Keep Me
Page 69
That much is true, but that’s not the real reason I’m here. I can’t tell my parents the real reason.
If they knew I came home to get kidnapped by Al-Quadar, they would never forgive me for that.
* * *
Despite my exhaustion, I barely sleep that night. I know it’ll take some time for Al-Quadar to respond to my presence in town, but I’m still consumed by dread and nervous anticipation. Every time I drift off, I have nightmares, only in these dreams it’s not Beth who’s being cut into pieces—it’s Julian. The bloody images are so vivid that I wake up nauseated and shaking, my bedsheets drenched with sweat. Finally, I give up on sleep altogether and pull out the art supplies I brought with me in my suitcase. I’m hoping that painting will prevent me from dwelling on the fact that my nightmares may be playing out at this very moment in some Al-Quadar hideout thousands of miles away.
As the light of the rising sun filters into the room, I stop to examine what I painted. It looks abstract at first—just swirls of red, black, and brown—but a closer inspection reveals something different. All the swirls are faces and bodies, people tangled together in a paroxysm of violent ecstasy. The faces reveal both agony and pleasure, lust and torment.
It’s probably my best work to date, and I hate it.
I hate it because it shows me how much I’ve changed. How little of the old me remains.
“Wow, honey, this is amazing . . .” My mom’s voice startles me out of my musings, and I turn around to see her standing in the doorway, gazing at the painting with genuine admiration. “That French instructor of yours must be really good.”
“Yes, Monsieur Bernard is excellent,” I agree, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. I’m so tired that I just want to collapse, but that’s not an option at the moment.
“You didn’t sleep well, did you?” My mom furrows her forehead, looking worried, and I know I didn’t succeed in hiding my tiredness from her. “Were you thinking about him?”
“Of course I was.” A sudden swell of anger sharpens my voice. “He’s my husband, you know.”
She blinks, clearly taken aback, and I immediately regret my harsh tone. This situation is not my mom’s fault; if anyone is blameless in all this, it’s my parents. My temper is the last thing they deserve . . . particularly since my desperate plan will likely cause them even more anguish.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say, going over to give her a hug. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay, honey.” She strokes my hair, her touch so gentle and comforting that I want to weep. “I understand.”
I nod, even though I know she can’t possibly comprehend the extent of my stress. She can’t—because she doesn’t know that I’m waiting.
Waiting to be taken by the same monsters who have Julian.
Waiting for Al-Quadar to snap at the bait.
* * *
The morning drags by. It’s a Saturday, so both of my parents are home. They’re happy about that, but I’m not. I wish they were at work today. I want to be alone if—no, when—Majid’s goons come for me. It had been relatively safe to spend the night, since Al-Quadar would need time to put whatever plan they have into action, but now that it’s morning, I don’t want my parents near me. The security detail Julian put in place around my family would ensure their safety, but those same bodyguards may also interfere with my abduction—and that’s the last thing I want.
“Shopping?” My dad gives me a strange look when I announce my intention to hit the stores after breakfast. “Are you sure, honey? You just got home, and with everything going on—”
“Dad, I’ve been in the middle of nowhere for months.” I give him my best men-just-don’t-get-it look. “You have no idea what that’s like for a girl.” Seeing that he’s unconvinced, I add, “Seriously, Dad, I could use the distraction.”
“She’s got a point,” my mom chimes in. Turning toward me, she gives me a conspiratorial wink and tells my dad, “There’s nothing like shopping to take a woman’s mind off things. I’ll go with Nora—it’ll be just like the old times.”
My heart sinks. I can’t have my mom coming along if the point is to have my parents away from potential danger. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mom,” I say regretfully, “but I already promised Leah I’d meet her. It’s spring break, you know, and she’s home.” I had seen an update to that effect on Facebook earlier this morning, so I’m only partially lying. My friend is indeed in town—I just hadn’t made any plans to see her today.
“Oh, okay.” My mom looks hurt for a moment, but then she shakes it off and gives me a bright smile. “No worries, honey. We’ll see you after you catch up with your friends. I’m glad you’re distracting yourself like that. It’s for the best, really . . .”
My dad still looks suspicious, but there is nothing he can do. I’m an adult, and I’m not exactly asking for their permission.
As soon as breakfast is over, I give them each a kiss and a hug and walk over to the bus stop on 95th street to get on the bus going to the Chicago Ridge Mall.
* * *
Come on, take me already. Fucking take me already.
I have been wandering through the mall for hours, and to my frustration, there is still no sign of Al-Quadar. They either don’t know that I’m here, or they don’t care about me now that they have Julian.
