After Midnight

chapter SEVEN

I have often heard and seen people say ‘don’t drink and drive’. Do they think only intoxicants can put their life at risk while driving? Is not a sad, anxious, angry person just at the same danger level as drunk while driving?

I wipe furiously at my face. These stupid tears won’t stop falling. I don’t even know how I am even seeing the road clearly. A new set appears after every one minute and I am sick and tired of them. I grip the steering wheel tight enough to turn my knuckles white.

I don’t even know what I will say to Aaila or her family when I get there. What if someone is already there before me? No! That can’t happen. I won’t let that happen.

I press the gas pedal harder, the engine roaring. The trees are a blur on the sides. Lord. I don’t even want to see at what speed I am driving. That would put me in a shock all together.

When twenty minutes pass, something begins to happen inside my chest. I hope Harry is okay. I hope he lied good enough for them to believe. I hope there was someone with him to defend him. I hope. . .I hope. . .I hope I will not cry in front of anyone when they mention Harry.

The road stretches on forever. At one point I was just about to scream in frustration, but then I saw the black jeep parked at the side of the road. The man—Aiden straightens when he sees my car approaching. From afar, he looks young. Almost my age. Harry must really trust him if he was okay with me riding alone with him.

“Hello, Miss Aabirah,” the guy greets, giving a somewhat polite smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “I am glad you could make it safely.” His brown eyes linger around my eye area for a tad bit longer. He must be thinking I spent the entire drive balling my eyes out. Is that really a surprise for him?

“We should get going.” I don’t wait for his answer and quickly slide in the back seat of the jeep. Despite the sun bright above our heads, the air still feels cool, and somehow manages to get through my coat.

Painful, is how I would describe the fifteen minutes’ drive to Aaila’s house. I tried my best to focus on all the happy memories but what could happen to Harry still plagued me. Ever so often I found Aiden sneaking glances through the mirror, but I knew they weren’t meant to be disrespectful. He was just trying to look out for me.

Once parked outside Aaila’s home, I began to unlock the door but Aiden looked back and held up a finger. He wants me to wait. But why?

Getting out of the car, he takes a minute to examine his surroundings. Maybe he is looking out for threats aka my father’s men. When he is sure there’s nothing to worry about, my door opens and I slide out, and almost fall when my legs felt like jelly.

“I can wait outside, though there’s nothing to worry about when you’re in,” Aiden says. I like how he lowers his gaze while talking. Now that I have stopped having panic attacks, I notice he is about the same height as me with shoulder length dark hair and a lean built. Definitely not my type.

“Thank you, Aiden.” Should I ask him about Harry? What if he could call him right now, because I can’t risk doing that. “Can you call Harr—Haaris? Do you know if he is okay?”

Now he looks at me. Something like pity flashes through his eyes, but when he sees my face turn grim, it’s gone that second. I hate when someone pity’s me. I don’t want that. Ever.

“I was strictly told not to call him. I know you are going through a lot right now, but trust him on this matter, alright? He will come back to you the same as you left an hour ago.”

Would I really? “Okay, I guess you’re right. Would you like to have some tea. . . or breakfast. . . ?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I have to get to class in,” he checks the watch on his wrist, “ten minutes. I will just grab a coffee on the way. Thank you, though. And if I get any information from Haaris, I will email you immediately. But make sure to delete it that second and turn off all the bells from your phone. Better be safe than sorry.”

Right. “Right,” I attempt for a small smile. “I guess I will see you again?”

“Probably. Yeah. I will see you again.”

We say goodbye and part ways. I watch his car disappear down the road.

I face the front door of Aaila’s house, waiting. . .but for what? I could just go inside and tell her about everything that went good then wrong. She would understand me. What if she already knows what is happening? God. I hope she does. I don’t think I can tell her about anything without a mental breakdown.

You can do this, I whisper to myself. I can do this. I will do this. I will go through everything for him. He has done so much for me. He still does. And I can’t even get a grip of my emotions? Pathetic, is what I’d like to call myself. Harry had begged me, pleaded me, that I don’t cry. Yet still my eyes pool out with unshed tears. I look towards the sky, forcing the tears back down.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I raise my hand and knock the door twice. As if Aaila was just on the other side pressed against the door, the door burst open and she all but throws herself at me. I don’t even get the time to hug her back before she yanks me inside and then closes the door shut, putting the lock in place. She checks it again, and once satisfied that we’re safe (understatement), then only does she let it all out.

