We left Zayn tied up where he was.

Judging from the general purpose of the room and the unawareness of the house's owners, I calculated at least a week before anyone other than a curious servant would find him. And the servants had been paid well to not be curious. By the time someone did find him, he would have had escaped, a little worse for wear but breathing, unfortunately. Christopher had been able to convince Mr. Rodwell he wasn't worth the risk.

On the way back to the penthouse, we stopped at a drug store. Tasha helped me to the little bathroom in the back and then ran inside to grab Band-Aids, ointment and some concealer. I stayed leaning against the wall besides the sink, staring at the grime encrusted, broken toilet bowl. The seat was down. Regardless, through a crack on the surface, I could see some interesting things inside. But there was nothing left in me to throw up.

I didn't look at the mirror.

When Tasha came back in, a crackly plastic back in her hand, she stopped a moment at the door. "Zara?"

I looked up at her and smiled. My mouth hurt. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

I still smiled. "Not at all."

She came forward uncertainly and placed the bag on the sink. Then she just stood back and let me have my space. She didn't touch me. I appreciated that very much.

"You know," I said, going back to staring at the toilet bowl, "I am really tired."

"It's all going to end soon," she promised, like I knew she would.

"I thought that too, and then this happened." I touched my swollen lips.

"It will all get better," she insisted lamely.

I smiled again. Of course everything would get better. How could it not? How did they say it? The morning comes only after the thickest part of night? There's a day coming after every night? I wondered if the people who said this had ever had any personal proof to what they proclaimed. Did they really see the light after dark? Did they? Because if they did, I would like to meet them. I would like to sit with them and ask them to teach me to see it too. Because at the moment, all I could see was shadows around me.

"Let me fix you up," Tasha offered after a moment of very deep silence.

I was tempted to tell her that she couldn't, but then I let it drop. What was the use of being such a pessimist? Of course there would be light after the dark! All the grand old-agers said so. They would know, won't they?

"Okay," I consented. Grabbing the sink, I slowly hobbled in front of it and looked up at the mirror. I almost lost my recently acquired resolve.

"Shit," I hissed.

The bruises I had been expecting. The scratches too. Even the hickeys. What I hadn't been expecting was how horrendous all of them looked together.

My lips were swollen to twice their normal size and were a dark maroon, like two giant blood filled ticks. The upper lip was busted open at the side and a thin line of clotted blood ran down to the chin. The sides of my mouth and the undersides of my jaw had dark finger marks on them, as did my cheeks. There were nail scratches at the sides of my face. A line of dark wound marks marched down my throat.

A demented laugh escaped my lips. It hurt. "Tell me, Tasha, did I just get kissed or mauled by a dog?"

"I don't know," she replied harshly, not in the mood for jokes. I could almost feel the need to start bawling exuding off her in thick waves. She grabbed the bag and started digging inside.

"How do you even plan to hide this?" I inquired curiously. "This is never going to work."

"I will try," she said shortly, pulling out antiseptic wipes and tearing a packet with her teeth.

"Ella's going to notice," I continued. Dread was filling up my chest again. "What will I tell her?"

"Zara, I don't know!" she exclaimed suddenly, hiss-shouting the words. "I don't know anything." She sighed and motioned at me with her hand. "Just turn around."

Propping my hip against the sink, I turned to face her. She placed the cool gauze on my cheek. I winced.

"I am so sorry," she said after some time had elapsed during which she methodically cleaned the cuts and avoided my eyes.

"What for?" I asked mildly, playing with my fingers. They were unmarked. I was faintly surprised. I had expected all of me to be marked. After all, Zayn was a thorough man. I thought about the last image I had of him, lying broken and bleeding against the wall of a store room, Mr. Rodwell's last complementary right hook sending him to sleep again, and smiled internally. Had been a thorough man.

"I should have been there sooner." Her voice was starting to choke. "Christopher should have been there sooner. If it hadn't been for me, he would have been!"

"If it hadn't been for you, I would have gone insane."

Her hands stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Tasha, if you hadn't been there in that room to hold me, I would have shattered into a million pieces right there. In fact, you're the only thing that's holding me together right now."

