I'm sure you've heard a lot about unrequited love, but what if I say there exists an unwilling love, hidden somewhere between the echoes of silence and the whispers of the heart's secrets? A love that fights to stay buried, yet yearns to be discover...
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The pain came first.
It started as a low throb in the back of Shazal's skull, then climbed like fire behind his eyes, until even the act of breathing felt like it might split his head open. He groaned, fingers curling against the cold surface beneath him. When he finally blinked his eyes open, the light above him flickered-cheap and yellow and harsh-and the rusty scent of metal and mold filled his lungs.
He realized, slowly, that he was lying on a narrow, hard metal bench-no blanket, no pillow, just a dented slab in the middle of a cluttered room that looked more like a storage closet than a safehouse.
His limbs ached as though he'd been run over.
Twice.
A rusted chair screeched nearby. "About damn time," a familiar voice announced dryly.
Shazal forced his eyes toward the sound. Adnan was slouched in the corner, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. He looked far too relaxed for someone who was worried sick when he left.
"Thought I'd have to drag your corpse around next," Adnan said with a twisted smirk. "Shame. Would've ruined the floor."
The boy sat up with effort, his hand going to his head. There was a sticky warmth there-dried blood, most likely.
The room spun slightly as he adjusted. A bandage was roughly wrapped around his head and by the way it was poorly holding on, Shazal assumed Adnan must've done it himself.
Adnan watched with amusement. "Can't even handle one woman," he added, voice mocking. "Knocked out. Sheesh, you're not making me proud, golden boy."
"W-Where is...she?" He breathed out, he could get a god damn award to act in such fragile state of his.
"Taken care of." Adnan shrugged. "That whore."
"Shut up," Shazal muttered, his throat raw. He managed to sit fully upright, though every muscle screamed at him in protest. Praying that Mehjabeen was safe and somehow managed to escape, and what Adnan was claiming to be a lie.
Adnan took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. "You need to speed up the recovery process," he said, standing up and stretching lazily. "We don't have time to nurse your bruised ego-or your skull."
Shazal glanced up at him through heavy lids. "Why? Where are you d-dragging me now?"
"To Florida." Adnan's voice sharpened. "There's someone sitting on my shares over there-an old 'partner' who's gotten too comfortable thinking I'm out of the picture. I need to go get what's mine."
"And what does that have to do with me?" Shazal's voice was bitter.
Adnan leaned down until they were almost eye-level, his face eerily calm. "Because I need backup. And I don't trust anyone but you to be that. You're not just part of the plan now-you're the damn centerpiece."