“I KNEW HE WAS STUPID BUT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE SENSIBLE ONE! YOU JUST CANT MARRY HIM AT THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, AABI! DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN YOUR DAD FINDS OUT ABOUT EVERYTHING? GOD, I AM SO FURIOUS WITH YOU AABIRAH!!”

I wait if maybe she needs to lighten up a bit more. I watch her breathing heavily with both hands placed on the hips and a dead serious look marring her face. I lift a shoulder in a cool shrug. Maybe we both are stupid, and reckless, and delusional. But I was always meant to be with Harry. It doesn’t matter when, where, or how. I am his. He is mine. End of story.

“You have all the rights to be mad with me,” I say a bit defeated. Of course she is unhappy. I never invited her to my wedding, even if it were after midnight. She is my sister, my best friend, the person I trust the most in my life. I know damn well that I have let her down. . .maybe I could make it up to her as well?

“Mad? Gosh, Aabi,” she whispers, her voice laced with emotions. She closes the distance between us and envelops me in her warm embrace. I melt against her, desperate to get the affection. We humans are so weak. We always want someone to comfort us in our bad moments. “I am not mad with you. I am just saying. . .you shouldn’t have married him in the middle of the darn week! I mean,” she pulls back but doesn’t let go of me. “I mean look, did you not expect this coming? Your Dad is always one step ahead of you. You are so lucky that Harry’s mother informed him on time—“

“Wait what?” The blood drains from my face. “Aaila, is she okay? The twins. . .Oh my God, what about the girls?” Sudden terror grips me. My father is a ruthless man. His men are even more callous than him. They wouldn’t think twice before doing something bad.

OH MY GOD! What the heck did I do?

“They’re fine. Everyone’s okay. Don’t worry about them.”

“Harry is not okay. I don’t—I don’t even know what’s going on there. Aaila, can we call him from your Mom’s number? Surely my father or anyone would think of it just as a random call. . .” I am not going to bet on it though.

The smile she just gives me, it provides me with all the answers I wanted. I can’t call him. Of course. Suddenly, I am angry. Why is Harry trying to be the boss here? if he knows I am safe, and I don’t know a damn thing about his life, how is that supposed to put me at ease? I would smack him when he comes home. I would hit him for giving me so much depression, and anxiety.

“I am sure he is fine. Come on,” Aaila grabs my hand and tugs it. “Lets get you cleaned up before any of them comes here.”

I was always a fan of her small, cozy apartment in which she had her Mom live. Her Dad had died to a car accident years ago, and she never really mentions him. Ever.

This house was always unique to me in a good sort of way. Coming through the front doors, there was a small corridor which led to a set of stairs that took us upstairs in her small house. Having a passion for interior designing, her Mom turned the lounge into the most beautiful and cozy sitting area. A small chandelier hangs from the ceiling casting a yellow glow, and just below it is a white fuzzy rug which is too comfortable to even sleep on. Talking from experience. The furniture is all black, and honestly black makes everything look good in itself.

As I enter Aaila’s room, the first thing that I notice is she took off all the posters of different celebs from the right wall beside the single bed. It makes her room look a bit boring, but spacious. And, for whatever shocking reason, her bed is made, plus no clothes are scattered around on the floor. I think I am impressed.

“You cleaned your room,” I point out the obvious, shrugging out of my coat and throwing it on the chair. Some pictures of random guys lie on her desk which makes me frown. “Who are these?”

Aaila, leaning against the dresser, follows my line of sight. Then sighs as if these pictures tire her a lot. “Boys.”

“Really?” I fake gasp, rolling my eyes.

“Boys for marriage. Mom says I could choose one. All are wealthy and rich.”

I study the pictures with discontent. “Um, but they lack on the ‘handsome’ apartment.”

A chuckle sounds. “Yeah, tell me about it. They’re all really fat and weird in real life. Technically these are pictures of their ‘teen’ life. I think one of them is even mafia, but Mom yelled at me when I uttered that word. She wants me to not use that word around like that.”

“What? Mafia?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. How random.”

“I think your Mom is cool. Anyway.” I turn to look at her. Wave a hand at my face. “Does it look like I have been crying?” Her eyes linger on my face for some seconds and just when I am about to lose my patience, she speaks up.

“A bit. If someone looks up close, then yes definitely.” Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth. Looks like she is contemplating saying something.

“Just say it,” I sigh.

“I hate to say this, but you should shower as well. You smell just like Harry.”

I smell like him? “I wore his shirt last night. Didn’t know his smell could still linger on me. Thank you, Aails. For everything.” I smile at her. “Really. You are really the best.”

“Careful,” she laughs, eyes sparkling. “If Harry hears that, he will throw a fit.”

