The next two weeks passed by in relative obscurity. The murder was on the back of Laila's mind, the details of the horrific sight began to fester in her mind and became aggravated whenever she walked by the studio. The comments of the members of her Company were the worst of all. She had tried to be as discrete as she could be, but the rumor mill was an incessant and unrelenting wheel of misery. She had tried to shrug off the questions and comments. But she had been asked nearly a million questions about Harper, so she began focusing on training rather than socializing. Refusing to speak during rehearsal was a difficult decision, but her Company recognized the sacrifice and dedication she had to the role and the toll it was taking on her.
It was easy to slip into the role to evade questions about Harper, but she was beginning to feel flustered as memories of her competitor were all around her. Snapping frequently to mistakes and to errors was not in her character but she was easily riled up with her Company. She had been feeling as though she didn't want to be an understudy anymore.
She had thought that maybe Harper was right. When she had tried talking to Dallas about it while she was counting the till and icing her feet, Dallas had nearly gone nuclear on her. Dallas had been infuriated with her self-doubt and her lack of confidence, but Laila had gone silent and had started to do her duties quietly ignoring her fiery friend's assessment.
She was lively at the bar, but the smiles and jokes didn't meet her eyes. She would talk to Craig who would listen to her doubts and try to reassure her. She never revealed anything about the murder as it was ongoing, but she had mentioned she was having trouble with some members of her Company. Her lead instructor had become even more demanding as they had to share a space with the men's academy.
She had demeaned Laila and had verbally stripped her down in front of her Company for an improper position. Laila had felt heartbroken and dismayed with her choice to continue with ballet. She adored it, but it had become a dreadful experience rather than something she had once loved with all of her heart.
Madame Aubert had become increasingly impatient and demanded that Laila work up to 9 hours a day practicing and rehearsing with her male counterpart. Adrian, her Romeo to her Juliet had been increasingly unkind, stating that the role of Juliet would never have gone to someone who looked like her.
She had been stung with that biting comment, but she had tried to swallow her hurt and continue to work twice as hard as a result of that antiquated line of thinking. She knew there were still people who thought ballet belonged to Europe and Europe only.
She didn't think her skin tone mattered…but to some it was not aesthetically pleasing on stage.
She despised it when she was told she was too foreign to enjoy the wonders of the dance. She was just as great as any other dancer who had been practicing as hard as she was.
Adrian had become increasingly rough on her during practice, his hands holding her so tight that she began to form bruises over her hips, her ribs, and her underarms.
She had burst into tears from stress after bartending. Craig had found her while he was walking home and had tried his best to console her. After tearfully explaining what had happened for the past week and a half, she felt better when she had someone to confide in.
Dallas was an amazing friend and colleague, but sometimes it was nice to be comforted rather than rallied.
After thanking Craig extensively, she had taken a cab back to her apartment after Craig had insisted it was too late for her to walk home. She had said goodbye to him, giving him a hug and the promise of a free drink later when she was working next.
The day that she was working next came far too quickly and she had been rehearsing earlier, wobbling in pain from extreme exertion and stress on her feet.
The bar was fairly quiet for an evening, but it was only 8pm and the crowds typically came in at 10pm. She was cleaning the tables and ensuring that the floors were swept and mopped when a familiar face came striding through.
The detective strode towards her expectantly as she had her back turned. Not sensing anyone behind her, she let herself wince in pain at her feet and tried to stretch with limited effect. Nines remained silent but was watching her intently.
Clearing his throat although he had no need to do so, had Laila whirl around.
Laila turned quickly and uttered a subdued hello, fairly surprised that he was there in the bar. She had previously served Gavin after the incident with Harper, and he had been respectful if not a bit of an asshole towards some of his work colleagues.
Their group had been the loudest and she had been taken aback when a nearly identical man who resembled Nines was sitting between a willowy brunette with a kind face and an older gentleman with greying hair and a disgruntled and rough voice. She must have had a visible confusion on her face staring at the seemingly younger version of Nines with warm amber eyes and a gentle demeanour. After what had only seemed like seconds, she snapped her head back to attention and began serving the drinks in the order in which they were sitting.