She stared at me, her eyes wide. "Really?"

I sighed heavily. "Please don't make me say this," I begged. "I am putting on the tough girl act. It's not easy."

"You don't have to. Not with me."

"Actually, I do. Especially with you. I don't want to cry in front of you."

She frowned. "But you cry all the time in front of me."

I exhaled in exasperation. "I know I do, Tasha. And that's why I don't want to right now! You won't understand. It's just like-like I have fooled my brain into thinking I am tough. Don't ruin it, please."

A single tear fell out of her eye and landed on her cheek. I wiped it away with my thumb. "I will keep you safe," she promised, like she always did.

I smiled. "I know," I said, like I always did.

I guess we both knew we were lying, for everything was suddenly out of our hands.

After this the time flew by pretty quickly. The cuts and hickeys cleaned to the best of her potential, she bandaged as many as she could without making me look like a mummy. Then she proceeded to the bruises. There wasn't much that could be done for them now, and even if there was, we didn't know how to, not having enough medical experience to place a sharpened pencil tip on. So Tasha just coated a thick layer of concealer over my skin, hiding them as effectively as she could.

When she was done, I looked at the mirror. "Wow. Nice job. I can't see an-no wait, I can." I shrugged. "As good as it's ever going to get, I guess. You might want to think about reapplying in that beauty school. You sure have potential."

She huffed, but didn't reply. Stowing all the brushes she had used to paint my face back into her bag, she grabbed my arm and put it around her neck. "Come on. Time to go home."

We hobbled out the door and stopped at the curb, where the limousine idled. Conrad stood leaning against the hood, playing with his hat. When he saw us, he immediately sprang forward to open the door, avoiding my eyes. I wondered how much he knew.

"You don't have to do that for us, Conrad," I said. "Save that for your boss."

He didn't say anything, just held the door open further.
I sighed and slipped inside. Mr. Rodwell and Christopher were sitting in the back seat, deep in conversation. The moment the door opened and Tasha and I got in, they turned around sharply to look at us. Mr. Rodwell's face was unreadable, but his sharp, piercing eyes send shockwaves down my spine. There was blood on his collar. He hadn't bothered to put his jacket back on since we had left the house.

When we were settled in, Mr. Rodwell pressed a button. "Home, Conrad."

After that it was silent for a little while, and then Christopher asked, tentatively, like he just couldn't resist, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I replied. My heart was thudding so hard, it hurt. I didn't want them to ask about it. I didn't want any of them to even mention it. Mr. Rodwell's silence grew frostier by the second. I hurried forth before Christopher could start apologising again. "So, tell me, did all this help? Now we know Frank's actually after Mr. Rodwell, right? Why do you think that is?"

"Miss Mahal," Mr. Rodwell interjected sharply, making me look at him. "Your work in this is over. There's nothing in it for you."

A wave of heat crawled up my neck. My hands felt so hot, they burned. Probably because I was wringing them again. "What do you mean there's nothing in it for me?"

Christopher tried to keep a restraining hand of Mr. Rodwell's shoulder, but he just shrugged it off and continued to glare at me. "I mean exactly what I said. There's nothing more for you in this. Look what your last idea did!" and he motioned with his hand, the knuckles of which were still slightly bloody, towards my face, "We are not doing anything like that again! Just like I said we never should have!"

He was shaking with ire, but I don't think he realised. His jaws were clenched so hard they might need a crowbar to be opened, and the brightness of his eyes made me think of tornadoes.

I didn't say anything for a long time. I didn't know what to say. Then, "Why? Wasn't this a success? Didn't we get what we wanted?"

"Yes, Miss Mahal, we got what we wanted. Just let your face tell your story for you."

I looked down. By breath was coming in short gasps now. I bit my lip without thinking and hissed as it scraped against the abused flesh. Tears popped into my eyes. I looked out the window to keep them-him-from seeing it.

"This is done, Miss Mahal," Mr. Rodwell reiterated softly.

I didn't reply. Tasha placed her hand in mine and squeezed, but I didn't respond. I couldn't respond. What was I supposed to do?

