Page 112 of The Wicked

Devil sighed. “It’s not what you think, Z.”

“Don’t even fucking try, Devil; everything I heard is exactly what I think. It’s exactly what this thing is?” I gestured between them.

Devil walked, trying to reach out to me. “Zahra, please…”

I took a step back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

From my periphery, I spotted Dog and Milk right outside the room, watching the scene cautiously.

“At least let me explain what this is,” he said, fear lingering in his eyes.

“What’s there to explain? Look at him! Look at me; look at yourself. Look at the fucking situation we’re all in. It’s all self-explanatory; there’s nothing you can say that would make more sense than this.”

“Okay, fine, you’re right, but that doesn’t change anything… It doesn’t change how I feel about you, or—I—fuck.” He was so confused. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, the way they flickered between me and a distraught, probably traumatized Upper, almost as if he couldn’t tell who to comfort or make feel better. “I don’t even know anymore,” he muttered, his voice hurt and defeated.

As a friend, I wanted to hug him, make him explain his feelings, but as a—as a what? We were nothing.

I shook my head, blinking. “I know we didn’t put a label and shit, but I thought this—I thought we—” I sighed. “This is so messed up, Devil.”

He dropped his head. “I know… I’m sorry.”

My gaze shifted to Upper, who had both hands gripping his hair, not once looking up.

“I’m out of here,” I muttered, turning on my heel and walking out of the room. I brushed past Dog and a wide-eyed Milk, who threw me a sympathetic look that I ignored.

They knew. They all fucking knew.

I was almost out of the house when Dog caught up to me. “Hey.”

“Not now, Dog.”

“I wanted to give you a jacket.”

I turned to him, forcing on a smile as I collected the jacket and slipped it on, pocketing the stash of pills before he could catch a glimpse of them.

“You good?” he asked.

“Not really.”

He nodded as if he understood. “Are you gonna go out there and cry?”

I scoffed. “The day I cry over aboyis the day I stab myself in both eyes. I just need a breather.”

“Kay, use the kitchen window; there are a few soldiers standing guard outside tonight; it would be difficult to slip out.”

I hugged him with a light squeeze. “Behind the fire extinguisher, I hid two joints.”

“How do you know that’s why I’m helping you?”

I laughed, pulling away before flipping him off and making my way out back.

Somehow, after maneuvering the guards outside the compound, I found myself climbing the killer stairs to the rooftop. The anxiety of falling was still present, and when I finally reached up and passed through the door, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“What kind of a psychopath is this man to structure those stairs like that?” I winced in a whisper to myself, the cold wind from up high easing my muscles as I walked towards the railing, sucking in a deep breath with my hair whipping around my face.

The quietness calmed me, and I replayed the whole event in my head.

It would most definitely be awkward between us all now. But did I even have the right to feel like I was cheated on? We weren’t even in a relationship—but I thought we were exclusive.