The mention of Harry again makes me want to sob till there are no tears left. I wish, I wish he’d just call me so I hear his voice and know he is perfectly fine. Maybe I am being paranoid, but I have my own reasons to be. My father is dangerous, a ruthless man who never blinks before shooting someone. My insides squirm with uneasiness, so I excuse myself and slip inside the bathroom.

All the feeling, every emotion just comes rushing to the surface. I thought I was brave. I thought I had at least the power to control my tears, if not for myself but for my husband. Guess I don’t. The tears burst forth like a stream, and whether Aaila hears them or not, she never knocks on the door. I just stand there with my back pressed against the door and cry.

I love you, Harry, I keep on whispering in my head.

A nice summer dress, and white tights, ironed and creaseless lay on the bed when I emerge from the bathroom after the longest shower ever. I quickly put them on and let my hair out of the towel. For some reason I am really scared to look at myself in the mirror, and the evidence that would be on my face of my misery.

Harry had asked me just one thing, just one thing; don’t cry. I couldn’t even do that.

Giving up on everything, I decide to let my hair air dry and save all the effort and then open the bedroom door. Yummy smell of pancakes makes my stomach growl with hunger.

Suddenly, Aaila jumps in front of me, making my heart skip a beat.

“Shoot, Aaila. You scared me.”

“Sorry!” she gives me a puppy dog face, and bats her eyelashes. “Forgiven?”

“Obiously.”

She squeals and claps her hands in delight like an eight year old who just got her favorite Barbie doll. “Harry called when you were in the shower. He is okay!”

Relief almost knocks me to the ground. I have to grip the door frame so I don’t lose my balance and fall on the floor. I burst into laughter and pull Aaila in my arms, hugging her tightly. I can’t even begin to explain her how happy I am.

“Did he tell what happened?” I ask frantically, my blood rushing in my veins faster with each breath. Knowing Harry, he probably didn’t tell her anything. He would tell me first. I always come first before Aaila.

She gives me a ‘duh’ look. “Do you really think so? The question you asked is pretty self-explanatory. But there’s still high chances of your Dad showing up, so we need to act like you’ve been with me since last night. Remember, Harry had to pretend he didn’t know anything at all, otherwise your Dad might’ve gotten suspicious how he knew you were staying over at my place.”

I find myself nodding along to her words. Harry is smart. He knows how to handle a situation in no amount of time. I am not surprised that he was already two steps ahead of me in saving us, but then again, it is Harry Zander we are talking about here.

“Was Dad there with his men?”

“Yeah. He said he looked pretty mad, and worried he’d hurt you.” Aaila studies my face for signs of. . .what? Fear? Sadness? Anger? All I felt was happiness bubbling inside my heart. If Harry is okay, I don’t need to worry about myself.

I hug Aaila, resting my head in the crook of her neck. “Forget about what my Dad could do. He has never raised a hand on me before, so I don’t think he’d be changing that anytime soon.” I chuckle wickedly. “Unless he finds out—“

Suddenly, Aaila pushes me back and puts a hand against my mouth. Her face has gone white, as she shakes it from left to right and mouths ‘He’s here’.

Cold fear takes hold of me. Dad is here? He is listening to our conversation? But—

I follow Aaila’s gaze to where it is glued to the stairway wall. A shadow—half shadow can be seen, and I would be betting it is Dad. It has to be him. He was listening. Oh my God! OH MY GOD! NO NO NO NO NO

“Aaila. . .” I whisper, scared to death. Her gaze cuts to me. Eyes widened in horror, she wipes the sweat from my forehead and then wipes her hand on the front of her dress before pulling on a shaky smile and looking over my head again.

“Hello Mr. Adil. It’s nice to see you.” The fear dripping from Aaila’s words only makes me sweat more profusely. My shaky hand rubs at my forehead again. Mustering all the strength I can, I turn around and look right into the eyes of my father.

He doesn’t look pleased.

“Why didn’t you inform me that you were spend the night here?” he ignores Aaila and prowls towards me. For the first time in probably a long time, there are no men protecting his shadow. He came here alone. Or maybe the men are waiting outside.

I act on impulse, and move a bit closer to Aaila. We’re both stuck in the doorway, and there’s nowhere to hide. Not that there is any reason to, but a door won’t stop my father from reaching me.

“I am sorry, Dad. Aaila. . .Aaila was going through some emotional breakdowns. And. . .she kept on crying on the phone so I just decided to come here and comfort her,” I lie like a pro, hating every word that comes out of my mouth. It’s not like I have a second option or something. If I need to save us, lying is how that would happen.

