He nods. “I have your bag.”
Before I can say anything, he walks down the steps. I’m lost in my own agony, relying on muscle memory to take me home as tears stream down my cheeks. Tremors run up and down my skeletal system, fissuring my bones. A war rages inside me and it seems I’m the only casualty.
“We’re here,” he says, and I nearly slam into his back.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, offering him his jacket back, and a part of me considers asking if I can keep it for a day. My shock at that thought eases some of the sadness I’m feeling. He takes it and hands me my bag.
He notes the tear tracks on my face, a realization unclouding in his eyes. “Salama,” he says softly, and my eyelashes flutter. The way he says my name, pronouncing each vowel and consonant, even now makes me feel like flowers are growing in my veins.
“Yes?” I say, matching his tone.
He bites his lip. “Please take care of yourself.”
I wrap my arms around my middle. “I am.”
He smiles sadly. “Are you?”
His gaze dips from my sharp cheekbones to my bony wrists. I may have started seeing the colors, believing in Layla’s and Kenan’s words, but that has no power over my guilt. It’s as if I’m being slowly poisoned. Finding happiness is merely treating the symptoms and not the cause of the disease that grows stronger by the minute. My stomach can’t hold food down long enough, and I spend my nights either tossing helplessly to the nightmares or suffering from insomnia. The result is a frail body holding a brittle mind, waiting for a whisper of a catastrophe to fall apart.
Kenan takes a step closer, crossing whatever chasm of intimacy lies between us, and, as the laws of physics go, the pressure increases. A halo, courtesy of the afternoon sun, rests on his chestnut hair. He’s saturated in gold, and I feel my breath catch.
“There are enough people hurting you,” he whispers. “Don’t be one of them.”
He raises his hand, and his fingers skim my sleeve. His breaths are low, he’s closer than ever before, and I glance up at him. Longing drips from his gaze and I have one foot over the edge of a cliff.
“See you tomorrow?” he asks, his voice a mix of hope and anxiety.
“Yes,” I say breathlessly, and the next second his back is to me as he walks away.
My heart is still pounding dangerously when I close the front door and slide against it. In the few seconds of quiet before Layla discovers me, the shock transforms to reality. I sob big fat tears. I sob like the tears have been building up behind my eyes for months, waiting for one more drop to flood out. Frustration cleaves my heart.
A thudding of footsteps rushes down the corridor, and Layla skids to a halt in front of me.
“Salama!” she exclaims. “What happened?”
I can’t speak, covering my face with my hands, drawing my knees to my chest. She sits beside me, immediately pulling me to her warmth.
She holds me close, hugging my head to her chest. “Tell me what happened.”
Through a blubber of tears, I gasp out each word. I can’t look at her. Her arms go slack around me and she stiffens. For a long time she doesn’t say anything. Muffled voices from outside filter through the door. I don’t dare look at her, lost in the burning feeling inside my chest.
“Should we stay?” I say between hiccups.
“Salama.” Her voice is quiet, defeated. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I drag my eyes to hers and see them, ocean blue, leaking tears down her cheeks.
“We’re leaving,” she says in a strange voice.
“But—”
“Please.We have to leave. He would want this.” Her voice is fractured with the pain she’s trying to hold back.
I bang my head against the door. Yes, he would. Ipromisedhim.
“If we die here, it’ll destroy him even more,” she says. “Salama, we hoped he was dead. But it was just a wish. A part of us always suspected he wasn’t.”
I clear my throat.
