Within minutes of the darkness which formed at the foot of Zayn and then spiraled into the air, it dissipated into the night sky, having left Client 47 standing with his head down as if dead inside. Whatever happened to him didn't matter to Zayn. Dead or alive. Breathing or at the crisp of death. Paralyzed or scared stiff. None of it mattered anymore. He walked out of the balcony and back towards the stairs across the white walkway. Imane was threatened. Omayra was right. No loose ends. No blunders. No mercy.
He placed his right foot onto the first floor, his dress shoes creating that specific dress-shoe noise, his dress shirt tight on his chest and neck until he stuck a finger in between his collar and neck to give himself a good deep breath. Zayn stood with a head held high, power boiling through him, chest out and a confident stare.
The sight of the ongoing party all around amused him. Nobody knew what would soon occur and that alone brought a grin to his face. He looped around the stairs and made his way through the white-painted house to the backyard. A few people he didn't know stood leaned against the walls on his right and left, two girls on the left who wore long blue dresses and three guys on the right who wore polo shirts and khaki shorts with white sneakers, who held drinks in hand along with pastries or mini-hamburgers. They paid no mind to Zayn as he strolled past them until he reached the balcony's sliding glass door.
A backyard as large has half of a football field laid in front of Zayn. A water fountain laid in what seemed to be the center of the grassy yard. What appeared to be a black ten foot fence gated the property. Zayn noticed right away how a majority of the party's guests, and likely over fifty people, were scattered outside in the backyard.
Roqaya stood out the moment he focused on the center of the backyard. She stood with her back turned, a teal scarf loosely wrapped around her black hair, which hung at her mid-back. She held her phone in her right hand, its camera flashing a notification. She wore a long-sleeved beige blouse which went below her lower back, along with matching loose black pants and white moccasins. For a few seconds Zayn watched Roqaya speak to her friends, one girl with curly brown hair and dressed in a loose, dark green dress, and two guys dressed in a gray suit and a beige suit.
Zayn entered the backyard then sidestepped to the right, away from the sliding door, careful not to attract somebody's attention. He kept his head low until he stood about five to seven feet away from the backyard entrance. Zayn slid his left hand into the pocket of his pants then texted Roqaya with his free hand on Instagram.
"What're you up to?"
He watched her phone's camera notification flash. A few seconds later, she checked.
"Wow, so you didn't make it here? How's Imane? She messaged me about want to hang out."
That brought a smile to Zayn's stiff face. Roqaya's care for his little sister ignited a fire that he thought he'd died and sunk completely. "She's okay. Doing as good as her brother."
"Then I don't need to worry haha. II'm at that the party I invited you to."
"So am I," Zayn replied, sliding his phone into the pocket of his pants.
It took a minute until Roqaya checked her phone again, but when she did and the Instagram message displayed read, she turned in a circle until she landed on Zayn who still stood by the sliding glass door. He raised a glass of mango juice he'd picked up from the nearby wooden table to his left.
Roqaya waved to her friends then made her way over with a charming smile that showed both of her dimples clearly on her cheeks and made Zayn wish he could freeze time, wish he could snap a hundred different pictures of her in that pose with her left arm in the air, her right arm by her side. The energy in her eyes spoke enough, and halfway to meeting Zayn, a gentle laugh appeared as she clapped for him with her phone in between her hands.
"Who would've thought Zayn Raiz would come to a party?" Roqaya asked.
"Anything's possible, I've learned." Zayn nodded with a smile. "Anything . . ."
Roqaya bit her lower lip for a moment then cleared her throat. "You look good in a suit. I must say."
"Thank you. It's only the third one I've ever worn."
"Come on," she said, reaching to grab Zayn's wrist. She led him across the grass to where she had stood earlier, by her group of friends, which increased by five people. Three guys that and two girls. Zayn didn't bother giving them the value of his attention. He found a connection between the friends Roqaya had and himself. Zayn had realized two years ago that his type of friends were more . . . grounded in reality, the type that knew what hardship felt like.
"This is Zayn, my . . . a . . . close friend." Roqaya chuckled then glanced at everyone watching her. "You guys probably know his father from the news. He was like an uncle to me, so I hope you all can understand losing someone precious."
"I get it," one of the girls said, the one with the green dress. "We know you two were about to get engaged for marriage." She flung her hand back and through her hair. "I also had a relationship where I was about to be engaged. But we're normal and talk to each other when we have to. Our families are close friends."
Roqaya glanced at Zayn. "Great . . ."
Zayn nodded with half a smile. He wanted to say that no one asked for a history of her
personal relationship but kept remained silent as if considerate of her own struggles in the game of love.
