Page 62

“Stop this madness! You are hurting!” Hatred and concern lace Noa’s voice, and my body starts shaking. The rain has quieted down, and the clatter of it stops, yet the silent downpour represents how I’m feeling now—in between emotions.

I want to feel angry and to hurt Noa, but I am tired.

“What the fuck do you know about if I’m hurting!” I yell at the only person who is willing to talk to me right now—the only one who lets me vent out my rage. Even though my grip is still tight on the shard of glass, I feel it slipping from my hand, probably because of the blood.

Before, I hadn’t felt the cold, and I felt untouchable. The wind that gushed my way was easily avoidable, and I didn’t feel the cold splatters of the rain, but now I feel everything. Being in Noa’s presence makes me feel fucking everything. It’s like I am letting myself be tired and having that luxury to say that I am not always strong.

That I can let go.

His eyes have lost that predatory focus, and they soften, looking hurt. His sharp jaw has loosened up as well, and his lips keep parting. He wants to say something but can’t find the words.

Now he is really looking at me, rather than tracking movements like prey.

I move forward, and instead of leaning forward aggressively, he unconsciously shifts his weight back.

The siren of the ambulance in the back brings me back to the present, and it tells me why I am at this fucking place.

Emin.

Just thinking about him makes the bile in my throat grow bigger.

I need to release this anger or I might fucking combust.

I charge at Noa, and I aim at his head with my shard of glass. He counters the attack, more defensive than offensive. He grabs me by my wrist, and we wrestle for a bit, until he knocks the glass out of my hand. Then he does something that catches me off guard—he spins me around and plasters my back to his front.

And even though I don’t want to… I melt into his embrace.

He is holding both of my hands pinned to my side, and I can’t escape from him.

“Noa, let me fucking go!” My words are futile. I am strong, but Noa is a beast. For the first time, well ever, I don’t have the energy to say something witty back. Or to try to manipulate him.

“You know that I am not responsible for putting Emin in that hospital.”

“How the fuck can I trust you?” He sounded resolute before, but so do I. I don’t trust this man as I haven’t seen any shred of evidence that he isn’t responsible for the hurt I am experiencing right now.

Baba.

Emin.

The teenager from twenty years ago.

He brings my hands up to my chest and pulls me even closer to him. The way our bodies fit so well together should make me feel relieved–it doesn’t. It makes me irate, and the tears that haven’t stopped falling are now streaming down my face.

It’s ironic that right now I feel the safest in the arms of the man I want to kill.

I close my eyes, and this time I let the tears fall.

I can’t bring myself to care about how I look right now.

Neither does he.

Noa releases me, and we are standing a couple of meters away from each other.

Slumped. Exhausted. Starving for love.

“The only reason I’m not slitting your throat open is because of my mama. I can see that you are hurting, like I was hurting when she was sick.” He goes right for the jugular vein with that line. Although I don’t think it was a line—he was being truthful about the hurt he went through with his mama.

It still doesn’t change a thing.