DANCE WITH THE ENEMY

CHAPTER THREE

ZARIYAH

Today marks the third day I've been locked in this room, crying my eyes out. My body feels weak due to the lack of food, so weak it's offending. The only thing keeping me going is the few sips of water from the sink, my sole defense against dehydration.

"Zariyah, I need you to open up, or I promise I'll break down this door. I've let you have your way for the last couple of days, but we're doing this my way now. Zariyah!" The boom in his voice reminds me of my father and all the times he would reprimand me. He's been at that door time and again, trying to talk me out of my self-imposed isolation, assuring me he understands how I feel and wants to help me through it. He's warned me he won't let me harm myself.

All I've thought about for the last couple of days is how it would be to just disappear. "Zariyah! This isn't helping. It's unhealthy for your condition... for your baby," he says, his words striking a chord within me. What baby is he talking about?

I leap out of bed, and the room spins. A wave of dizziness washes over me. I grip the headboard to steady myself, waiting for the dizziness to pass. But my body has other plans. I dash to the toilet, dry heaving for the umpteenth time in three days.

"Zariyah! Zariyah!" His voice echoes through the floor, despite the two doors between us. One thud. Two. Three. A loud slam reverberates through the floor. I grip the toilet seat tighter, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves. I was one gag away from passing out, one dizzy spell away from hitting the ground.

"Zariyah!" He breathes in my ear, his strong hand wrapping around me, lifting me up. "Are you okay?" His frantic eyes scan my body. "Get the doctor in here, now!" He places me on the bed.

Despite my weak state, questions swirl in my head. "What baby?" I whine, my voice hoarse and barely audible. I blink tiredly at him.

"We can talk about that later. Let's focus on getting you better. The doctor will be here soon," he says, patting down my curls.

"Tell me, please..." I insist.

"I'd like to take you somewhere tomorrow," he informs, his hands running through the strands of my hair.

"I don't want to go," I refuse.

"You have to. It's important," he presses.

"Where?" I sigh, suddenly curious.

"You'll see," he responds quietly.

The doctor walks in, breaking the silence. "How are you feeling?"

I nod, unable to speak.

A young maid walks in, placing a plate on my bedside table.
While the doctor checks my vitals and says, "You're all good. Eat something and rest okay?"

I nod in understanding.

"What's your name?" I ask the man beside me, staring up at him as he slides me the tray of food, nudging with his head for me to eat.

"Marco. Marco Ben George," he replies, rising to his feet.

"Now, eat. I'll check on you later." He exits, leaving me alone.

My eyes are trained on the plate in front of me. I barely have an appetite, but I force myself to eat, not wanting to worry Marco further.

The next morning, I wake up feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep. The pills had really helped. I shower and dress in jeans and a top from the wardrobe.

Marco knocks on the door and pokes his head in. "You ready?"

I nod, following him to his car.
We drive to wherever he's taking me in absolute silence.
When he pulls over at what I figured is a cemetery, my heart sinks. Too scared of what I know this is about.

Marco takes my hand, leading me to a set of newly built tombstones.

All I want to do is make a run for it. I can't bear this. I can't bear to see the names of my family members carved on tombstones.

I just want to live in the illusion that I'll wake up from this nightmare someday.
Even after several days of being curbed up in a self induced isolation and crying my tear ducts dry.

The names on the tombstones snap something inside of me. Anger and vengeance fuel my veins.

Anger for the wicked act carried out against them.

Anger for the injustice meted out to them.

Anger that only fuels a thirst for vengeance - a thirst to revenge.

I try to pull away , but Marco spins me around. "Face this, Zariyah. This is the reality. You can't keep running," encouraging, me to look back at those three tombstones engraved with the names of the people that meant the world to me.

The smallest, with my baby brother's name, has me breaking down uncontrollably.

He was so young. He had barely lived. He had so much life ahead of him.

I was supposed to protect him, because I promised him that.

To always protect him from monsters.

I failed him.

"I'm sorry..." I collapse onto my knees, overcome with grief.

I grovel between their graves, not caring that my knees where scraping the solid floor and bruising.

I just want to be held by them.

Craving those tiny cuddles Dylan would give me when he slept in my room because he had a bad dream.

Those comforting hugs my mum would give me when I felt sad.

Those reassuring kisses my dad would give me, reminding me that I would always be his little girl and he'll always be there for me.

Marco let's me cry until all that left is blood thirst and I vow silently to seek vengeance for my family's death.

Until I am bathed in the blood of the people that did this to them

That took not only their lives but their legacy.

Even if it's the last thing I do.