inferno | 18+

XXVI

"We shouldn't be this kind
of tired at our age."
- j.b. [dying]

ZAKARIA

I stand outside on Devina's porch, a cigarette between my fingers. It's a little after midnight, and Devina has been asleep for a few hours now. She was up doing some work, training a little, and deep-cleaning her kitchen. Especially the kitchen floor. I went home yesterday night and looked at the footage. The first thing she did was get into the shower again.

When she was done with that, she started cleaning up, a pair of headphones on her head. She was humming a tune so clearly. It took me right back to Italy in my garage. She was humming Falling In Love by Cigarettes After Sex. The song we'd played.

I have no idea what is happening to me. And I don't mean this in a she-makes-my-heart-swoon and my-mind-confused kind of way. I genuinely don't know. Whenever I'm with her, I want to be vulnerable. I want to hide her away from the world, to make sure a scratch doesn't lay on her. I want to show her what her husband never did. I want to savour her in kisses and what I believe to be affection.

I wince and throw the still burning butt of the cigarette onto her driveway. I stare our in the darkness, her Impala parked close to the front door. Her manor truly is the most beautiful thing I've seen. It's filled with culture, colour, and history. Everything you can't find out in society anymore. Something that isn't possible to run from.

I sigh, my breath turning into fog. I dig into my pockets, for my cigarette, and am met with disappointment when I find it empty. I put the empty packet back into my pocket, and softly push the key into her door. I turn the knob, careful not to disturb the sleep she needs. Her manor is dark. The only light is from a candle that's almost dying.

I walk toward her stairway, and walk up them, missing the spots that creak. I stop before her door, knowing it's going to be locked. I just stand there. Thinking. What will I do when I walk in? Am I even going to walk in?

I hear a rustle coming from inside, and I don't waste a second before picking the lock. I push the door open, and scan the room for her. She's nowhere to be seen. My heart starts beating faster. I don't know what this is called. Panic? Anger? I have no idea. Light is seeping out from the bathroom door creak, and I stomp toward it, knocking on it. Whatever sound came from inside, comes to a halt, and I knock again.

"Angel, it's me," I say softly. I put my ear to the door, to make sure she isn't hurting herself. I hear footsteps, and then the door opens so carefully. She looks half-asleep, trying her best to stare at me.

"I was peeing," she admits, her voice lazy. I smile down at her, and nod my head. I lean against the doorframe, my arms crossed across my chest, as I watch her flush the toilet, and wash her hands. She walks past me, and shuts the bathroom light off, before slumping back into her bed. I watch her figure getting comfortable in bed.

I don't say anything. I just look at her. She looks very peaceful when she sleeps. She almost looks like an innocent child. She calms down. She goes to her own world. Everything I don't see when she's awake. I listen to the rhythm of her breathing, as she calms down.

I just want to watch her all night. I want to make sure she doesn't feel any discomfort, and it confuses me as much as the urge to kill her does. I don't understand why my body can't just function normally. I think it annoys me, that I've ruined any chance I might have had with her, because my head can't decide whether to hate her, or love her.

"Are you staring at me sleeping, creepy man?" she whispers, and my heart skips a beat.

I smile. "Caught me red handed."

"Your legs are going to collapse if you're going to stand there from" -she looks for her phone, and squints when the light illuminates on her face- "12:30 am., to whenever I wake up," she reads, and I chuckle.

"I was going to leave soon," I admit. It's a lie. I was going to do as I've been doing for a while, and sleep on her couch in her library. I'd leave the second I could smell her coffee brewing in the morning. She normally wakes up around 9 am., on the weekends, and 5 am., when she has work.

"Oh," she says, sounding disappointed, I think.

"Why?" I ask, not understanding her sudden mood change.

"I was going to tell you to sleep here." The tiredness is making her spill all her dirty secrets, and I love every second of it.

"How naughty of you," I tease, and she lets a lazy smile onto her lips, before patting the other side of her queen bed. I hesitate a bit, before finally moving my legs. I stop when I reach her bed, and take my shoes off, and throw my jacket on the floor.

I crawl into the bed, next to her, and lay on my side, watching her face smushed against her pillow. Her hair is carefully in her face, and I reach out for it, and push it out of her face. She hums in response, moving closer to me.

"How did you get in?" she questions.

"A magician never reveals his secrets."

She opens her mouth, but I stop her before she can do so, "You're a psychiatrist. You're good at your job, I know you are. So tell me, why do I function like I do. Why am I not normal?"

Her eyes open softly, and I look into them through the dark. I feel too exposed. Too naked. "Can you keep your eyes closed?"

She frowns a bit, but does as I ask her to when I tell her please.

"Psychopathy is normally a genetic thing, but can be caused by your surroundings too. The environment you grew up in. I talked to your brothers, before taking your case and no one else in your family seemed to be diagnosed with it. So I simply assumed it was from severe trauma.

"The brain is a funny thing, Zakaria. You might not even remember anything severely traumatic that happened to you, because your brain is protecting itself. Do you know what psychopath means? It's Greek. It means mind suffering. You were suffering, so your brain detached some memories from reality, which could have caused a malfunction in your brain. You function the way you do, because your brain has been overstimulated for years on end."

I look at her, with a blank stare in my eyes.

"How do I cure it? I want to be normal...I want to be able to understand my feelings," I whisper to her, and she tries to open her eyes, but I put my hand before her eyes, to make sure she won't look at me. If it bothers her, she doesn't say anything.

"I can help you," she answers.

"What will you do?"

"Psychotherapy for one. Behavioural skill training, so you can socialise with the outside world. We'll restart the sessions. We'll start by recognising the role your family plays in your life, your school years, the people around you, and the community you grew up in. Medicine is also included," she lists, and I haven't even realised I've removed my hand from her face until she's staring into my eyes.

I let a breath out, turning onto my back looking at her ceiling. It's all a lot. But I want to change. I want my brothers back. My best friend. I want to be there for my niece. I want to, so bad.

"What has you wanting to change so suddenly?" she asks me rather bluntly. That's what I respect about her. She doesn't hide the truth from me, even though it may unsettle me a bit to hear it. She knows I'd rather know the truth, than be led on like a headless chicken. And because of her honesty, I decide to return the favour.

I turn my head, and stare into her eyes. "You," I confess. "I want to change for you, angel."