Standing in the centre of the room, her hopes and courage broken into countless fragments and strewn all over the place, she gazed at the wooden door that had closed moments ago.
Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes, a lump at the back of her throat choked her, and her heart ached.
Memories from moments ago flooded into her mind, reminding her of her terrible failure. She felt the strength leave her knees as her heart fell to the ground, clenching viciously in her chest.
The once clear view of the door and the walls was now blurred with pearl-like tears as they betrayed her eyes and fell one by one on her cheeks. Staining her skin with their warm flow, they glided down her jaw and neck. They carried every bit of emotion she felt, all the anger, pain, hurt and the uncomfortableness of being forced to live with two guys who she didn't even know.
She wiped her tears from the back of her hand, gulping down the tightening knot in her throat. Blowing out her cheeks, she stared at nothing in particular, wondering how her life changed upside down in just a matter of a few days.
She made her way to the bathroom with indolent steps. Twisting the door open, she stepped inside, finding another pair of clothes hanging on the hook at the opposite wall.
She sighed, not knowing what this generosity was about. Why was Warren so kind and tolerable of her, and just what he wanted in return for his acknowledgement?
A tiny string of guilt pulled at her chest for using his kindness to her advantage to use his clothes to run away, but she dismissed it the very moment it came, assuring herself that she only tried to save herself and anyone would do the same in such a situation.
She stood in front of the mirror, observing how her once clear face was now covered in several cuts, the huge black bag under her one eye, and her stinking, torn clothes that exposed just a little of her skin.
She cringed at the smell that came off her, feeling disgusted as she observed the gross blood stains on her clothes.
She stood there silently, watching herself. She had no energy left with her anymore; she was drained out, and the failed attempt of her escape wasn't the only reason for her enervation.
She curled her finger at the hem of her abaya, stripping out of it, followed by disrobing herself off her knee-length top, which was also blood-soaked. To think that the blood was of some poor man who got brutally tortured and killed by them was devastating.
She gazed at the mirror once again, with empty, hollow eyes. Taking in her reflection in a tight gaze, she couldn't see herself without feeling disgusted. The scars and burned marks visible on her skin brought back many memories, memories that never left her, memories that were painful, brutal and gut-wrenching.
Her hands rested at the edge of the counter. Her face was pale, devoid of the natural colour and beauty she naturally possessed. Her lips were chapped, her hair unruly and frizzy, scattered in every direction.
Her hand grazed over the scars that embellished the right side of her chest, just above her heart and a little below her collarbone. A hiss escaped her flaky lips when the pad of her index finger touched one of the cuts, making her close her eyes as it stung terribly—not at the cut, but at her heart—inspiring unpleasant shivers to run down her spine. Before she could realise it, her eyes brimmed with tears, not giving her time to contain herself as they fell meekly.
All her frustration turned into the salty liquid that flew uncontrollably through her eyes, weighing with her inner turmoil and battles. Her insides clutched so tightly that it was almost unbearable. Her shoulders shook hysterically, her face stained with trails of tears.
A voice in her head reminded her not to lose hope, to not feel so hopeless that it would make her doubt her Lord's capability over everything, to not feel unheard, to not feel unseen. But it was hard to hold herself back when everything kept falling apart, with each day bringing a new threat, with each minute passing in fear, with each second of her being endangered.
-----
She twisted the doorknob open, puffing out a stressed breath and stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in a new pair of clothes—a baggy green T-shirt and loose jeans, which she had to fold up at her ankles because they were too long for her short legs.
She ran a hand through her wet hair, smiling small to herself when her gaze fell onto the now-closed window, restraining her from attempting yet another escape adventure. A grin of humour tugged at her lips at how precautious they were before she reminded herself of the situation she was in, which lamentably didn't suit having a fun time.
The room was quiet, painfully quiet, and the silence rang in her ears loudly. She seethed her lips in a thin line, sitting at the edge of the bed with her both hands propped back a little for support, zoning out at a distance.
