inferno | 18+

XV

"Art is to console those who are
broken by life."
- Vincent Van Gogh

ZAKARIA

She hasn't uttered a word, ever since we've gotten in the car. The roads are dark and empty, and all I can hear is Pilgrim breathing in the backseat. He didn't die, sadly, but he's definitely not awake. I turn my head over to her, watching her face under some of the streetlights that would illuminate her face every now and then. I don't know what it is I feel.

Did I break her for good? Is there no coming back from this? I never told her to do everything she did. I told her to cut his hands off, if he touched her. But from what I'd observed I thought she'd shrug it off. I thought she would cave and leave the second we got Pilgrim. But she rocked the show, all on her own. Everything from making him think she was a prostitute, to making out with him, and then cutting his dick off.

My breath hitches, as I look at her. There is so much I want to tell her, but can't. "You did a good thing, y'know. He's assaulted children. He's sold girls and women. He's broken up families. He's not a good man," I tell her, trying my best to reassure her that what happened tonight was necessary.

"Mhm," she hums, not meeting my eyes once. I watch her from my peripheral, and all I see is a stone-cold face. The blood is dried onto her face. Her dress. Her hands. She's covered in it from top to toe.

"Does your- your tongue hurt?" I question, hesitating a bit.

"Mhm," she hums again.

I open my mouth in an attempt to try to tell her sweet nothings, but nothing comes out. I take a right turn to the house and put the car in park. She unbuckles her seatbelt and walks in a straight line toward the front-door, her heels in her hand. I watch her from the windshield, wondering if I made a mistake bringing her tonight. I rub my forehead, and turn around seeing Pilgrim still unconscious, his dick in his mouth, and his hands lying somewhere on the floor.

I sigh and grab my gun from my waistband, before putting a bullet in his head. Thank the devils that this isn't' my car. Anas is gonna' be pissed. I open the car door and walk into the house. Henry is sleeping between Zain's legs, and Zain is passed out as well. Anas is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Devina. The house is as quiet as it gets.

I walk past the kitchen and down the hallway, toward my room. I stop walking by her room, and see her lying in her bed with her door wide open. The dress is on the floor, and she's in her underwear only. Her bra is on the floor next to her dress. The duvet is pulled over her, and her back is turned toward the door. I contemplate walking in. Does she want me to be with her now?

I sigh, and lean against her door frame, watching her sleep. The nightmares will haunt her tonight. Pilgrim will be in her head, but she'll get over it. She's strong. One thing I've been so worried about is her hating me like Josie did. Her despising the mention of my name, like Josie did. Or her living in constant fear of me suddenly coming into her life, and destroying everything she's built. I throw my head back, letting a smile come onto my lips, before looking at her again.

I see the tattoo going down her spine, and furrow my brows. How have I never noticed that before? Memento Mori it reads on her spine. Remember you must die. I reach for her door handle, and close the door to her room, before entering my own. I walk toward my bed, and lie in it, letting myself drift off to sleep. Happy Sunday, or whatever they say.

***

MONDAY

I roll over in my bed, smelling eggs. I itch my hair, before letting a yawn out of my mouth. When I get out on the hallway, I see her door still closed. It's already 12pm., but I'll let her sleep. Henry and Zain are standing in the kitchen, a smile on their lips. Zain offers him some eggs, and Henry that fat ass eats it, before planting a kiss on Zain's lips.