By the time we reached the penthouse, such a thick layer of silence had settled on all of us that we might have to use shovels to get it out. At the foot of the building, Tasha asked me if I needed her to come up. When I told her she didn't have to, knowing she had work tomorrow and didn't need to babysit me anymore, Mr. Rodwell asked Conrad to drive Christopher and her to their respective homes.

"Come on," Tasha insisted, getting out of the car, "I will help you get up, at least."

"There's no need for that," Mr. Rodwell said. I ignored him, but Tasha thought turning around and glaring was a better option, because of which he got a chance to continue. "Here."

This time I did look. How could I not? Even if I felt dead inside, I was still human. And curiosity always bit you in the butt.

Mr. Rodwell retrieved a package from inside the car and held in out to Tasha. She let go of me for just a moment to grab it from him and rip the cover off. Then she glared at him some more.

I leaned closer to look.

Crutches. He had brought me new crutches.

When Tasha continued to glare, waiting for an explanation, he ran his fingers through his hair viciously, in frustration. "You lost yours. So when you were at the drug store, I had Conrad pick up new ones."

"We do not-" Tasha started angrily.

But I was so tired. I didn't have any energy left to argue anymore. I just put all my weight on the side of the car and grabbed them from her hands. She looked at me in shock as I put them on and adjusted the sides.

"Zara?" she said.

"I will pay him, of course," I told her, shrugging. My voice sounded hoarse. I didn't care. My insides were hoarse too, so they matched. "I just want to sleep."

"You don't have-"

I whirled around so fast I might have toppled over on my own if the vicious anger burning inside me hadn't held me up. "Shut up!" I yelled. "Just shut up, okay? Stop telling me what I can and can't do!"

I was fuming so hard that it took a moment for the others to even come into focus. When they finally did, I found Christopher had joined the others outside, and they were all looking at me with the oddest looks of bewilderment of their faces. Tasha's expression was worried. But of course it was. She knew what was happening. As did I, but it was happening to me, so there was nothing I could do.

"Zara?" she said, holding a hand up, like a trainer might to a wild animal. I wasn't any better than an animal myself at the moment, and I knew it. "Zara, you need to calm down."

I stepped back, baring my teeth. "Don't come near me," I warned. "Just don't." I didn't let the tears fall, even though my heart was choking on them. "I just want to sleep. Please."

"Za---"

"I'll be fine," I interjected before she could finish, even though I knew that was God's honest lie. She knew it too, because she didn't back down. "I'll be fine in the morning. I promise. Just--I just want to be alone. Please."

"No, y-"

"Give me the key," I said to Mr. Rodwell, gripping the new crutches tightly and holding out my hand. "The elevator key. Give it to me, please."

Mr. Rodwell took ages to finally decide there was nothing he could do to control the situation. If they tried to stop me, I would explode further. So he pulled out his wallet, keeping a wary eye on me, and handed the key over.

I snatched it from his hands and almost ran (as best as I could with three legs) into the building. It was so hard to maintain the little bit of composure left, that I hadn't lost already.

I didn't fail to notice that he didn't follow.

The moment I was inside the elevator and the doors were shut, I contemplated if I could shatter now. But I decided against it. There was danger still. What if Ella was awake? What if Hannah and Granny had come back and were just waiting for me? What would I tell them if I ran into the house screaming my head off like I wanted to?

Granny would have an instant heart attack, and this time I didn't think it would be fake. No matter how much she belied the description, she was, for all intents and purposes, an old woman. And Ella? She already knew something was wrong. I couldn't do this to her, not again. I mean, she paid her new Monopoly money so that I could get better! How could I do this to her? And Hannah...well, we already know how she would react. How many days had it been since her mother had died? Would her little body even have strength left to see another broken adult?

No, I had to control it. I had to bear it till I was alone. I had too many people depending on me to do this to them.

I would cry later. For them, I would cry later.

When the elevator doors finally opened, I saw that my decision had indeed been right. Not heeding the late hour, Ella and Hannah were sitting on the couch, the living room T.V. on (the villainous felons), a big plastic container half-filled with popcorn between them.

