I can’t believe that just happened, but I want more. So, so, much more.From Amir Quatar, shit, I want it all.
Chapter 10
Delilah
The next morning
I only climbed out of bed because I had to fight the stiffness locked deep in my bones to make it into work. My joints felt swollen, and each step I took toward the restroom felt a little stiffer than the last. This short walk felt like I was crossing miles instead of taking a trip across my room. Still, I was used to pushing through the pain in my body. I was resilient, and as my father Ahid told me, I would overcome what I was going through.
Being a therapist meant putting other people’s problems and issues ahead of my own. Even if I was stuck in a failing relationship, rarely booking clients, and drowning in financial debt, my job was still to walk into that office and hold my head high, even on mornings when my body wanted me to crawl back into bed and get under my covers to drown out my pain, but I had to keep going.
There were a couple of knocks on the door, and then my mama popped her head into my room.
“Hi, are you okay to go in today? Your father and I heard you up and stirring around in here.”
“Yeah, I’m okay, mama. I have to be okay. I have an appointment today at noon.”
“Delilah, can’t you just reschedule the meeting until you feel better. I don’t think you should force yourself into the office if you still feel bad.”
“No, mama. I can’t reschedule one of the three clients that I have. I need to keep a good reputation with them all, or I may not have any by the end of the year.”
She walked further into my room, shutting the door like she was invited. I say invited like this wasn’t her house, and I wasn’t in the downstairs basement which they had transformed into a living area just for me. I'm glad they had the extra space and funds to make up for where I lack. Struggling at this age was never on my cards, but people can’t really choose which ones they are dealt.
My parents had been together for forty-four years and owned two cleaners in the Brooklyn area. I worked at both locations throughout high school and college, only stopping once I booked my first client.
I went through a dry spell at first, running ads on Facebook and other networks, with no customer response, until I found the website MyTherapist.com and got three responses within two weeks. I had a client now named Josh, who was a suicidal thirty-five-year-old father of four who’s life came to a crashing halt when he lost his job and his kids moved across the country. Then there was Benjamin, who was a twenty-five-year-old police officer who had PTSD from shooting someone in the line of duty.
Lastly, my client Jasmine, a twenty-eight-year-old single mother who felt like everything in her life was going wrongbecause of mishaps that some people would kill to call their only problems. Jasmine was the least of my worries to fix, because everything she complained about sounded superficial to me. She should see how hard it is to live with a disease that has no cure and beats you up at the most random, inconvenient times. Living with Lupus was no joke, and just for one day, I would love to go back to a time when my body wasn’t fighting against itself.
I was diagnosed with Lupus in college when my body started feeling sore. Back then, I was always tired even after resting, and fevers came out of nowhere with no other sickness in sight. I found out about my diagnosis after going to the clinic one day, and I got referred to the nearby hospital close to NYU. The only people that I told when my results came back were my best friend Dess, my mother, my father, and my little brother Nahiem, who seemed like he couldn't care less. I’ve been dealing with it the best I can the past two years, and when I’m down, I’m down. But staying on the up and up was my goal, and I was never going to let it get the best of me.
My mother came up behind me and rubbed my shoulders.
“You know, baby, Benlysta treatments are the best for your condition. Monthly infusions can really help your way of life and keep your body from hurting so much.”
“Mom, I’ve talked to the doctors about that, and the treatments can range anywhere between thirty-five and seventy thousand dollars per year. And once it starts, and my body gets used to it, stopping is more than likely going to kill me. So that’s millions of dollars I would have to end up spending that I don’t have, nor do I see myself having in the future.”
My mother grabbed my hand and led me out of the restroom, and to the bed. I know she could tell by the way I was standing up that I needed to sit.
“Honey, you have access to plenty of money through Amir, and once you take advantage of that, money won’t be the problem and treatments will never stop.”
“Mama, I don’t look at him as access.”
“Why not? Your father and I know where you stay when you aren’t here. We’ve always known that you’ve lowered your standards to be with that gangster, so why not get something out of the deal? He has the money. I know for a fact he does now. Plenty of it.”
My mama was referring to the millions of dollars he is rumored to have inherited when his family was murdered. They were completely against me knowing him before my disease, and then they found this infusion treatment and started pushing for me to marry the rich Quatar man just to get help. I know it was from a good place, but it was against everything I’d grown up believing. Using people was never in my character, especially not someone I’ve always genuinely cared about.
“Mama, I don’t want to talk about Amir anymore this morning. I just want to go inside the restroom, get dressed, and start my journey to the office.”
She pressed her lips tightly together.
“Okay, Delilah, but remember this disease is not going to go away. Do what’s best for you and stop worrying about what’s best for others. You’re sick, darling.” She stood up on her feet. When I walked into the restroom, I looked into the mirror at my pale skin and dark eyes, which I hated, but they came from little to no sleep. The first thing I did was grab my toothbrush, brush my teeth, and then I got a brush to comb my hair, which was thinning with each stroke. I tried to ignore it and grabbed my Hijab to cover my head because I still had a head full of hair for now, even with a lot coming out. But I’m sure after years ofcombing out strands, I’ll be almost bald. Then I’m sure I won’t be desirable to any man. Not even the man I love and have loved since loving him was against everything that my parents wished.
Once I got dressed, I walked up the steps from the basement and stepped into the kitchen to fix a cup of tea. Tea always made me feel a little better, warming up my insides and giving me that calming sense from the lavender kind I drank.
When I reached the top step, I overheard my father’s voice up in the kitchen.
“I promise you I will have your money by noon on Sunday. You don’t have to do that.”