Her mind automatically replayed the memories of the forest, she felt a wave of embarrassment drown her when she recalled how she looked like freaking out in front of him.
What now? Would he make fun of me? Insult and degrade me again?
Her mind was drowning in the destructive thoughts again which she tried to shut off.
She needed a distraction, from her thoughts, from herself and....him.
The feel of a new pair of clothes against her skin was comforting, but she still didn't have anything to cover her hair with.
Tiredness weighed down her eyes, and her grumbling stomach was a constant reminder that she should've just changed and eaten when Warren offered; she probably won’t be getting anything to eat for ages now.
Just then the door swung open. Warren entered with a tray, a bowl balanced on it, as she watched him intently walking toward her.
"Here's your food~" He sang while placing the tray just beside her thighs.
She glanced at the tray before looking up at him.
Was he really giving her food after what she did?
"Enjoy." He grinned, his perfectly-lined white teeth coming on display.
Oh, that smile.
He had that smile that could melt anyone.
"Are you sure I won't die after eating this?" She pulled the tray to her lap, bringing a spoonful of porridge to her mouth.
It tasted just fine, like any normal porridge. There wasn't any spicy or toxic smell other than it was a warm one. Maybe it's not poisoned or drugged.
"Well, if I had made it then you would've probably died. But Ti cooked it, so I guess you'll be fine." He chuckled.
But her focus went to the latter part of his words. Tiger cooked it? Quite considerable after giving her one hell of a torture.
She brought her gaze up to him, then dropped it again and took another spoon to her mouth.
Warren sat on the floor, his back attached to the bed as he laid his head on the bed sheet, a little square away from where her legs were, watching her eat in silence.
She glanced at him, a warmth spreading through her heart at his unreadable, tender stare.
"What?" She asked, taking another bite.
"Nothing. You just remind me of someone." A hint of sadness was visible in his eyes, contradicting the small smile playing on his lips.
"Who?" She raised her eyebrows, gulping the semi-liquid down as its warmth filled her insides.
At least he isn't mean, and doesn’t sound like a danger. Unlike that jerk.
"Just someone. She, too, has brown hair..." He trailed off, staring at somewhere over her shoulder.
"Had." He corrected himself, sitting upright.
She frowned. Had? Does that mean that person is no more? Or does he don't have them anymore? Mother? Sister? Girlfrie-
Okay, Hayat. That's enough. It's none of your business.
Even after scolding herself, she couldn't stop the questions flooding her mind. She wanted to ask, but a part of her wasn't interested either.
She held back and continued to devour the bowl of porridge.
----
A few days passed with her constant struggle to fool both of them and failing in the end, getting chased and caught by the brown-eyed devil every time—not a very pleasing escapade.
She gazed at the handcuffs on her right wrist, which Tiger brought a day ago and locked it around her hand, caging her in the crib again with a cold steel pole to lean on.
Jerk; that's all he was to her. Except for cooking her meals everyday and giving her medicines, he was still an arrogant bastard.
A very handsome bastard.
Shut up, brain!
Everyday her hatred only widens and increases for him, but when his deep brown eyes meet her hazel ones, her whole world stops and drowns in the depths of those coffee strokes. Despite despising him keenly, her stomach fervently does stupid flips whenever he calls her squirrel.
She manipulated herself into thinking that it's just because she hates him, she hates him so much that her body physically reacts around him, stupidly and unwantedly.
She looked around, darkness prevailing surrounding every inch and corner like a huge monster above her. She wasn't scared, but the quietness and pitch dark environment of the room was unnerving.
The door opened and closed, letting just a small light in before it disappeared completely. She turned her head, although she couldn't see his face, she knew who entered.
"Why wouldn't he turn on the lights?" Warren muttered to himself before tapping on the headboard, the room glowing instantly with the brightness spreading through the square LEDs above.