As I watched, Ella stuffed her hand inside and pulled out a fistfull, which she then proceeded to shove into her mouth, spilling half. Granny was asleep in the armchair, wearing a brand-new top with dancing trolls on top.

The moment the elevator dinged, both Ella and Hannah turned around, identical guilty expression plastered on their faces. When they saw it was only me, their sheepish expressions cranked up tenfold.

"What are you girls doing?" I asked as I stepped out.
Ella's eyes suddenly widened. My heart hitched. Had I been wrong? Was Tasha's makeup not concealing something? Oh, goodness, what was I going to tell her?

"Mommy!" she screamed. "Mommy, you look beautiful!"

Huh? I was pretty sure Zayn had given me a makeover, but as far as I remembered, it hadn't been one to make me look beautiful. What was she talking about?

I looked down at myself as she threw herself over the back of the couch and came bounding towards me. Wha-

"Where did you get it from? Mommy," her eyes were suddenly as big as dinner plates. "Where were you? Wher-what happened to your face?"

It took all of my self-control to not rush towards a mirror and check. There was a big and painful bubble in my throat. "What do you mean, darling?"

"There are Band-Aids on you face," she informed me.

I looked at her closely. Okay, she isn't freaking out. So I mustn't freak out too. I took a deep breath. "Yes, darling. You see, I was just walking, and then I didn't notice and I fell into some bushes. Scratched myself really bad." I let out a little laugh through my teeth. "Mommy's an idiot, right?"

Her hands covered her mouth in shock as her eyes shone like a Disney cartoon. "Who were you walking with? Where you at a party? With Mr. Rodwell?" She was barely breathing now.

"Wh-Oh, the dress." Sheesh. I had completely forgotten about it. "No, no. It's Aunty Tasha's."

"Oh. But then where were you? It's so late!"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Yes, young lady," I said, ignoring her question. "I have noticed that it's late. Which brings me to my question. Why are you up so late? The both of you?" I included Hannah too, who had just been about to put more popcorn into her mouth. She put them back when she saw my face. There was a doll clutched in her hand and she gave it a very tight squeeze.

Wait...Hannah had a doll?

Ella's face was scrunched up, thinking up an excuse as fast as humanly possible. I rolled my eyes. "Got it!" she exclaimed. "Mommy, we wanted to wait up for you. You remember you said you always want hugs from the little kids when you get home? How could I have let you come home to no hug?" she inquired, her wide eyes beseeching me to understand her predicament. "So, it was either disobey, or let you have no hug. You understand why we chose this, don't you?"

I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. Wow, today really wasn't my day. I couldn't believe a four-year old had just argued with me. And with a perfect argument too! Hannah was looking at Ella as if she gazed upon the epitome of perfection in this world.

So what should I have said? I couldn't exactly let her win the argument, could I? I was the adult here.

"Don't smart talk me, young girl," I said sharply, like the stereotypical mother. "You know what you did is wrong and so do I. Now, come on, off to bed with the two of you. We will see what we can do about no ice-cream for a whole week, now shall we?"

Ella's face was the picture of abject horror. "But Mommy!" she cried. "That's not fair. I gave you a reason! You always tell us to listen to reason. Why won't you listen to mine?"

"Ella, stop! I am so very tired right now. I don't have time for all this. Come on! Bed. Now."

"But Mommy, I-"

"Aunty Zara?" Hannah interrupted. I looked up from the face of my infuriating daughter to find her walking towards me, the doll dragging on the ground by her feet. "Aunty, will you see my new clothes? And then we will sleep. Promise. I wanted to show you, and Ella stayed up with me."

"Clothes?" My brain wasn't functioning at a normal brain's speed anymore. "What clothes?"

"The ones Granny bought for me," she said excitedly. She waved her hand towards the couch. "Come, come and see! They are beautiful! I have yellow and black leggings!"

But I am so tired, I protested. Good thing they weren't telepathic.

I surrendered. Just like with Mr. Rodwell, I had no energy left to complain. If they had asked me to jump over a cliff, I think I would have done it if it stopped the arguing and I could go to sleep. Permanently, regardless.

