After Midnight

Chapter SIX

I look at him.

He looks at me. Then smiles.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you this nervous before,” he says with a half grin, clearly mocking me.

I resist the urge to chuck a cushion at him. “Who would blame me.”

He closes the distance between us, leaving just a few inches. From this close, I can smell his cologne and see the tiredness in his eyes. Have I ever told you before how hypnotizing his blue eyes are? They’re almost making me lose my balance, so I am glad when he steps back and I blink back—whatever happened that made me almost fall on my face.

“Are you hungry? You might be, considering you never bothered to eat anything today.” He narrows his eyes, giving me a look of disapproval. He nods towards the stairs. “You can go into our bedroom and get comfy if you want. That looks like torture.” His eyes follow the length of me.

I lift a shoulder, smile, and reply back, “It’s actually pretty comfortable. And if you’re going to continue to give me hard talks about my diet, then I would love to get some sleep.”

As if. I would never waste any second of my time that I get to spend with my husband on anything. I am grateful enough to see him whenever I want, if only after sneaking out, and I know how tough it will be when we’d have to return back. Return back. . . God. I don’t even want to think what wrath would fall upon me when they’d notice I am not in my bed. I don’t even want to think about it. Maybe that woman who I call my Mom would lock me in a cupboard, or worse, ask my brother to hit me.

“Juice?”

I blink.

“Sorry what?” When did I follow him into the kitchen?

His shoulders grow tense. “What were you thinking about?”

He notices. Always. “We’d have to tell Aaila about us,” I change the subject quickly, though I must say it looks even more suspicious when someone jumps to other things. At least I didn’t lie. Dodged his question, yes. But I do need to think of a way to tell my best friend without her murdering me for not inviting her along.

Harry stares for some seconds before sighing heavily and nodding. He walks over to the medium sized black fridge and his head disappears inside. Whoever the interior designer was definitely kept the them black and white. The walls are all painted white, and the counter tops are black marble while the floor is white marble with little specks of something that makes it look fancy. The kitchen is not too big, probably that’s why the lounge is HUGE.

I take a seat on the barstool, bracing my arms on breakfast bar and watching my husband pour some mango juice into my glass.

“You’re not drinking?” I ask.

He shakes his head without looking up.

I feel my heart sink. Is he mad at me?

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

He never replies.

Tears burn in my eyes. There’s too many emotions brimming inside me, choking me. Do you ever feel that feeling when you’re trying way too hard to keep the sob caged inside you, and you feel it burning at the back of your throat? That’s how I feel right now. I refuse to cry because the last thing a husband would want from his wife on his wedding night would be to throw a fit and be a real pain in the head.

I take big gulps from the glass in hope the juice will wash away the emotions from my gut. It does nothing. Instead, I gag. I push myself off of the stool and sprint towards the sink, emptying pretty much anything that could be inside me, meaning nothing. I am crying. No it’s not crying. It’s just those natural tears that come along the way when you puke and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Breathing heavily, I open my eyes, cringing when I see the gross stuff lying in the sink. I quickly turn on the tap and let the water wash it away. Mental note: scrub the sink first thing in the morning.

“Are you okay?” Harry is by my side in seconds, those eyes burning with an emotion I can’t quite figure out. I want to yell at him, hate him for being mean to me for particularly no solid reason, but I can’t because he means so much to me.

“I am fine.” I push past him but he grabs my arm and gives me a warning glare. If it were any other time, I would’ve yanked out of his grip but not today. I am too tired even to walk, and breaking free from him would be no less than running a marathon.

“No you are not. Quit lying, Aabirah. Is there something wrong?” His voice shakes when he says, “Did I do something?”

I snort. “No.”

He gives me a little tug, causing me to glare at him with venom in my eyes. I don’t mean it, and he knows that, but I still feel pissed off because of his little rude behavior seconds ago. “Stop it, Aabirah. Tell me what’s wrong?”

I see red. “How are you so oblivious? I didn’t want to tell you what I was thinking and you just stop talking to me all together? Is it really necessary that I worry you along with me? God, Harry. What has gotten into you?”

He listens like a decent boy. I see the cogs of his head working. Sometimes, I wonder what goes on in his mind. Is he always thinking about me like I am? Does he worry what would happen if my family found out about this marriage? Of course he does, but he is really good at masking his emotions, even from me. That’s not good, though. I want him to let me see what goes inside his head.

“I didn’t realize I hurt you. Forgive me, please?” Worry flashes through his eyes.

I blow out a breath, letting my anger into the air with it. I tilt my head and give him soft eyes. He is so precious to me. So damn precious. I can’t be angry with him for more than five minutes.