After announcing the drinks to ensure accuracy she met the eyes of the willowy brunette who smiled widely, "You've met Nines. This is Connor. They're basically siblings."
Laila had smiled and said hello while Dallas yelled at her to get a move on.
She had given a sigh towards the counter and said goodbye to the table and went back to cleaning and serving at the bar top.
Nines had been missing that night and she had wondered where he was and what he was doing instead of being with his colleagues.
With him here in front of her she was pleasantly surprised but curious. Turning to him, she tilted her head questioningly when he broke the silence.
"Laila Ayad, you are under arrest for the murder of Celine Aubert."
Laila had frozen in place looking at his stoic form in absolute bewilderment as she was cuffed by Nines. His grip was unrelentingly strong as he moved her between the tables and gawking patrons. She looked over to Ian and he seemed just as lost.
Ian was gesturing to the phone and mouth "Dallas" as Laila was marched out of the bar and into the cold night. She shivered and felt the winter air embrace her form.
She was in a tight long sleeved black shirt and black pants; something she wore frequently for work. He had not given her time to grab her jacket, her possessions, anything that she kept in her locker.
She was remarkably silent as he read her the rights she was entitled. She had taken a bewildered look at the detective, but he remained steely eyed as she was led into the back of a police cruiser.
She was thinking about the loss of Madame Aubert and despite their differences she was a phenomenal instructor and a close confidant. Where Harper had been unkind for so long it hadn't felt like a true loss, Madame Aubert was one of her fiercest defenders when she had first arrived in Detroit and wanted to join the Academy.
Her wistful and pleasant demeanour had shifted after experiencing the stress of losing her prima ballerina and having to retrain Laila even though Laila had been and was prepared. Madame Aubert hadn't given her a chance to prove it yet before jumping down her throat.
The stern woman with the angular facial features and bright blue eyes had criticized her for years. Laila accepted it in good faith and understood it was to better her form, her style, and her performance. But these days it was to take out her anger and frustration on her. Despite everything, she had loved the woman as though she were her own mother. And her loss felt crippling.
Already feeling numb, she refused to cry in the car…she couldn't. Not when she was being framed for her murder. Madame Aubert would have yelled at her to stop feeling sorry for what had happened and work towards fixing it.
Trying to live the wise lessons of Madame Aubert, she had clammed up until she was going to be given the information she desperately sought out.
Before long she was led to an interrogation room after passing through the glass lobby with several receptionists answering phones and taking in information. The bullpen was full, and she tried to see if she could find Gavin.
He had to know this was a mistake.
She found herself making eye contact with Connor and his older partner. She gave them a pleading glance but was marched towards an interrogation room.
As Nines scanned his hand on the pad, the door clicked opened and he twisted the handle roughly before forcing her down on a cold metal chair.
She cringed at the hold and shook as her hands were restrained with cuffs in front of her. She was frustrated at the treatment. They couldn't sincerely believe that she killed her mentor.
She forced herself to remain still and in good posture. She would withstand this as she withstood the challenges she had faced in her past life.
…
They had left her in the interrogation room for nearly an hour when Connor's older partner came in by himself.
He slumped to the opposite chair and sat down with a weathered hand on chin, scratching his silver beard. Upon closer inspection, he looked tired. His eyes were accusatory, and his demeanour was rough, but she refused to be intimidated. Her mentor was dead…and her killer was still out there.
Laila hoped to God that Madame Aubert had not been killed in the same horrific fashion as Harper had been. A loud bam had her flinch as the man's hand slammed down on the metal table.
"Why'd you do it?"
Laila met his furious stare with her own fierce expression.
"You're in a world of trouble and no one but you can help."
Blinking at the threat, Laila crossed her legs but uttered nothing.