I walked to Granny first and shook her hard enough to make her pipe pop out of her mouth. Her eyes opened wide, spittle spraying from her lips. "I plead not guilty, Your Honour! Not guil-wait, what?"

I sighed and sat down on the couch. I had a feeling that if I asked her about her dream I would reach the ultimate level of too much information.

Granny's eyes focused on me and she huffed in irritation. "What are you doing?" she asked angrily. "I just dosed off! Do you have any idea how tir-What are you wearing?"

I rolled my eyes. "I will tell you later. Right now, Hannah wanted to show me the things you people bought. I figured you should be awake."

Granny rubbed her forehead heavily, like she couldn't believe how many people always needed her help. "Can't we do this tomorrow?"

"Hannah doesn't think so," I said sympathetically, and then looked around, searching for the said child. She wasn't there anywhere.

"Hannah?" I called. "Where did you go? Don't you want to see the clothes?"

There was a shuffle from inside the room the girls had marked off as their own. And then came the foreboding sound of too many plastic bags crinkling. Oh, good god...

Ella and Hannah came out, about a billion bags hanging from their arms. "Oh, goodness," I couldn't stop myself from exclaiming. "What did you people do, rob the place?" I asked Granny.

She waved her hand flippantly at me. "Don't be absurd. We found this really cheap thrift store around the corner and then we thought, why not? Right, Hannah?" She winked at her. I had always thought so, but now I was perfectly sure: she was a very bad influence. Maybe I should think about moving to Pluto. But then again, that didn't seem far enough away.

Hannah came charging forward, overflowing with happiness. She kept her bags carefully on the sofa. Ella threw all of hers down the moment she was close enough and started ripping through them. I winced.

Hannah opened a bag reverentially and pulled out a very shiny, very pink top. "Look, Aun-" she frowned. "Aunty? Are you okay?"

"Me?" I asked, confused. No I wasn't fine, of course, but I hadn't done anything to make her think so, had I? Had the concealer come off? My hand involuntarily went to my cheek. "Honey, I'm fine."

"Oh," she looked thoughtfully down at the shirt in her hand. "I just-it's okay if you don't want to see them. Ella told me about your operation."

It took me a moment to understand what she was referring to. When I did, I had to stop myself from slapping a hand against my forehead. The operation. The one my daughter had paid a fortune for. God...

"I am perfectly fine, Hannah," I said, ruffling her hair and pulling the shirt from her hands. "And I love this shirt!"

After that, it was basically an explosion of sparkly leggings, butterfly hairbands, tofu skirts, polka dotted shirts, frills, bows and cartoon character hairpins. My conclusion? Get Hannah some normal clothes as soon as possible.

"Wow, Hannah, that's so cool!" I exclaimed for what felt like the millionth time. "I just love giant, sparkly bracelets!"

"I know!" Hannah shrieked. "They are so beautiful."

I noticed Ella looking at me with raised eyebrows. Guess I would have to blackmail her to keep her mouth shut. "And Granny," I said hurriedly. "You bought something new too!" The smile dropped from my face and I glowered at her. "Why?"

She huffed. "Because it's beautiful," she trilled.

Sometimes I just wanted to sit inside an oven and roast myself into a crisp.

Hannah squeezed the doll closer to her chest. It had thick coils of yellow hair jutting out from a potato-like face, blue eyes, a black line for lips, and wore a red shirt and a black skirt. I frowned. Granny had more to answer for than a troll shirt.

"Alright, then, girls," I said. "About time you went to bed, right? I think I remember something about a promise..."

They deflated like two little balloons. Ella opened her mouth to argue some more, but Hannah shut her up with a glance. Ella threw her a venomous look, but helped throw all the clothes back nonetheless. After that was done, the two of them gave me the hugs they owed and then, tugging the bags--and in Hannah's case, the doll as well--went into the room and shut the door.

"Don't let there be a peep from the two of you now," I called.

So, of course, the next second, "Peep!"

"No Shawn the Sheep for you tomorrow, Ella!"

"Oh, Mommy." But she shut up after that.

After they were gone, I fell back against the back of the couch and rubbed my neck. There seemed to be a coil of steel there, and it refused to come out.