He walked over to the crib, bending down a little to come in.
A tiny pull of jealousy tugged at her. He has to bend down to get in while she can just walk in without even her head bumping or touching the ceiling.
How unfair.
"Have this. Ti asked me to give it to you." He sat in front of her, placing the glass of water on the floor, close to her folded knees and extending the meds in his hand.
He waited as she took the meds, gulping down the bitter pills down her throat.
"I wanted to ask you something," she placed the glass on her side, straightening up.
"Hm? What is it? Do you need other clothes-"
"No, it's not that," she shook her head. He was generous enough to lend her his other clothes too, but it was something else that she wanted from him. Although the chances were near to less of him agreeing.
"How about you help me get out of here?" She asked quietly, her eyes wide and nervous, hands fisting the fabric on her skin, hoping he heard her and would say yes.
But the expression on his face was unreadable, a mixture of surprise and amazement.
"Me? Do you want me to die from his hands?" He chuckled, pointing his thumb at the door, and she knew who he was talking about.
"He won't know if you act right. Please. You help me and I'll give you any amount of money you ask." She blinked at him, seeming like a baby asking for candy from her mother.
His expression dulled, that's all she thought of him. An avaricious moron? A greedy mobster?
He parted his lips to reply but got cut off.
"Warren," They both moved their faces to see Tiger entering, his steps quick as his uneven orbs met her curious ones.
Warren straightened up, his brows knitted in a confused frown. Tiger stayed calm, or tried to, but his chest was rising and falling rapidly. They both could feel the tension in him.
What's happening?
"Just stay in here, do not come out." He marched up to the cupboard, opening it with a jerk and pulled out a gun from the last cabinet. A big gun—like those in movies and TV shows.
"What's wrong?" Warren rose from the floor, panic building inside of him drastically.
"We haven't got time to do an explaining session here. Just do as I say, and keep your dagger ready if anyone manages to break in." He replied, closing the cupboard.
He pulled a key out of his back pocket, tossing it at Warren.
"Open her cuffs and take her upstairs." He instructed, striding towards the door with the gun in his hand.
He was out of their sight before they could question further. Hayat looked at Warren, worried and shocked. He seemed to get an idea but was still caught in a haze.
"What happened?" She asked nervously, her voice barely a whisper in the thick, tense air as Warren unclasped her handcuffs.
"I don't kno-" Warren started, but was interrupted by a deafening bang.
She flinched, her eyes darting to Warren, who mirrored her shock.
Gunshot?
"Shit." Warren cursed, both of them rising up, "Little one. Listen to me carefully. Go upstairs, and there's a room at the left; just hide there for now, okay?" His voice, usually steady and reassuring, was slurred with worry and panic, small beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
She felt herself trembling, the fear seeping into her bones. Another gunshot echoed loudly, and she instinctively covered her ears to lessen the impact.
"Go, fast." Warren urged, pulling something out of his back pocket.
A sharp dagger, the sight of it made her breath catch in her throat, her mind struggling to comprehend his words or make any sense out of them.
Another shot rang out, louder and closer. She flinched again, her anxiety spiralling into full-blown panic.
Warren didn't give her a chance to hesitate, he couldn't afford to waste a single second. He grabbed her arm, dragging her out of the room and towards the stairs. The house was plunged into darkness, a dangerously thick darkness that swallowed everything. The only source of light was the small bulb in the kitchen and Tiger's room, both far behind them now.
"Come on, hurry up." Warren's voice was urgent, his eyes darting back to the main door although it was closed and nothing could be seen through the pitch darkness.
She stumbled up the stairs, her heart pounding against her ribcage hysterically. At the top, she turned left, finding a closed door. The faint glow of the moon filtered through the two single-hung windows on the first floor, casting eerie shadows. She hastily twisted the knob, but it won't open. She twisted it again, the sound of wild firing in the distance making her hands shake more violently.
