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There’s always a vacancy when Azadeh isn’t here. The three of us continue our lives and even find joy in our activities, but something is always lacking.
Jaheh shoma Kahliheh.
Over the years, Azadeh and her family have taught me Farsi. At first, I learned the language to communicate with her since she was learning English. But over time, I appreciated the poetic nature of the tongue and how everything was an emotive arrow straight to the truth of things. In Persian, you don’t simply say, “I miss you.” You say, “Jaheh shoma Kahliheh,” which means your place is empty. Azadeh not being here has left a void that nothing and no one can ever fill.
I walk out to the front of the house and sit under the pretty little gazebo built for Azadeh—a gazebo she’s never sat in. She told Lev it would look beautiful facing the willow trees.
Mornings bring solace. Sipping a cup of coffee and puffing on a smoke in the butt fuck hours of dawn brings a sense of peace and solitude. If I could capture the mist before the sun comes up and live in its essence forever, I would.
I used to despise this hour of the day. When I was younger, there was a forced obedience to it. Mornings were a time for prayer. Cleanliness in order to communicate with the big man upstairs and thank him for my abusive dad and robot mom. The irony of forcing a little boy to praise the lord for providing a sperm donor who gave him a black eye and fractured ribs.
I close and open my eye, trying to force the images of my past to dissipate like the smoke from my cigarette. I’ve been good at shoving my childhood trauma in a box and ensuring the lid stays on tight, but occasionally that shit sneaks up and bites me in the ass. But living with that man taught me how to mask my fucked-up desires. People would never assume I’m capable of the most horrendous acts known to man.
I take in the vast landscape before me, the manicured lawns and enormous trees with cascading branches lining a long driveway that ends at a majestic iron gate.
We didn’t want to live here originally. It was meant to be a pit stop before Lev, Cyrus, and I figured out our shit. But as they say, life happens when you’re busy making other plans. One thing led to another, and the manor became a refuge of sorts. A prison of our own making to complement the prison where we met.
Of the three of us, I figured it would be Lev who wouldn’t want any part of this place—a stark reminder of hell and insanity. I realized how fucked up Lev was the day he gutted his parent’s room and moved into it. The same room where he bashed his mother’s head in with a Victorian bust. I suppose we all deal with our parental drama in different ways.
I take a haul of my smoke before sipping from the ceramic mug, relishing the burn of the scalding coffee coating my throat. My eyesnarrow as a black two-door sports car stops at the gate. The door to the sleek black machine opens, and I instinctively reach for my eye patch. Losing my eye was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
Stepping out of the vehicle is the girl who cost me my eye but gave me a family. Azadeh Baran.
The patio chair shifts, and black coffee spills on the table as I rush to my feet and sprint to the gate like a dog excited to see its owner after a long day. This is how it’s always been with Azadeh and me. She goes off to discover new things, and I wait to welcome her home.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons the three of us kept this house. We made excuses that it was convenient or the layout of the manor and the land around it were so massive that it could shelter us from our seedy activities. But we all knew why we stayed frozen in time. It was so a pretty girl with long black hair always had a place to call home.
Azadeh gets back in the car as the gates swing open, granting access to the sleek black Maserati. I’m uncertain if I should keep running toward her or have some dignity and let her drive to me. Logically, the cool thing to do is to act aloof and wait. But when it comes to Azadeh, I’ve never had any chill. There’s something magnetic about her. A wild rose you want to encase in glass so you can gaze at its wonder for all eternity.
My decision is made when the car comes to a halt beside me. The engine's roar is silenced, and Azadeh storms out of the car.
Before she can say anything, I’ve wrapped my arms around her in a bear hug as I twirl her in the air. Azadeh Baran. My girl looks good. Better than good. She nuzzles her head in the crook of my neck, and my cock instantly hardens. She’s the only girl who’s ever been able to pull that voodoo. My skin lights on fire when she brushes her lips against my flesh.
Fuck, I missed her. I knew my relationship with her would never be more than fleeting moments because of her ambition, but she stayed away far too long this time.
“Look what the cat dragged in. About time you stopped by during your world tour, Princess. I know everyone needs saving, but your three men have missed you desperately.”
“I’ve missed you too, Zeke. So damn much, but this is going to have to wait.” Azadeh pulls away from me, and I notice her tired, red-rimmed eyes. She glances at the manor and clenches her teeth. “Where’s Lev?”
I place her down and look her over. Her arms hang by her sides, her hands clenching and unclenching, her stance rigid as if she’s hankering for a fight. Lev and Azadeh have always managed to get under each other’s skin, pushing buttons left and right until one explodes in anger. But never in all these years have I witnessed her wanting to rip his head off his torso and place it on a spike. Until now.
“Did he do something?”
There’s no way Lev would hurt her. He loves her.
Azadeh pushes past me and runs to the front door. Like the dutiful puppy who senses his owner is upset, I chase after her, coming to a halt before Azadeh opens the front door and busts into the foyer.
“Get your ass out here, Lev!”
“Hello, Az,” Lev says, emerging from his office. He’s wearing his typical three-piece suit, all prim and proper, giving the illusion of a refined businessman. Yet the ink peeking from his crisp cotton shirt collar and the words “fuck” and “life” tattooed on his knuckles tell a different story. Lev tugs at the lapels of his light gray suit jacket as if he’s been inconvenienced by the help before settling his gaze on Azadeh. “Welcome home.”
Azadeh doesn’t say anything. She looks at Lev as if she wants to rip his flesh from his bones and stomp on his discarded remains. In the years I’ve known Azadeh, I’ve never seen her glare at one of us with such disdain and venom. When her claws are out, it’s usually because she’s digging them into our backs and begging to be fucked harder.
Before I can stop her, she bulldozes toward Lev, and a loud slap reverberates in the hallway, echoing off the cathedral ceilings.
“How could you?” she shrieks. “I thought you gave a fuck about me. You were working on your shit, Lev. Zeke was helping you. I believed that no matter how insane you behaved, you would always have my back. How could you?”
“Whoa, what the fuck is going on?” I demand.