The topics humans discuss when in social groups has never changed. Thousands of years until now, the main theme remains the same. Omayra laughed in Zayn's head, her whispers growing and echoing, her voice soothing in its eerie manner. Selfish, conceited, arrogant. Arrogance being the death of all those successful.
"I did hear about you on the news," one of the guys with short brown hair said. He stood to near the middle of the group, right side. Zayn kept his hands in the pockets of his pants and stared at the dry grass, at a mosquito flying low by the grass, highlighted by the backyard's light. "You sure you aren't a crackhead like your father?" He laughed. "You serious Roqaya? His father had drugs on him. He's probably taking them, too."
The second short black-haired guy nodded and added to the condescending laughter. "We associate with him and next thing we know, the cops are interviewing us." The big-nosed guy smacked his hand with his friend who stood beside him, and they laughed a bit more before eyeing Zayn with a smirk.
One of the other girls who wore a black dress stared at Roqaya. Her eyebrows steady until one of them rose. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head side to side. "He needs to stay on his side, Roqaya . . . which isn't with us. Son of a drug addict who's now murdered."
Roqaya's lips and nose flared. Her teeth clenched, and her jawline appeared, sharp and strong, and the glare she wore shut all of her friends up. "If someone says another thing, I'm going to show you why my brown belt in jiu jitsu is about to be a black belt. I told you how much I cared for his father, and you ignored that. Consider our friendships damaged and our bridges burned."
"Don't get mad at us, Roqaya. He ain't our ex," the guy farthest to the right said. He gave Zayn the finger from his side so Roqaya couldn't see it.
"Seems like you're more mad that you aren't an ex." Zayn stepped forward, hands still in his pocket, Roqaya now standing slightly behind him to his left. "If you got some anger inside you, you can try to take it out me." Zayn leaned forward and placed his chin in open view.
"Zayn," Roqaya urged. "Stop!"
"Go ahead. Swing. That way when I break your arms, it's self defense." Zayn held eye contact with both guys a few feet away from him, whose lips either trembled in anger or embarrassment.
In the brewing scene of ego and pride, two more guys came running over from inside the house, wearing white polos and blue shorts. One had blonde curly hair, the other hand straight black hair, both short. They stood beside the two other short-haired guys as if friends. The girls stepped away from the scene and rotated behind Roqaya.
"Lean back," the blonde haired guy said. "We'll bruise you up a bit then throw you out of the house. Feel free to fight back, though. Since you wanna act gangster and fight five of us."
"You called your boys over?" Zayn laughed but didn't budge. He left his face vulnerable with his hands still in his pockets, still leaned forward, still grinning. "You guys typically run in fives? You like odd numbers?"
"Zayn!" Roqaya yelled. "Don't fight. Okay, come on. Relax, breathe." She tried pulling his upper body back but failed despite her brown belt in jiu jitsu.
Stomping from behind. Sprinting. Then familiar people appeared beside Zayn.
"What's the issue here?" Volkan asked, standing on Zayn's right.
"Seems like these boys were going to fight a one on five. Pretty pathetic," Soraya added, standing on Zayn's left, near Roqaya.
Zayn smiled at his friends who stood beside him. "This is fight you don't want." Zayn began rolling his left suit jacket's sleeve up.
"All right. All right," the short-haired brown guy said, the one who gave Zayn the middle finger. He clicked his tongue then stepped forward. "Forget it. We're good."
A few seconds later, Zayn headbut the guy's chest, sending him crashing to the grass and into the legs of his friends. They all helped in keeping him straight. "Now we're good. Don't open your mouth if you're not going to finish what you start."
"You lucky that's all we'll do," Volkan said. "If you're trying to fight someone one on five, you're trash." His upper lip flared and he peered down at them helping their friend keep balanced. "Trash collects trash, eh."
"Go inside!" Roqaya ordered, pointing at her three supposed friends and then other two party guests. "We've got the final event happening now, anyways."
The five guys left, all of them glaring back at Zayn, children on timeout.
"Let's please not fight here. A lot of families are going to hear about it if it happens." Roqaya placed a finger on Zayn's forehead to rub the piece of dirt off. "Promise?"
Zayn shrugged his shoulders. "If you're friends keep their mouth shut." He turned away from her with a smile and then waved. "Let's get inside, Volkan, Soraya. There's a final event apparently."
Roqaya stood with her remaining girl friends behind her. "Thank you," she said, jokingly. But part of her knew while watching Zayn stroll towards the house that he was serious, and for a reason she couldn't understand, her heart skipped beats as she stared at Zayn walking away. She exhaled and shook her head. "Now's not the time," she spoke under her breath.