“There’s nothing to forgive you. I wasn’t hurt, just. . .not expecting that.”

“God. I am such a bad person.” He runs a frantic hand down his face, stress evident. “Let me make it up to you.”

He makes me pasta.

I got the best husband ever.

I wake up to the sun rays falling straight on my eyes. I groan. It felt like I just slept five minutes ago. Throwing my arm across my eyes, I force myself to fall back asleep but when nothing happens after five minutes, I huff out an aggravated sigh and sit up straight.

Beside me Harry snores lightly. His sleeping position makes me smile. He sleeps like a total guy, one leg thrown over a pillow, and one arm hugging it. His hair are a total mess, but what bothers me is that HE HAS NO OIL ON HIS FACE! That’s not fair! I feel so greasy in the morning!

I push back his hair lightly. He stirs in his sleep, but doesn’t wake up. All of this—him lying next to me, me getting what I want, it seems no less than a dream. But it’s real. I have him. He has me.

I am startled when suddenly a loud alarm goes off, jolting Harry awake. Panic soon starts to settle inside me. Is that a fire alarm? But I didn’t even step into the kitchen yet.

“Shoot!” Harry curses, throwing away the covers and throwing on his shirt from last night. My heart hammers inside my chest like a maniac.

“Harry, what’s going on?” I quiver in a panicky voice, clutching the covers close to my body, as if whatever danger we’re in could save me. “What is this alarm?”

The blood drains his face. He comes to stop by my side of the bed, and caresses my cheek. I melt to his touch. Yet this gesture of him makes me even more scared.

“Baby, we need to leave.” He removes his hand and I miss it immediately. “We need to leave before they get to us.”

“Before who get to us?”

“Your Dad and his men.”

If there was any hope for us, all is gone, replaced with fear but the worst kind that ever exists. Just for a day—for one day I wanted us to be normal. Wanted to live with him without any tensions, any fear. Who was I even kidding? of course they would find us. I can’t tell what my retribution would be, but I know for sure what would be Harry’s fate.

“NO,” I start violently shaking my head. Tears begin rolling down my cheeks. I grab fistfuls of his shirt and look right into his eyes. He gets blurry, but as a few tears fall, I can see him clearly again. His face is void of any emotion. And that scares me even more. “They’ll kill you. They’ll kill you, Harry, but they won’t kill me. I will stay here. You need to leave.”

“Hey, listen to me. Listen to me.” He levels his gaze with mine. “We are safe right now. They don’t know that you are married to me. But if they see us here, together, then yes we are in serious danger. We will leave. Right now. Grab the bags from the cupboard and meet me downstairs. Make sure to take everything with you. No evidence, okay?”

Somehow through all this chaos, I find myself agreeing to his plan. He tells me it would take at least thirty minutes for them to reach here, which gives us almost enough time to leave and be at a safe distance. I don’t waste a second before kicking my feet into action. Although adrenaline has my muscles aching all over, but Harry’s life is what is giving me all this strength. If I lose him, I am nothing.

Downstairs, Harry is on the phone, talking in hushed whispers. ‘She’s in your hands’ is all I get because when he notices me reaching him, a small smile tugs at his lips but he doesn’t know that it still lets me see the fear behind it.

“You’re ready?” His touch is feathery light when he brushes his hand with mine, and retracts in less than a second. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“I am ready. I don’t want to lie to you.”

His jaw clenches and unclenches several times. I notice how his lips thin into a straight line, how his ocean eyes continue to stare at me. “I know you won’t like this,” he takes my hand and drops a key, car key, and closes my fist, “but it is what it is.”

I start putting the pieces together.

“Harry don’t—“

“No,” he cuts me off. “You will go on your own. I will stall them, so it gives you enough time to get far away from here. When this road ends, there will be a black car waiting for you. The guy is one of my best friends, Aiden. He will take you safely to Aaila’s house where you will stay with her until someone from your home comes to check there. Aabirah, you can’t call me. Don’t delete anything from your phone that might be suspicious, and please, please, I beg you, just don’t cry, baby. Please? Can you do that for me?”

They say absence makes your heart grow fonder. It is never the case with us. Harry is never absent from my life, yet why does it still feel like a goodbye? Why do I feel so far away from him when we stand just inches apart? Why am I crying so much when I know everything will be fine? Because I know. I know Dad is ruthless. I know he just has to say the word and his men would put a bullet in Harry’s body. They’ll make him suffer. They’ll torture him.

I have nothing to say to him when I really should be talking. I can’t look at him, because the sobs grow louder with every seconds that passes. I shake out of his arms when he tries to hold me. I block out his voice from my head and do what will save his life.

I leave.

He never stops me.