She had been through this before and had sung like a canary, but this time she would utter no details. She had been promised before that her details would provide her immunity.
They hadn't…and she wasn't taking that chance again.
"You haven't asked for a lawyer."
No reaction was given by her, instead her darkened eyes focused on the shadow of the Lieutenant that was created by the bright fluorescent light over top of the table.
"You haven't said anything since you were arrested."
She began tapping her foot silently against the floor, trying to maintain her stare without revealing anything.
"You know what they do to murderers in Bahrain?"
Laila stiffened visibly startled and he knew that he struck a nerve.
"I wouldn't like that fate either if I were you."
Laila consciously rubbed her arm but kept her mouth firmly shut.
"So, you killed your teacher, huh? I'm sure we've all had that thought once upon a time, but you actually acted on impulse and did it."
Looking away from his demeaning glare, she was brought back to attention with the slap of a manilla file on the metal table.
"Want to see your work?"
Laila glanced at the file with apprehension and shook her head involuntarily.
"No?! You don't want to see this artistry?"
The man's hands were steady when he flipped the file open as grisly pictures fell from their confinement.
Madame Aubert had been tortured in the same horrific way as Harper and Laila lost her composure and tried to hold in a frenzied cry of anguish. Biting her lips to stay silent, tears flooded on her face onto the table as she scanned the photographs that were now seared into her mind.
"This is your work, look, these are your prints on the call sheet that was tucked in her hand."
Laila looked up questioningly through her stinging tears but refused to say anything. A broken sob emerged from her mouth as she bowed her head over the photographs of her beloved teacher.
"Why were your prints on the sheet?"
Laila didn't answer because she couldn't. She didn't know.
"Save your tears."
Laila began speaking, but not in a tongue that Connor's old partner would understand.
"I don't know what happened to my instructor."
The Lieutenant gave her an angered look and was about to open his mouth when she spoke again.
"She was one of the best women I ever had the pleasure of meeting…you…you need to find her killer. I would endure the worst torture in the world in a squalid prison in the depths of underground Bahrain to bring her back."
The Lieutenant gave a confused glance to the two-way mirror and snapped his attention back to her as she spoke once more in a voice marred by anguish.
"You can keep me as long as you like in here but FIND her killer."
As she finished speaking in Arabic, she looked beyond the bewildered Lieutenant and attempted to give a glare to the mirror on the side of the wall, but it was made ineffective as tears clouded her vision. Knowing that someone on the other side would understand her, she shut her mouth once more and couldn't help but stare at the horrific photos that had been splayed across the metal surface.
She straightened her back and wiped her tears on her shoulder as the cuffs prohibited her from moving. Swallowing back her grief she turned back to the hardened Lieutenant who had since grown silent.
He shook his head angrily and turned back to the door, leaving her with the photographs.
She couldn't help it and the sensation of curiosity crawled over her, and she reached for the pictures of the grisly scene with outstretched fingers.
Sliding them towards her, she bit back another sob as she realized that in the notes, Madame Aubert was missing her tongue.
Cringing at the thought, she began pulling at her restraints. Her wrists were small and her fingers dexterous and long, but she was having difficulty pulling the cuffs from her hands.
Realizing she was drawing blood from where the metal was digging in, she kept trying to push the cuff off with increased fervor. She wanted to get the restraints off. They wouldn't have known, but she had spent time in a Bahrainian prison, and she knew that American prisons were much different, but in her panicked mind she believed she was going to be hurt.
Wincing at the pull of the cuff, her warm and bloodied wrist made its way over her hand and she pulled at the cuff with all of her strength. She had been taught that to break a cuff you would need another piece of metal to jam within the side and to pull. She was more likely to break her hand, but it was worth the pain to get out of her restraints.
The last time she had been in restraints had been one of the worst experiences of her life and she knew she would be willing to break all of her limbs to get these cuffs off.
Her hand burned where the metal had dug in and her olive skin was stained with crimson. She didn't care. She wanted to get out of them and out of the precinct.
