Only for You

25: Shame

The quiet hum of the engine filled the space, only interrupted by the haunting notes of Shame by Summer Walker drifting through the speakers. Fatima stared out the window, her arms crossed tightly, shielding herself from whatever storm brewed inside her. Zac's hands gripped the steering wheel firmly, his knuckles white, as he stole glances at her, his worry growing with each passing second.

"Ti, you okay?" Zac asked, his voice soft, yet filled with concern. His hand drifted from the wheel to rest gently on her thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles over the fabric of her pants.

Fatima flinched at the question, as though it physically hurt her. She turned her head toward him briefly, nodding in silent reply, but her expression betrayed her.

Zac's jaw tightened, but he nodded back, not wanting to push. "Okay," he muttered, turning his eyes back to the road.

Fatima swallowed hard, her gaze flickering toward the dashboard as the familiar lyrics filled the silence around them. Shame, guilt, regret—they weighed heavily on her, and she couldn't stop the tear that slipped down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away, hoping Zac wouldn't notice.

But he did. His eyes darted to her, and his heart clenched when he saw her broken expression. "Ti..." he said softly, his voice dipping low. "What's wrong?"

The panic in his tone undid her. She shook her head quickly, desperate to hide from the weight of his gaze. "I'm sorry," she said, forcing a chuckle that came out strained and hollow.

Zac's hands tightened around the wheel. His chest felt heavy, watching her crumble. "Sorry for what?" he asked, but she didn't answer. He sighed deeply and guided the car toward the side of the road, pulling over smoothly.

The engine quieted, and Zac turned in his seat, facing her fully. He reached over, lowering the volume of the music until the world outside became a faint backdrop of passing cars and distant wind. "Fatima..." he called gently, his voice steady, grounding.

"It's not you," she said quickly, shaking her head, her voice quivering.

"Then what—or should I ask who—is it?" Zac countered, his tone soft but insistent. He wanted answers, not for himself, but because he couldn't stand seeing her in this state.

Fatima's walls shattered, and the tears came like a flood. Her chest heaved as she tried to contain her sobs, her hands flying to her face. "It's stupid," she muttered, her voice muffled behind her palms. "It's so stupid."

Zac leaned in closer, his large hand cupping her cheek, gently brushing away the tears. "It's not stupid if it's hurting you," he said firmly. "Talk to me, Ti. Please."

Her lip trembled as she lowered her hands, meeting his patient gaze. She took a shuddering breath, her voice barely audible. "It's what my mom said to me back there. She... she compared me to my dad."

Zac frowned but stayed silent, letting her find her words.

"She's been looking at me like that for years," Fatima continued, her voice breaking. "Like I'm a disappointment. Like I'll never be enough. She—she said I was just like him."

Zac's brows knitted together, his chest tightening as he listened. "Why would she say that?" he asked gently.

Fatima's chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as she tried to find the words, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She glanced at Zac, and the tenderness in his eyes made the lump in her throat even harder to swallow. What if he looked at her differently after she told him? The same way her mother had, all those years ago? The thought terrified her.

"Fatima," Zac said softly, his voice a lifeline in the storm of her emotions. "You can tell me. Whatever it is, I'm here."

She hesitated, her fingers tightening into fists. "What if it changes everything between us?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of her fear.