"Precious, aren't they?" Granny asked, a grin apparent in her voice.

"If I answer that," I said. "I would be a very bad mother." Then, I looked up. "Why did you get her the doll? I told you it only had to be clothes. We can't waste money on toys anymore. I still haven't had my pay cheque yet."

"Oh, please," Granny waved her hand dismissively. "The doll won't have cost that much."

"I know it didn't," I said, sighing. "It's jus-wait, won't have cost? What do you mean? You paid for it, right?"

"Well..." she said uncomfortably. "No, actually. The th-"

"Why didn't you pay?" I asked angrily. "Granny, I told you we won't live on charity! That includes Hannah too! You know that."

"Yes, I do," Granny said. "Listen to me, will you?" She sounded pissed too. "I didn't ask the cashier not to take the money. The woman just won't. She kept saying it had been paid for! And Hannah won't let go of it. She started crying right there! What else was I supposed to do?"

"Paid for?" I asked, thoroughly confused. "Who the hell paid for it?" My voice was lower now, seeing as Granny wasn't as much to blame as I had thought earlier.

"I don't know. I kept asking her, but she won't tell. She just kept saying that it was paid for and the kid should keep it. And there was Hannah, crying her eyes out that she wanted to keep it. I mean, it's such an ugly thing!" she added, trying to explain. "But anyways, what was I supposed to do? I tried to pay still, but the woman won't take it. She kept saying it was paid for."

Hmm....

"Maybe she just wanted to buy Hannah something?" I reasoned. "She's a sweet little kid."

Granny sighed and popped her pipe back in her mouth. "That's what I thought too. So I just let it rest. Besides, it's not exactly a disaster that the kid has a toy of her own, is it?"

"No, I guess not," I murmured, feeling a little out of it.

But then I shrugged. It was just a doll, after all. Not a bomb by any means.

The elevator behind us dinged. I turned around to find Mr. Rodwell striding into the room. Tasha and Christopher must have left.

It was as clear as day from the look on his face that it hadn't been Santa Clause they discussed while standing outside. He glanced at me with a look I couldn't quite place. Without saying a word, he went straight to his room. The door shut with a decisive slam.

"Er...Was that blood on his shirt?" Granny asked as her eyes followed him down the corridor and he disappeared.

"Yes," I said shortly. The little respite I had felt sitting down and looking at clothes with my girls was now vanishing as clouds vanish before a scorching sun.

"Where were you, Zara?" Granny asked softly.

"I don't want to talk about it, Granny." I let my head fall down on my chest.

"Tomorrow then?" she asked hopefully. There was fear in her voice. And I knew it wasn't for herself. It was for me.

"How about never?"

"Would you mind if Tasha told me?"

I sighed. "Maybe not," I conceded. What did it matter is she knew anyways? She knew the rest too. This wasn't exactly in the same league as what had happened before, and she knew all of that. She could bear this too.

But can you? Knowing that she knows? Knowing that everyone knows? The voice was back.

Yes, I can.

Are you sure? Remember why you never told anyone before? Would they respect you anymore, knowing your past hasn't left you yet? Would you, if you were in their place?

I would! This isn't my fault!

Perspective, my dear. I am sure your mamma won't think that. Neither would abu. You know you don't have a family. Do you really want to lose the ones you have here too?

"Granny? I am going to sleep, 'kay?"

Granny hesitated for a second. Of course, just like Tasha, she could see the signs. She must already have figured out along what lines my day had been. "Okay, sweetie. You do that."

I chuckled to myself as I got up. Sweetie. My state must be very serious.

When I got to the room I had woken up in, I closed the door and locked it behind me. Only then did I go to the bathroom and wash off the makeup as tentatively as I could. I removed the Band-Aids too. The bruises and cuts were back.

I liked it better this way. No need to hide. For a moment, before going to bed, I made sure I stood before the windows too, wondering if the whole world underneath could see me or not. I hoped they could. I hoped they saw who I really was. Because then maybe tomorrow I won't have to hide again.

By the time I was ready to sleep, the burning in my chest had risen into a conflagration. That night, like so many others all those years ago, I slept in a bed of flames.