After a moment of using the other cuff to stretch the manacle around her wrist, she heard a sickening screech of metal as the cuff began to warp.
She hated that the man had to teach her this but was immensely grateful that he had. He had been a Navy Seal and had taught her tips on survival and he had explained the weak points on handcuffs.
She continued to pull the metal apart and shim the mechanism, she winced when she was able to shim it just enough to pull her thin wrist from the cuff.
They had cuffed her hands in front of her much to her happiness.
She ascended from the table and kicked the chair to the door loudly. She had the remaining cuff on her right hand. She stood with her head down and was still trying to pull the cuff off as the door opened once again. Flinching at the thought of who it was she bounded backwards before looking up, the other metal chair screeching in protest as she stepped to the opposite side of the wall.
Feeling a bloom of fear in her chest she stood rigidly as Nines walked in.
Momentarily surprised at the disarray of the room and the two dishevelled chairs as well as the blood that had fallen from the table and spread in small droplets to where the panicked dancer was standing in absolute terror. He narrowed his steely eyes at the young woman with blood covering her hands, terrified and backing away from the door. She had worked over the cuffs and had slipped out of them using the other metal cuff as a shim, her blood as a form of lubricant.
He narrowed his eyes at her effort, "I depart from the observation room for a mere two minutes, and you have already found a way to appear even more guilty."
She gave a fierce glare as she stood tense and frightened, "I didn't do what you say I have done!"
Her accent had come back in full swing as she was panicking, just as it had when Gavin and he had spoken to her in her apartment.
"We have just received word that Adrian LaBelle was murdered three hours ago."
Laila gave a look of utter disbelief, "I was at work with Ian…how did he-"
"His tongue was ripped out; his arms were broken…and there was a rose left in his mouth with your name on it."
Laila's face paled, "He's going after everyone in the production."
"No Miss Ayad, he's going after everyone who has wronged you."
Laila nearly stumbled at the information she was given.
"Sit down, we need to delve into your grievances and place members of your Company in protective custody. He seems to have a fascination with wanting to protect you from others' harm. He is a mentally ill individual with a fixation on you. He has no doubt been stalking you and observing you from afar. He may even be an individual that you know."
Laila was reeling from all of the information she was just given, "If what you say is true…you're going to need to put everyone in protective custody because we have all mistreated one another at one time or another."
Nines gave what could only be described as an exasperated but subdued frown as he nodded once. Laila had since taken a seat and wrapped her hands around herself tightly.
Keeping the broken cuff on her right hand, she refused to let him touch her, even to withdraw the metal from her wrist.
They stung from the lacerations she caused herself, but she managed to grapple with the pain as she faced a barrage of questions.
….
"Madame Aubert began drug testing everyone, that's when Simone started bribing others for their urine. I refused and I later found that she had tried to plant drugs in my locker because she thought I was going to tell Madame Aubert. I spoke to Madame Aubert about keeping my things in her office instead of the lockers and she didn't ask questions, but I think she understood."
Nines was sitting patiently listening to the gossip and tales of betrayal and anger and unbridled hostility among Detroit's finest dancers. He had remained silent, allowing Laila to speak uninterrupted as she recounted everything.
"And you?" Nines questioned, his head tilting closer to her surprised face.
"What about me?" Laila asserted, wondering where he was going with his line of questioning.
Nines looked almost bored, "You have likely been involved in some of these incidents…not as a bystander but as an active participant."
Laila glanced at him thoughtfully, her chestnut eyes appearing starkly against the whites of her eyes in the harsh light, "I believe that I had told Madame Aubert everything that she needed to know and that others despised me for it. They claimed that I was only close to Madame Aubert to get a permanent visa to the United States."
"And were you?"
"Of course not!" Laila nearly shouted, feeling deeply offended, "I have my own path to citizenship. I'm attending university this upcoming year, I'm on a student visa while I work towards my master's degree."
