Zahrah's POV
The older woman seemed now to stand beside what I assume is her son, "You are our way into those painters' houses!"
I was startled as she mentioned painters. To anyone else, painters are an artist who paints pictures. To me, a painter draws with blood on a blank canvas like the bodies of children.
That sick definition has been on my mind for twelve years. The wickedest smile crossed my face, my eyes crinkling. my smile widened, "Guide the way!"
Fear seemed to capture the expression of the man in front of me who I didn't care if what he said was the truth or if he didn't know any of it. I needed someone to finally tell me to go and face my fear and get it over with. The same devilish smile that drew on three people's faces as they squashed the head of one of my classmates and used the blood to draw on my bare body as the plaster I was covered in seemed to break as my eyes wanted to shut put it didn't let it.
"See, and you said she would freak out and reject the proposal." The older woman smiled proudly, even though her eyes seem hollow from inside, just like mine; her smile says she was happy, but I knew she was broken.
"I thought she would be sane!" He protested. "But you are right; she is damaged like us!"
Ordinary people would take this as an offense, but I was happy. My father's lessons wouldn't waste; I will find uncle Hussain, I will find those three. I will find them.
His green eyes darkened as I followed. The older woman who seemed to call herself Coco tangled her arms into mine. The short, black-haired, hazel-eyed woman didn't seem to hold the face of him and me. On the contrary, she was thrilled and so motivated.
And Baba considered me weird? Wait till he meets her!
Florentino, Chance, whatever his name was, didn't look anything like her, so I wondered if he was her son? "Do you have the first clue to who my kidnappers are?" I asked as the muscular man in front of us stopped in his tracks.
He seemed gloomy all of a sudden, "We have been searching for five years; the closest we have come to find them is finding you."
"So what house are we entering?" I asked as I stopped from following those lunatics.
"I am sure our neighbor is one of them!" The lively Coco rushed to answer.
The professor and I both frown, mirroring each other's expression, and I assure myself there must be some mistake.
Crap.
Was I fooled again by a Psychosis patient? I reminded myself, he was a professor. He has a degree of some sort, doesn't he?
"You are a professor, aren't you?"
The sheepish smile he gives me answers my question, "Well, I am a 25-year old wrestler."
"I knew it!" I grinned to myself for knowing he couldn't possibly look that athletic, foolish, rushed, drugged, man-whore, and become a professor. Still, the real reason I seem to find him unequipped was his limited vocabulary, which reminded me of myself.
It seemed I have said those characteristics out loud!
"How are you a professor then?" I say haughtily. "At Stanford, no less."
"The same way you got accepted to become a student with your GPA; Coco and her husband." He seems even more annoyed than I am, which is saying a lot.
"What?"
"You think you got in with your below the average IV league GPA," he asks in surprise. That's not what I really thought, no, but I'm offended again nonetheless.
"Not after you said it at that tone, NO!"
He opens his mouth to retaliate, but we're suddenly interrupted by Coco. I'm not sure whether I should even bother standing here, but Dr. Florentino or Florentino glares at me impatiently, forcing me to make a hasty decision.
I quickly walk as he walks likewise as we find ourselves walking beside each other, and we lapse into another uncomfortable silence.
When I look at my phone, it's to find him staring at me, smiling smugly.
"What?" I snap, self-conscious and leery.
"Not leaving, I see," he says condescendingly.
He seems to bet on me of some sort or something. I gape at him just as Coco stopped us and entered a Cafe shop. We sat at the table in front of the shop at 3 pm. Abruptly, I find a Whiskey Sour in front of me as I looked confused at Coco and then turned back to Florentino; he looked amused.
"Well, after you were so rude to me in front of the patient the other day, I think the least you can do is stop drinking and take my drink with you," I reply.
He doesn't respond, but then Coco takes them and brings a black Americo. Even though I told her all about how I shouldn't sit with people drinking alcohol, she seemed to think I was lying, and instead, she categorizes me as an alcoholic who is in recovery.
I still wondered how this seemingly innocent woman managed to get hired and give a seat to a student and a faculty member, no less.