If they knew I came home to get kidnapped by Al-Quadar, they would never forgive me for that.
* * *
Despite my exhaustion, I barely sleep that night. I know it’ll take some time for Al-Quadar to respond to my presence in town, but I’m still consumed by dread and nervous anticipation. Every time I drift off, I have nightmares, only in these dreams it’s not Beth who’s being cut into pieces—it’s Julian. The bloody images are so vivid that I wake up nauseated and shaking, my bedsheets drenched with sweat. Finally, I give up on sleep altogether and pull out the art supplies I brought with me in my suitcase. I’m hoping that painting will prevent me from dwelling on the fact that my nightmares may be playing out at this very moment in some Al-Quadar hideout thousands of miles away.
As the light of the rising sun filters into the room, I stop to examine what I painted. It looks abstract at first—just swirls of red, black, and brown—but a closer inspection reveals something different. All the swirls are faces and bodies, people tangled together in a paroxysm of violent ecstasy. The faces reveal both agony and pleasure, lust and torment.
It’s probably my best work to date, and I hate it.
I hate it because it shows me how much I’ve changed. How little of the old me remains.
“Wow, honey, this is amazing . . .” My mom’s voice startles me out of my musings, and I turn around to see her standing in the doorway, gazing at the painting with genuine admiration. “That French instructor of yours must be really good.”
“Yes, Monsieur Bernard is excellent,” I agree, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. I’m so tired that I just want to collapse, but that’s not an option at the moment.
“You didn’t sleep well, did you?” My mom furrows her forehead, looking worried, and I know I didn’t succeed in hiding my tiredness from her. “Were you thinking about him?”
“Of course I was.” A sudden swell of anger sharpens my voice. “He’s my husband, you know.”
She blinks, clearly taken aback, and I immediately regret my harsh tone. This situation is not my mom’s fault; if anyone is blameless in all this, it’s my parents. My temper is the last thing they deserve . . . particularly since my desperate plan will likely cause them even more anguish.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say, going over to give her a hug. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay, honey.” She strokes my hair, her touch so gentle and comforting that I want to weep. “I understand.”
I nod, even though I know she can’t possibly comprehend the extent of my stress. She can’t—because she doesn’t know that I’m waiting.
Waiting to be taken by the same monsters who have Julian.
Waiting for Al-Quadar to snap at the bait.
* * *
The morning drags by. It’s a Saturday, so both of my parents are home. They’re happy about that, but I’m not. I wish they were at work today. I want to be alone if—no, when—Majid’s goons come for me. It had been relatively safe to spend the night, since Al-Quadar would need time to put whatever plan they have into action, but now that it’s morning, I don’t want my parents near me. The security detail Julian put in place around my family would ensure their safety, but those same bodyguards may also interfere with my abduction—and that’s the last thing I want.
“Shopping?” My dad gives me a strange look when I announce my intention to hit the stores after breakfast. “Are you sure, honey? You just got home, and with everything going on—”
“Dad, I’ve been in the middle of nowhere for months.” I give him my best men-just-don’t-get-it look. “You have no idea what that’s like for a girl.” Seeing that he’s unconvinced, I add, “Seriously, Dad, I could use the distraction.”
“She’s got a point,” my mom chimes in. Turning toward me, she gives me a conspiratorial wink and tells my dad, “There’s nothing like shopping to take a woman’s mind off things. I’ll go with Nora—it’ll be just like the old times.”
My heart sinks. I can’t have my mom coming along if the point is to have my parents away from potential danger. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mom,” I say regretfully, “but I already promised Leah I’d meet her. It’s spring break, you know, and she’s home.” I had seen an update to that effect on Facebook earlier this morning, so I’m only partially lying. My friend is indeed in town—I just hadn’t made any plans to see her today.
“Oh, okay.” My mom looks hurt for a moment, but then she shakes it off and gives me a bright smile. “No worries, honey. We’ll see you after you catch up with your friends. I’m glad you’re distracting yourself like that. It’s for the best, really . . .”
My dad still looks suspicious, but there is nothing he can do. I’m an adult, and I’m not exactly asking for their permission.
As soon as breakfast is over, I give them each a kiss and a hug and walk over to the bus stop on 95th street to get on the bus going to the Chicago Ridge Mall.
* * *
Come on, take me already. Fucking take me already.
I have been wandering through the mall for hours, and to my frustration, there is still no sign of Al-Quadar. They either don’t know that I’m here, or they don’t care about me now that they have Julian.