"Quaint."
With one word Laila experienced a flare of shame as she felt her entire plan come under intense scrutiny and harsh appraisal.
Her facial features were contorted in anger and her mouth was drawn in a tight line, her jaw locked, teeth clenched. She was tense as she stared down the android that had previously intimidated her for quite a long time. Now she was infuriated. He could be as calculating as he wanted, she wasn't going to sit there and be degraded for her choices. She couldn't help the upbringing she had. The path of becoming a student had been a difficult decision in light of what she left behind and she was struggling to make ends meet, maintain hobbies, and work towards paying rent and trying to save money.
Laila felt angered and flushed, "I would like to leave now."
Her entire life had become an open book for the DPD to inspect and critically examine. It was not fair. She has wished it was anyone but this Detective taking down her statement and speaking to her so harshly.
She had not done anything wrong. She couldn't. The threat of deportation was the sword of Damocles over her head. Even the mere inkling that she had committed a crime set her on edge. How could they not understand? She thought to herself as she sat there rigidly.
"You will require a protective detail-"
Cutting off the cold and calculating man in front of her whom had since begun to scan and analyze her critically she responded harshly.
"No, thank you." Laila interrupted crossly, clutching her petite hands together.
"You are in a precarious situation-"
"No. Thank. You." Laila reiterated adamantly, her eyes narrowing considerably at the stoic man in front of her.
A flash of irritation crossed his features for a mere second, a moment so short that she was almost certain she imagined it. The only indication that he was angered was the tick of his jaw and the locking of his eyes on her miniscule and tired form.
She raised an eyebrow, "I would like to leave now. I have told you everything I know. I'm refusing your help."
The hostility emanating from her form was palatable in light of everything that she had experienced. She had been arrested in front of her customers, her workplace, and her colleague. She was innocent yet thrown into an interrogation room as though she was responsible.
Laila gestured to the door with her bloodied hands, "I'm going to walk out that door unless I'm being officially detained."
Without any hint that he was going to move, he rapidly snatched her right wrist much to her surprise and horror. Out of instinct she pressed the heel of her left hand to his chest violently and pushed.
He gave her an unimpressed glance as though she were a child having a tantrum. He grabbed her freed left hand and pressed her right hand together, trapping her wrists in his large hand.
She fought the urge to scream bloody murder when she noticed he was pulling a key from his pocket with his free hand.
Swallowing down her anxiety she watched as his dexterous fingers inserted the key and unshackled her right wrist. As soon as the cuff was freed, she threw her hands back at her chest, holding them protectively in front of her as the detective remained unaffected by her outburst.
The chair screeched on the floor in protest as the tall detective stood stiffly. Turning away from her, he let his hand linger for a moment on the surface of the table as he uttered a warning, "I fear that you may regret your decision, Miss Ayad."
"I'll be absolutely fine." Laila snapped as he placed his palm downwards on the pad next to the door, his skin withdrawing to reveal a white chassis.
Opening the door, he gestured for her to move along. Her jaw was clenched tightly as she made her way outside of the door and upstairs to the bullpen. Her entire form was tensed, and she felt a surge of irritation course through her, festering and reaching a fever pitch as she ignored the stares and made her way towards the lobby doors.
Voices were surrounding her, and she heard the various disapproving tones.
"She refused a detail-"
"Does she have a death wish?"
"What the fuck happened to her hand? It's torn and bloody-"
Not stopping as she heard a cacophony of chatter behind her, she sidestepped a few incoming officers and nearly ran into Nines' doppelganger. Feet pausing on the tiled floor abruptly, she nearly collided with his frame. As she gave a glare to the detective that almost knocked her off her feet, he looked down upon her with concern marring his warm eyes. He was about to speak when she raised a hand coarsely and passed by him without uttering a word.
Striding through the double doors out into the cool air, she couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine and curled around her. Biting her lip as the wind whipped, she knew she was going to have a harsh walk back to the bar.
