ACRO

Dark Kingdom

Youssef stepped out of the bathroom, to see Sam seated on the bed. He looked fresh and clean, his hair wet and eyes slightly red.

"You can use the bathroom." he said.

"You smell of blood."

"I am not living with you." she muttered, with hatred.

"I'll only be here in the mornings and a few other times to check up on you. You'll be alone, most of the time."

"I can't live in a room with you and your family shoved in my face!" she snapped, pointing at the picture stuck on the steel cupboard.

"If you don't like the picture, don't look at it. And I'm sorry I couldn't provide you with better living conditions, because the alternative to this, is either the dungeons or the hole." he snapped back.

"Your precious slave camp." she remarked.

"Those women are Khalifa's responsibility, not mine." he retorted.

"Khalifa? That's what you call your leader?" she asked, in surprise.

"I don't expect you to understand our ways." he said, shaking his head.

"An army, a slave camp, a dungeon and a 'Khalifa'. What is this? A fucking kingdom?"

"Call it what you want, but let me tell you one thing. The hole comes under Deema, who is not a fan of you and the dungeons are under Amin." he said, his tone mellowing.

"Amin is a sadist. That man seeks pleasure in inflicting pain and you don't want to deal with him. He is the most brutal torturer of the League, who tortures not for information, but for fun."

"You go to the hole, you become a slave. You go to the dungeons, you're Amin's plaything. I'd suggest you stop trying to flee, but you're adamant. So the least you could do, is be grateful I brought you here instead of leaving you to your fate." he said, sharply.

A knock averted their gaze to the door, interrupting their argument. Youssef opened the door, and made way for Salima to enter, the same packet in her hands.

"Let's try this again." she said, looking at Sam.

"I brought you food. But you should take a shower, first." she said.

"You smell like blood."

Her stare averted to Youssef, turning into a death a glare, when he shrugged at Salima's words.

"Don't worry, I'm off to train the boys." he said, picking up his shoes in one hand, a pair of socks in the other.

He sat on the bed, tying the laces of the shoes, picked up a bag kept over one of the two metal trunks kept on the corner of the room and headed towards the door.

"Where's Deema?" he asked Salima, in Arabic, as he stood at the threshold of the room.

"The kitchen." she replied, and he left.

As the door thudded closed, Salima walked towards Sam, pointing at the steel cupboard. "That's where you'll find new clothes for yourself." she prompted.

Sam huffed.

As she stood in the shower, her bruises ached and her wounds burnt. She felt pain, like never before, but she was unable to let it out. Her face was against the running water, as she closed her eyes, trying to wash away the pain.

It should've been me.

You killed your sister, Sam.

What will mother think of you?