it for her?"

Layla shoot her a quelling glare because this sounds awfully like emotional blackmail, something she is not good with. "Why don't you model for them? You are beautiful too, tall with prettier longer legs. Stop disturbing me and don't blackmail me!" She snapped, barring her teeth.

"You know I'm not meant for the ramp, you are! I'm meant to work in the plane, as an air hostess. Can you just give it another thought? I don't know why you are so stubborn on something that will benefit you more than anyone else." She deadpanned the last sentence, hitting her long nails on her Salem Black Croc bag.

"Be glad I'm busy, I would've wrecked your face for that comment. You of all people should know that I don't do things that will benefit me. I don't want the goodness in life. I am just living through it because I cannot do anything else." Layla emphasized by hitting something in the hood with groove joint-plier.