She needed her coat, her keys, and to finish her hours. She had been gone for nearly three and was going to make up the lost time with a longer shift of cleaning and ensuring the bar was ready and stocked for the next day.
The walk was long and the only thing sustaining her was her firing animosity. She was somber as she made her way on the snowy sidewalk. Her feet were freezing, body frigid, and posture suffering as she held herself tightly.
She internally cursed the detective that didn't allow her to take her coat when she was taken from the bar. She had been treated as though she were guilty of two horrific and grisly murders. Harper, Madame Aubert, and Adrian were dead – she wondered when this nightmare would end. It hadn't felt real, it had felt as though she were in a never-ending cycle of death and destruction of everything she loved and cared for. Although Harper and Adrian were hostile, she admired their dedication and tenacity. She wished things were different between them.
Harper and Adrian were both steadfast in wanting to be legendary before their retirement and it was something Laila strived for secretly. Perhaps it was vanity and envy, but she believed she had the potential to be one of the greats. Almost every dancer wanted to be distinguished from the rest of the Company and shine the brightest under the unrelenting spotlight. It was something she had secretly wanted too but would never admit.
The belief of inadequacy was rife among the Company. It had been ingrained in them from the beginning…it was excellence always or nothing. They had no time for those that were not loyal to the motives of ballet in their academy.
She had trained, she had sacrificed time, her body, and most of her social life. Besides Dallas and her co-workers, she had no one. She convinced herself that she didn't require socialization outside of work. She met new people almost every night in her position. She enjoyed the banter; she even enjoyed the men who were stumbling through drunkenness in a harmless but hilarious manner. Their sweet comments, their attitudes towards one another, of camaraderie and mutual understanding.
There had been bar fights, altercations that had become nasty, and several instances where she had to have Ian remove the hostile parties from the premises, but those instances were few and far between. They had not been so extensive so much so that it had taken from the good she experienced.
She was grateful for her job. For her passion. For her opportunity to better herself in light of everything that had happened in Bahrain.
She didn't need a reminder of humility; she had it every day she was living in her cramped apartment, bills adding up that she barely managed to pay on time, and the constant tiredness she felt in her body and her soul.
Reflecting on her life to this point distracted her from the overwhelming cold that had seeped deep in her bones. The frozen atmosphere was increasingly biting, and she shivered as she chose to run to the bar.
Her shoes were improper for running, but she was far beyond caring. Dodging the strange glances, she was obtaining, she focused on her trek to her job, hoping Dallas would be finished her shift.
No doubt she had heard about her arrest. She just hoped that it wouldn't incite her to come in on her night off to question her and demand answers.
She loved Dallas, but sometimes Dallas had a streak of being too much and it reared its ugly head on occasion. Pleading with God that Dallas would be at home, she finally had reached the faded red door of the bar and pulled it open quickly.
As she entered, the music from the speakers had provided a shield for her to cross the floor fairly unnoticed. Her footfalls and presence were not noted until she had reached the back of the bar in front of Ian.
His curly cedar hair was unruly as per usual but framed his face softly. His angular features were contorted with concern, his light cerulean eyes focused on her slumped form. Inhaling sharply from his parted mouth, he gave her a shocked expression and made a sound emanating a wince of pain in sympathy at the state of her wrist and reddened hands that were wind whipped and cracked.
Finally looking down to see the damage she realized that the extent of her cut was severe enough to have stained her hand with crimson streaks. Biting her lip, she excused herself and walked up the stairs to the private bathroom and small office space above the main floor.
Sighing as she reached the sink, she grimaced as the water from the weak facet ran red as she gently moved her hands underneath the stream.
Sucking in a pained breath she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a presence behind her. Whirling around, she had to catch her breath when she realized Ian had stepped away from the counter to speak to her.
"Laila…are you okay?" Ian's voice echoed a concern that had her heart clench.
