inferno | 18+

XXXIV

"Anyone can betray anyone."
- Mare Barrow

ZAKARIA

"Hurt me like your father hurt your mother. Because that's all you'll ever be. Your fathers son."

I plunge the knife into her stomach, watching the life drain out of her eyes. I repeat the action and wait till her fingers unclench from my arm. She falls to the floor with a thump, her blood filling the floor. She's still alive when I look down at her. Her eyes give out, and a satisfied smile takes place on her lips, before she finally stops fighting for air.

She lays still on the floor in her own blood and I sigh rubbing my hand down my face. I crouch down and dry the knife off from her blood in her shirt, before placing it back into my pocket. I stand straight up and button my jacket, before walking toward the door. The nurse looks at me before looking at Devina's corpse. He turns pale, but keeps his mouth shut.

"The money will be in your bank account the second you wipe the cameras. Tell that to the therapist too," I tell him. He gives me a curd nod, looking straight ahead. He looks like he's trying to swallow his bile. I shrug and walk down the hallway whistling the melody to West Coast by Lana Del Ray, looking at the hellhole one last time.

When I make it past security, out to my car, my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I frown when I see the country code. I answer the call, before bringing my phone to my ears.

"Hello?" I ask, unlocking my car. I sit in it and look in the rearview mirror. There's splatters of blood on my face. I groan and lick my thumb before rubbing it on the blood.

"Zakaria, is it you?"

My hand goes still and my blood runs cold. I blink a couple of thousand times to make sure I'm not hearing this shit. That the voice is his.

"You there son?"

I clench my hand around the phone, ragging to the brim. I don't answer him. I can barely fathom the fact that he isn't dead in a ditch somewhere in England. I thought he left us to become a fucking drug addict.

"It's me...it's your father."

Because that's all you'll ever be. Your fathers son.

My jaw ticks. I want him to spit it out and ever call me again. I want him to tell me where the fuck he got my number from but that's for another time. I want to see him choking on his own blood, by my fucking hand. Memories of what he did to my mother come swarming back to me. All the times he'd silence her with his hand. The times he'd spend all out saving on gambling.

"I'm dying son. It's a long story. Son? You there?" he says into the phone and the urge to smile nearly tumbles me over. He's dying.

"If this is your poor attempt at a redemption arc, you've got the wrong brother. I couldn't care less if you're dying. You died to me years ago. Try giving Malik a call, I'm sure his trauma is worse than mine!" I say through the phone with fake enthusiasm. I remove the phone from my year in an attempt to hang up, but his cough stops me before I get the chance.

"Please Zakaria...I am your father you filthy bastard, you owe me it!"

"I owe you nothing, old man. I'll see you in hell," I finish off, but he beats me to it. This man just won't give up.

"Malik is next in line for the throne!" he blurts out. My eyes go wide with shock and I lean back in my seat suddenly intrigued.

"What throne? The one in the dumpster you live in? Sure 'ya ain't on drugs?" I ask him, and I can almost see his ticking jae before my eyes. His wild eyes before he'd shut me up for a few days at most.