Broken

Chapter 18: Tensions before dawn

5 a.m. Fatima's eyes snap open, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts. The familiar feeling of dread from yet another nightmare grips her. They always seemed to surface after encounters with her father, haunting her with unrelenting intensity. Her head is resting on Zac's chest, his steady breathing indicating he's still deeply asleep. She takes a moment to steady herself, listening to his heartbeat beneath her ear, but the tranquility does little to ease her restless mind.

Carefully, she sits up, her gaze wandering around the dimly lit room. The cool morning air brushes against her naked skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She slips out of bed, gathering her scattered clothes from the floor. With silent, practiced movements, she walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. The cold tiles under her feet ground her momentarily as she stands in front of the sink.

She empties her bladder, then stands at the counter, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at her seems like a stranger—vulnerable, uncertain, far from the confident, composed figure she presents to the world. She runs a hand through her disheveled hair, smoothing it down. As she rifles through the cabinets, she finds an extra toothbrush and quickly brushes her teeth, the minty taste clearing some of the lingering fog from her mind.

After getting dressed, Fatima pauses for a moment, taking one last look at herself. She exhales deeply, steeling herself for what comes next. Quietly, she tiptoes back into the bedroom, careful not to disturb Zac. As she reaches for her heels, Zac's phone screen lights up on the bedside table, casting a soft glow in the dim room. She glances at the screen unintentionally and reads the text:

Cortez: I have more insight on Denzel Garcia. Stop by my place later so we can go over it.

Fatima's expression tightens, a mix of irritation and resignation crossing her face. "Denzel Garcia? How does Zac— I'm not dealing with this shit," she mutters under her breath. The mention of her father's name sends a wave of frustration through her. She turns to look at Zac, still peacefully asleep, oblivious to the turmoil she feels. She shakes her head, feeling the weight of her complicated reality pressing down on her.

With a soft sigh, she picks up her heels, walking out of the bedroom. She pauses just outside the door, slipping on her shoes. She takes a deep breath, glancing back one last time before closing the door behind her. The sound of the door clicking shut seems louder than it is, echoing in the quiet hallway. She heads out of the apartment, the early morning stillness enveloping her as she makes her way down the corridor.

She enters the elevator, the quiet of the building suggesting that most residents are still asleep. The atmosphere is calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside her. She digs into her bag and pulls out her phone, quickly dialing Jose's number.

"Jose," she says softly when he answers, "come pick me up. I'm at Zac's apartment." Her voice is steady, but the undercurrent of urgency is unmistakable.

"Right away, Miss Wilson," Jose replies without question, understanding the gravity of her tone.

As the elevator doors open on the ground floor, she slips her phone back into her bag. The lobby is quiet, but her solitude is quickly interrupted. An unfamiliar voice calls out, "Fatima Wilson?"

Fatima turns, her eyes narrowing as she faces a woman she doesn't recognize. "Yes?" she responds, her expression a mix of confusion and guardedness.

"This isn't your place of residence," the woman states, her tone tinged with accusation.

"And?" Fatima challenges, her voice cold and defiant.

"The last time I heard of you around here, the people weren't exactly pleased with your actions," the woman continues, her gaze locked on Fatima with a hint of disdain.