She was so far from okay that it hurt to think about. She didn't know how to answer the question…should she lie and placate Ian, or should she speak about how horrific the last two weeks had been for her.
To think she had a stalker and that particular stalker had killed in her name was nauseating. Did she dare discuss it? Or leave it alone?
Opting for a mitigating response she spoke, her tone low, "Yeah…complete mistake on the police's part. They thought I was involved in a crime, but I wasn't. I don't know what happened, but their wires got so crossed, Ian."
Laila fought a lump in her throat as Ian began, "Dallas told me that she wants you to go home. Take the night."
Laila shook her head, "Ian I need this shift…I can't miss one. I have bills to pay."
Ian narrowed his eyes, "Lye, be reasonable. Dallas is going to make sure you're still paid…Anthony doesn't need to know. We both agreed that we would cover for you. Even if someone found that you had left for a few hours, we both promised that we would say that you made up those hours."
Laila fought a strangled noise from her throat at the kindness of her friends. Without warning, she nearly knocked Ian off his feet as she clutched him in an unbridled embrace.
Ian sensed she needed the hug and he held her back gently, his hands softly rubbing her shoulders as she tucked her head into the crook of his neck.
After a few moments, Laila withdrew and nodded.
Ian gestured to her belongings, "Get of here, go home. Rest. You've been running ragged around here. You nearly made a hole in the mop bucket with how much you've been cleaning."
Laila sniffed as she shrugged on her insulated jacket. She sometimes believed she didn't deserve the kindness of her friends.
As she picked up her bag, she ensured her phone was tucked away before giving Ian one last grateful glance before trekking down the stairs.
She felt overcome with a sense of exhaustion that only came with pretending that everything was okay. Fighting back the tears that threatened to emerge from her soulful eyes, she exited the building utilising the back door. The alleyway was dark, but she was used to walking within the shadows.
Keeping her wits about her, she made her way into the light of the streetlamps, oblivious to the figure watching her as she walked home.
….
Unlocking her door was less of a struggle this time around and she found herself grateful for being able to hold her key properly. Sliding the metal into the lock, she pushed the door gently as she stepped over the threshold.
Blinking as she withdrew her key, she closed the door and locked it behind her as she walked to the worn and sinking couch.
Plopping herself down, she rifled through her bag and clutched her phone. Bringing it to her face, she began checking her messages.
Composing a message to Dallas, she began:
Thank you for covering for me. It's been a stressful night and I just want to sleep.
She didn't have to wait long for a reply.
Sweetheart, please. I know I work you all ragged, but I'm not heartless
Laila winced at the usage of the word heartless and cringed as she reread the message.
I don't want to talk about what happened. I know you probably want to ask a million questions, but honestly Dallas, I'm not ready to discuss it.
She expected a harsh reply, so she was surprised when she got a compassionate message instead.
You don't have to talk until you're ready. I've cleared you from the schedule for the next few days, you can make up the hours next week. I know you have rent due and bills to pay.
Thanking God for Dallas' patience she wrote back.
I love you. Truly. I'm going to go to sleep now. Thank you Dallas.
She bit her lip harshly as she waited for a response.
Goodnight Lye.
Laila placed her phone down on her chipped coffee table and rested her head against the couch, allowing it to cling to her skin and absorb her form.
Closing her eyes, she didn't bother changing from her work clothes into loungewear.
….
Laila had been sleeping soundly for several hours but she had awoken to noise emanating from the hallway to her door. Quickly bouncing from the couch, she watched the door in fear, hoping that she was mistaken and merely hearing things.
Pausing and straining her ears, the sound retreated, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure why anyone would be walking the halls around her door. She was the last tenant in the corner apartment.
Laila rubbed her eyes and cringed when she realized it was only four in the morning. Strolling to her bedroom she opened the miniscule closet and began stripping from her workwear. Shedding her pants, she pulled loose sweatpants onto her legs, pulling them up comfortably.
