crave | 16+

XXXVII

ELIJAH

I SIGH, SHUTTING MY laptop. A content sigh escapes my lips. When my eyes meet the clock, another long sigh drags out from my lips. It's way past 11 pm., and I'd promised Josephine I'd be home around 10. Still, she hasn't called me, which makes my heart skip a stupid beat, at her understanding my work ethic. I grab my phone from the back pocket of my pants, and shoot her a quick text, letting her know I'll be at my place soon.

She still hasn't officially moved in, but she spends most nights in the penthouse anyway, and all of her clothes are basically in my closet. It's also way closer to work than if she lived in her own apartment. I take a look behind my shoulder, making sure all of my things are with me, and then I make it toward my office door. The office door that springs inwards before I get to open it myself.

Aaron stands in my office, his hair dishevelled, an iPad in his hand. He's bleeding pale...the bastard looks like he's seen a ghost. He's hyperventilating, trying to catch his breath. As if he's ran a marathon.

"Mother of God, what the hell is wrong with you, barging in here? You're gonna pull the hinges off the door 'ya bleeding idiot," I curse, taking a step back from the scared-looking man. "What's your problem, lad?" I clear my throat, in hope of masking my accent up. Being a black Arab in America with a British accent has done a lot for me, more worse than good. Despite my piece-of-shit father being American himself, but moving with my mother to the UK for better work options, raising my brother's and I in the ends, I still got shit for my accent.

For the way I look, the way I speak, the language I speak on the phone with my mother. So as a self defence mechanism, I've learned how to mask my english accent, how to make it sound milder than it actually is. The accent only ever comes up in front of the people I trust. Hereunder Malik and Aaron. And Josephine.

Aaron just shoves the iPad in his hand, into my hands, not saying a fucking word. The second my eyes land on the video that's playing, my entire body stiffens. The footage is taken from inside of my brother's cell. Zakaria's cell. My little brother. My little brother with a mental illness that made him kidnap my girlfriend. The same little brother standing in his room.

The same little brother talking to the same girlfriend he kidnapped.

Like a thunderstorm, a bolt of lightning hits me. Her voice haunts my brain. You lied to me.

My brain spirals.

I saw him, her voice haunts.

My eyes take in the mute scene that's playing out; Zakaria banging his fist against the window in his room, and Josephine not moving an inch. I can see her mouth moving in the recording but I can't hear anything. Or maybe I'm imagining what's happening. I have no idea about any of it. All I know is that I stare and stare at the interaction they're having.

The way I see, despite her unmoving frame, as the fear creeps up around her, and chokes her. He may not see it, but I do. Because she is me, and I am her. She has consumed me, eaten me alive, and I am nothing if not for her to use. I am nothing, without her. I see the fear, I see the discomfort in her face, because she is what I live for. She is the entire reason my body is forcing shallow breaths in, even as I watch my worst nightmare come to real life.

Then time stops. The world stops spinning. The fucking solar system collapses, the milky way burning up in an inferno. The door to his room opens. It opens. He walks out of his cell, toward her. Toward the bane of my existence, the owner of my heart, the master of my mind. I watch as she tries to get away, but he pulls her back into her. And then bile runs up my throat.