"Damn it," She muttered under her breath, panic rising as she kept trying the knob, desperate to get inside the room and be away from the gunshots, be safe and hidden.
Lord, have mercy.
The door finally opened, and a tiny wave of relief—so smaller than her fear—washed over her as she closed it behind her rapidly, her back sliding down against the wooden surface as she sat on the cold floor, panting heavily.
It was an advantage that it wasn't happening right in front of her; she remembered when Tiger shot that masked man down, she lost herself completely.
The gunshots were now constant—unstopping, loud and dangerous. She hugged her knees close to herself, praying that it was not her death day. Her breaths were uneven, shallow and tightening against her lungs.
“La ilaha illallah. Muhammadur Rasoolullah.”
She kept repeating to herself, those words bringing an unknown power and comfort to her. Although her limbs were cold and shaking.
If my death is written today, I wouldn't want to have anything else on my lips other than the shahadah.
Her hands were trembling frantically, her stomach somersaulting with anxious dips as she fought hard with herself to not let her mind get the best of her again.
The firing died down, suddenly. Everything went quiet, no sound, no gunshots, nothing.
What happened?
How many are those men?
Is everyone dead? Are they both safe?
Has anyone broken in?
She got up, unable to feel the floor beneath her as her legs went numb, knots forming in her stomach as cold beads of perspirations glide down her temple.
She wandered her eyes around the room, projecting a balcony window with curtains flowing in and out with the frantic waves of heavy breezes.
She tugged her hair behind her ears, taking slow steps towards the wavering curtains, adorned in silvery dark blue and white shade.
When she was standing close to the balcony, the curtains were now waving at her face, ruffling her hair as she kept her hands clutched in front of her, wondering if she should go out and peer down.
What if someone catches and shoots me?
What if Tiger got shot?
What about Warren? He was still in the house or went out?
A pile of questions poured upon her, weighing her down, and she didn't like any of them to be true.
Oh God!
Tears brimmed in her eyes as she took a step back, heart thumping loudly against her chest as if it would come out any moment. She didn't know whether it was the fear or the anger she felt at the situation. Why did she have to deal with all of that? Just why couldn't she have a normal life? A simple adult life?
She instantly felt guilty for thinking that, knowing that it was a test- a worldly test she has to pass. And her Lord won't inflict her with something she can't handle.
She blinked back, gathering as much courage as it was left in her. She drew the curtains away, peeking just a little.
Nothing.
Just darkness.
The dried grasses in the yard waved smoothly with the heavy wind, making strong gusting sounds to echo around. She advanced ahead, trying to get a closer view.
Her eyes spot two shadows, at a far distance, rustling in the woods and disappearing eventually.
Were they the only men who attacked? There was no proof that only two men came.
They might still be hiding somewhere, or in the house.
She gulped, wondering if both the guys are still alive.
She took steps behind, puffing out cold air as the chillness of the room embraced her again.
Should I head down and check?
What if one of them is shot? or worst, what if both of them are?
God. What should I do?
The old wooden floorboards suddenly creaked under the weight of heavy footsteps, indicating someone was coming upstairs.
Her eyes widened, heart pounding against her chest wildly. The footsteps grew louder and more deliberate, echoing through the narrow hallway. Her mind raced, imagining the worst.
Her breathing became shallow, and she could feel the cold sweat trickling down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her to hide, to find a place where she would be safe from whoever was out there.
The door to her room rattled slightly, as if someone was testing the handle. Her eyes darted to the closet which she didn't observe earlier, the only potential hiding spot. She moved as silently as she could, praying the creaks of the floor wouldn't give her away. Just as she slipped inside and closed the door behind her, the footsteps stopped right outside her room.
She held her breath, her hand covering her mouth to stifle any sounds. The fear was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest. She heard the faint sound of breathing on the other side of the door, and she knew they were there, just a thin barrier separating her from the unknown threat.
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