Opting for a lightweight shirt she trifled through her hangers and pulled a breathable long sleeve. Pulling it over her head after discarding her work shirt, she rubbed her arms. She was still feeling cold and uncomfortable.
Forgoing the heat, she knew it was an expense that would only run up her bill. She grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around her body before falling into her bed. Aggressively fluffing the pillows, she laid her head down restlessly.
She had since pulled her hair from its braid and let it cascade around her shoulders. Turning to face the window, she didn't mind that the curtain was partially open.
The sunlight would be her alarm clock. The loud noises from her phone startled her and she hated waking up to the shrieking alarm meant to rouse her from slumber.
Shivering under the blanket she curled up to warm her feet. She was wearing socks, but she was struggling to stay warm.
Sighing through parted lips, she closed her eyes gently and wrapped the blanket near her head and over her ears. As she was cocooned in the thick blanket, she let herself relax under the covers.
She wasn't sure what caused her to awaken, but she wasn't going to question it.
The doors were locked, she had blocked the balcony door with a piece of wood to ensure it stayed closed even if she forgot to lock the sliding glass door. Her windows were closed and locked…really, she was safe.
She scoffed internally at the thought of needing a protective detail.
That detective had really pushed her yesterday. Believing that she was somehow involved in criminality insulted her. She hated to admit it, but police still frightened her.
The notion of having a police presence around her reminded her of being in custody in Bahrain. She knew that corruption ran deep, even if in a country that prided itself on the strength and integrity of its system. Human beings were still fallible. Power had the potential to corrupt the strongest of men even if their moral compass had been previously rigid.
She knew this firsthand.
Scrunching her eyes in frustration, she massaged her head with her fingers. The cuts on her wrist stung and she realized she should have bandaged her hand. Compromising with herself, she promised that she would wrap it in the morning.
She was still exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep the day away. Smiling at the thought, Laila shut her eyes and stretched trying to relax further.
Finally able to breathe easier and warm up slightly, she felt herself slip into a comfortable sleep, oblivious to the man peering into her apartment.
….
He knew she had to be protected. She wasn't safe. Her independence was one of her strong characteristics, but he wanted to let her know she didn't have to be so hellbent on doing everything on her own.
She was stubborn but it was something admirable. She wouldn't be pushed around. Despite her strength and resilience, she had faced some terrible people that tried to harm her.
They deserved to die.
He knew they did.
The blonde harpy that had attempted to poison Laila was only the beginning. She had it coming. She had been hateful to everyone around her. He did a public service by eliminating her.
Laila deserved to be guarded from people that only wanted to abuse her.
Her instructor had pleaded for her life…but he knew it had to be done.
He relished the killing of her counterpart. Her supposed Romeo. He hated the thought of his arrogance and his assumptions that she was unworthy. He loathed the thought that his hands would be wrapped around hers, their bodies close, embracing one another: parading as lovers on the stage for all to see.
Laila was not going to be sullied by his dirty and unclean hands.
She was a good girl. Despite working in a profession that relied on crude and crass behaviour, she had maintained a strong semblance of grace. She didn't drink, she didn't dance with disgusting men, she had never cursed or gotten angry at anyone who didn't deserve her ire.
She was beautiful…she was a proper lady in midst of so many harlots. Her colleagues were simply repugnant.
She outshined them and she proved her worthiness every single time she had given him a soft smile and nod.
She saw him.
He knew she would appreciate his efforts. Everything he did, he did for her.
The sacrifices he had made were for her and in her honour.
He was observing her from her balcony. She had moved from her living room to her bedroom and even in her home had chosen modest clothing to sleep in.
Her hair was a halo around her unblemished skin. He frowned as he realized she was shivering. She was experiencing the plight of Detroit's unrelenting and unforgiving winter. She had spoken to her colleagues about not being able to utilise her heat in her apartment as she was not making enough of an income to pay for proper heating.
He shook his head. His beloved was suffering.
She was not appreciated.
He would save her from her predicament.
She would soon see.