The paranoid side of me is...well...paranoid. What's the deal? What was going on? Why aren't they talking? I throw glances their way, but Florentino seemed lost in thought, purposefully avoiding my gaze. Coco quickly got inside and presumably got herself a drink.
We both sip our bitter coffee, avoiding eye contact, and all I can think is how I would give anything to know what he's thinking.
He shifts in his seat and speaks, "Look, I'm sorry about whatever happened in college." I'm surprised he's apologizing, even if it is long past due. What's not surprising are his next words. "However, you still shouldn't have contradicted me in front of the hypothetical patient." His voice is calm and confident. He feels strongly about this.
I think for a moment and decide to be honest. "You're right; maybe I shouldn't have. It wasn't professional." I seem to roll my eyes on professional unknowingly, "But you should know that I did it on purpose just to piss you off."
Maybe that was a little too honest, but he doesn't look surprised. He probably suspected as much. "Well, it worked," he says.
"Because you were an arrogant asshole."
His face darkens, and I can tell he wants to argue, but Coco chooses that exact moment to come back. Her breath reeks from alcohol at 3 pm. If I weren't a Muslim, I would surely have been drunk with her now to avoid the awkwardness of the conversations following.
Surprisingly, he doesn't respond. He sits back and pinches the bridge of his nose, truthfully looking a little stressed out, and then sighs before drinking the coffee. He doesn't look at me, and neither of us speaks as Coco fills the silence.
He looks up at me, his voice measured. "You're right, Blue. I was a dick that day. I was having a bad day and shouldn't have taken it out on her."
I can't believe he's apologizing. I'm a little surprised, but mostly, I'm...relieved?
But I don't let him off the hook that easily. "You should tell that to her, not me," I say.
Immersed in all these realizations and honesty, I couldn't focus on any of it. I feel terrible the instant the words leave my mouth. The professor is trying to own up to his mistakes and be the bigger person. The least I can do is accept his damn apology.
I backtrack. "Sorry," I quickly mumble. "You know what? I shouldn't have said that."
He looks like he wants to agree, but he doesn't. His green eyes flash to mine, but otherwise, he ignores me.
Coco seemed unaware of what is going on as another awkward silence. There's nothing but the murmur of voices around us. This is bordering on ridiculous.
I finally release a loud, exasperated sigh. "Can we just start over?"
"I second that!" Coco said.
"And anyway, I just moved here," I go on. "It's a little too often that I find myself wrestling with you, yelling at you. I can't afford to hate another soul. You just pissed me off. Then you yelled at me, and I don't like being yelled at either."
His eyes meet mine again, and this time he looks slightly bemused. "I didn't yell."
"Speaking in low, hateful tones and then smiling as nothing happened is the same as yelling," I argue. "You just didn't want to draw attention."
He shrugs. I'm right, and he knows it. Then he looks at me again, his expression serious. He even leans in a little in front of me. "So, you hate me?"
What the hell does this guy want from me?
"Well, I don't like you," I reiterate as Coco laughs. "I guess hate is a pretty strong word considering I don't even know you. I haven't thought much about you, so it's a moot point," I lie.
He smirks, and I resist rolling my eyes. Why does he have to be so attractive? This would be so much easier if he were ...say...fat and bald. Or had a skin condition. Anything.
"Whatever you say, Blue." His look is knowing, and I'm suddenly a little paranoid of that nickname again.
"What's the nickname supposed to mean?" I ask defensively. Too defensively, I'm sure, because his eyebrows raise in surprise.
"It doesn't mean anything," he says.
"His brother was the guy in the receiving end of the Bluetooth calls that guided the police to the Cabin."
My body quivers. That was why the last name was so familiar. Chance. If he hadn't risked his life, all five of us would be on a human trafficking system that didn't stop. We would have been lost; he was the angel who was sent to save us.
"I need a drink!" He stated as he hastily stood from his chair in front of me.
Authors Note
Salam guys! Sorry for the late update. Life interrupted again. Please don't forget to share and vote to know how you feel about this story so far... Jazakallah a million!
Inshallah Next Update is on 29-5-2020