Chapter 36 Zahara
ZAHARA
“Yusef.” My voice came out barely above a whisper. “Baby, put the gun down.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t look at me. Just kept staring at the weapon in his hands like it was the only thing in the world that made sense.
“Yu, please. You’re scaring me. Put it down.”
Slowly, he raised his head.
And I saw it. The emptiness. The pain. The look of a child who’d been carrying something too heavy for far too long.
Then he lifted the gun.
And pressed it to his temple.
“NO!” I lunged forward but froze when his finger tightened on the trigger. “Yusef, don’t! Please, baby, don’t!”
“I couldn’t take it anymore.” Tears streamed down his face, his voice cracking. “He was making my life a living hell. Every single day. I had to make it stop.”
“Who? Who was making your life hell?”
“Nigel.” The name came out like poison. “It was Nigel. This whole time.”
My mind couldn’t process it. Nigel. Sweet, helpful Nigel. The boy who’d boxed cinnamon rolls at my table. The boy I’d trusted.
“I had to kill him,” Yusef sobbed. “And now I don’t wanna live. I don’t wanna be here anymore.”
“Don’t say that.” I was crying now too, my hands shaking, my heart shattering. “Please, baby, don’t say that. Give me the gun. We can figure this out. Just give me the gun.”
“There’s nothing to figure out! I killed him! I’m a murderer! They’re gonna take me away and lock me up and I’ll never see you again!”
“That’s not gonna happen. I won’t let it happen.” I took a small step closer. “But I need you to put the gun down first. Please, Yusef. I can’t lose you. You’re all I have. You’re everything to me.”
“I hate it here,” he whispered, the gun still pressed to his head. “I hate this apartment. I hate this school. I hate this life.”
“I know, baby. I know. And we’re gonna leave. I promise. We’re gonna go somewhere better. Somewhere safe. But I need you alive to do that. I need my son.”
His hand trembled. The gun wavered.
“Please,” I begged. “Give it to me. Let me help you.”
For a long moment, nothing happened. Just the sound of our breathing. The distant wail of sirens outside. The weight of everything pressing down on us.
Then, slowly, Yusef lowered the gun.
I moved fast. Grabbed it from his hands and pushed it across the bed, far from his reach. Then I pulled him into my arms and held on like my life depended on it.
Because it did.
He collapsed against me, sobbing. His whole body shaking. Twelve years old and carrying the weight of a lifetime.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“I didn’t mean to… I just wanted him to stop…”
I held him tighter, rocking him like I used to when he was small. When the world was simple and I could protect him from everything just by holding him close.
But he wasn’t small anymore. And the world had gotten into him despite everything I’d tried to do.
“Tell me what happened,” I said softly. “Tell me everything.”
He pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His eyes were red. Swollen. Haunted.
“Nigel was the one,” he started, his voice hollow. “He was the leader. He’d get other kids to jump me. Hold me down while they beat me. Told everyone at school I was a fag because I played piano. Made my life hell every single day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he said he’d get his father to kill you if I told anyone.
” Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. “He said his dad knew people. Dangerous people. And his father just got out of prison. I believe him. If I ever snitched, he’d have you murdered.
I couldn’t… I couldn’t let that happen to you, Mom. I couldn’t lose you.”
My heart cracked in half.
All this time. All those bruises. The broken glasses and split lips and days he came home looking like he’d been through a war.
He’d been protecting me.
A twelve-year-old boy, getting beaten every day, keeping his mouth shut because he was afraid they’d kill me.
“The money,” He whispered, remembering. “The eight hundred dollars for camp, he stole it. Made me give it to him.” Yusef’s voice broke. “I didn’t know what else to do. I just kept giving him whatever he wanted. But it was never enough. It was never enough.”
I pulled him close again, my tears soaking into his hair.
This was my fault. All of it. If I’d pushed harder. If I’d asked the right questions. If I’d seen what was right in front of my face instead of believing the lie that Nigel was his friend.
But I couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not when he needed me to be strong.
I pulled back and held his face in my hands.
“Listen to me,” I said firmly. “We’re gonna get through this. But I need you to do exactly what I say. Can you do that?”
He nodded weakly.
“Go take a shower. A long one. Scrub your hands. Your arms. Everything. Use lots of soap.”
“Why?”
“Gunpowder residue. If the police test you, they can’t find any trace. You understand?”
His eyes went wide. The reality of what we were doing settling in.
“Z…”
“Go. Now. I’ll handle the rest.”
He stood on shaky legs and walked toward the bathroom. Stopped at the door.
“I love you,” he said quietly.
“I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world.”
The bathroom door closed. A moment later, I heard the shower turn on.
I moved fast.
Grabbed the gun from the bed and wiped it down with a shirt from my closet. Every inch. Every surface. Removing any trace of Yusef’s fingerprints.
Then I went to his room. Found the clothes he’d been wearing. Jeans. T-shirt. Jacket. Everything.
I took them to the kitchen, grabbed scissors, and started cutting. Reducing everything to small pieces. The fabric that might hold gunshot residue. The evidence that could send Yusef to prison.
My hands moved mechanically. Cut. Cut. Cut.
I couldn’t think about what I was doing. Couldn’t think about the fact that I was destroying evidence in a murder investigation. Couldn’t think about the boy lying dead behind my building or his mother screaming for him.
I could only think about Yusef. About keeping him safe. About making sure he didn’t spend the rest of his life behind bars for killing the person who’d been torturing him.
When the clothes were reduced to scraps, I stuffed them into a trash bag along with the scissors. Added the gun, still wrapped in my shirt.
I needed to get this out of the apartment. Out of the building. Somewhere it would never be found.
But I couldn’t do this alone.
I pulled out my phone. Found Prime’s number. Hit call.
He answered on the second ring.
“Zahara? What’s up?”
“I need you to come over.” My voice was steady even though my hands were shaking. “Right now.”
“What’s wrong? You sound—”
“I can’t say on the phone. Just come. Please.”
A pause. “I’m on my way.”
The line went dead.
I stood in my kitchen surrounded by the remains of Yusef’s clothes, a gun in a trash bag at my feet, and the sound of the shower running down the hall.
Nigel was dead.
And the child I’d raised had killed him.
Now I had to figure out how to make sure we both survived what came next.
I needed my twin so I sent her a quick text.
Shit is hitting the fan. Yusef is in trouble.