5- The First Result

                                    

                                          
Author's Note: Picture is of Tyron, Za'yaal's head of security, personal guard and main father figure at the moment.
Jazakamullah for the amazing reviews and votes! I love reading through them and you guys are so awesome for making me smile :D This chapter goes to ClicheMuslimah because she is literally the sweetest person ever. Keep reading, voting, commenting and enjoying, all you amazing people!
                          
Chapter 5- The First Result
                          
Midas found Za'yaal in his bedroom. His head was thrown back, displaying his tattoo and his eyes were closed. The silk covers were wrapped around his shoulders and he held a photograph in his hands. It was too dark to see what the photograph was of but judging from the grainy appearance and the faint white blotches- it was a sonogram.
                          
"Za'yaal?"
                          
"Hm?" He hummed in response, making no other move to acknowledge his presence.
                          
"Why did you call me?"
                          
Za'yaal shifted lightly, dropping the picture on the floor and tilting his head. His sapphire orbs twinkled in the shadows. "You never told me when I became such a monster."
                          
"I never deemed it necessary seeing as you're not."
                          
Za'yaal smiled coldly. "You lie." He waved a hand to the bedside table. "The results. You will announce them tomorrow and have the letters delivered of the next challenge."
                          
"Maybe you should give them a break in the middle." 'It would be best for you.'
                          
Those words went unspoken but hung in the air. Za'yaal shook his head.
                          
"No. I am not weak."
                          
"You're not," Midas agreed and bent down to scoop up the sonogram. "Perhaps it's best to get rid of this."
                          
Za'yaal looked away and laughed lightly. "The only thing I possess of my brother? You would be so cruel?"
                          
"Za'yaal. Don't do this to yourself."
                          
"Do what?"
                          
"He doesn't exist anymore. He never even took his first breath."
                          
Za'yaal blanched. "Leave."
                          
"Zay-"
                          
"Leave!"
                          
"You know, one day someone's going to walk into your life who'll refuse to let you order her about. And when you tell her to get out, or leave, she's going to smack you so hard Dragos himself will cry. Then she'll sit you down and force you to talk. You just wait for it, Zay."
                          
Midas stomped out of the room, throwing the sonogram back on the bed and grabbing the folder before he did. He had been told constantly in his life to enter and exit, enter and exit, in and out of Za'yaal's life. It was tiring really and he knew the Heir had secrets. He had not been there when his mother- when the unfortunate accident had occurred. He had been with his father, discussing a business deal. He remembered the call though- the one week wait . . . the Lead of Dragos slowly breaking apart . . . the pain Za'yaal had to go through, losing a brother and his parents all in the span of one week.
                          
Midas shook those thoughts away, unwilling to fall into depression. He headed to his own room and ordered a large plate of spaghetti. It was well into the afternoon now and he had missed lunch. Once in his bedroom, he plopped down on his desk chair and kicked off his shoes. The image of his black converse high tops lying there reminded him of a certain someone. He chuckled. He would have to help her out in that department.
                          
Shifa entered the room, carrying a covered tray. Midas grinned. The only modest maid they had who wasn't hung on Za'yaal. She used to cover her hair before Za'yaal changed. Now she wore a white bandanna that made it seem as it were a part of her uniform.