Dad’s venomous gaze cuts to Aaila. I feel her shiver, out of fear or terror, I can’t tell. Probably both. I should hold her hand. I would’ve held her hand, but I can’t. My father is the smartest of men. He would notice it instantly and get a hint of suspiciousness.

“I don’t see any signs of distress on her face,” he spits. Too observant. He is too sharp-eyed and it makes my stomach churn with panic. I command myself to play it cool.

“Dad,” I give him those eyes that say ‘She is going through a lot please don’t target her and let her be’. Lie. Lie after lie. What am I getting myself into? Shoot. SHOOT! This is going downhill way too quickly.

Somewhat unconvinced, he still nods his head stiffly. I let out a huge breath. So does Aaila.

My father could be intimidating as heck. With his over six feet height and a scary personality, he could easily overpower anyone and bring them to their knees with heads bowed. I got nothing from my Dad. I can’t ever be rude to anyone. I can’t ever raise my voice in front of elders just out of respect.

“What is there that is hidden from me, Aabirah?” Dad says all of a sudden, the harshness returning to his features. His old age never stopped him from doing whatever he wanted. Guessing from that look, and as I look down at his hand that curls and uncurls, I know he wants to hit something.

Or someone.

Me.

I see it in his eyes.

“Nothing,” I blurt, raising my walls around me to cage in any emotion that might be showing on my face. He is too quick to figure everything out merely by someone’s stuttering. “There’s nothing that is being kept from you.”

His anger takes a sudden turn to rage. He steps forward. “What was the first thing I ever taught you?”

“Never lie to me,” I repeat his words, masking my terror. “I didn’t lie to you—“

It happen so fast that I the world around me goes swirling before I focus my gaze again. I don’t know what happened first, Aaila’s cry of panic, or the sharp burning pain shooting through the right side of my face. I gingerly touch it—wincing when it starts stinging like crazy. Maybe I am not proud of lying. But I am definitely proud of not crying in front of him. 

“You’re seeing that boy again, aren’t you?” he grits through gritted teeth, grinding his teeth in fury. I watch him. Emotionless. “You are still seeing that boy who is marked as forbidden for you.”

“I am not. There’s nothing going on between us, Dad.” A sour taste fills my mouth when I called him Dad. He is everything but that. “Nothing is going on.” Every breath I take seems like will be the last one. Every time my father blinks, I think he would shoot me.

I hold my breath as I wait for something to happen. Anything. Something. . .just not this painful silence that hangs between us like death. I want to go back into Harry’s arms. Want to feel the comfort he gives me. But I can’t have that for some time now. Not when suspicion has grown inside my father. Not when hatred purer than any water is washed all over his features. I wish there was a way, a path no matter how small, or narrow, or small, but through which I could squeeze through and find my way to Harry.

It was impossible in the moment.

“You’re coming back home. Grab your bag and meet me downstairs.” Dad glances over Aaila, giving her a dirty glare before thudding down the stairs.

I shudder. Then, my best friend wraps her arms around me from behind, pressing her face against my back. I am glad I can’t see the tears that soak through the material of my shirt, the dampness that would be the evidence if I look in the mirror. After a minute or two, while I let her cry in silence, she pulls away and disappears into the room, returning shortly afterwards with my bag. Avoiding my eyes expertly, she holds it out to me, sniffing loudly.

“Call me once you get home,” she says in a nasally voice. When she finally meets my eyes, I almost break from the inside.

“Everything will be okay,” I whisper. Am I really trying to assure her, or myself? Sure, I could be pretty brave sometimes, but after all I am still a human having weaknesses. And weakness is the human’s biggest weakness in itself, that could shatter them in a heartbeat.

“She will be harsh towards you.” Aaila’s eyes pool with tears again.

I bite the inside of my cheek from bursting into a sob. Control is what I had always. I couldn’t lose that right now. Dropping the bag to the floor, I cup both cheeks of Aaila and give her a peck on the forehead. “She could never do anything I can’t bear. This is me we are talking about. If I could take everything the last few times, I could now as well.”

Somewhat still unconvinced, her head bobs up and down, and a small smile tugs at her lips. “Don’t forget to call me. I will tell Harry you are alright.”

“Yes, please do.” I lower my voice to barely a whisper. “And tell him not to call me unless I do so.” I know Harry can’t be that stupid, but perhaps he needs that reminder.

“I will.” She squeezes my hand. “I love you. Be safe.”

I was made to sit in one of the empty cars with the driver in the front seat. Dad didn’t even spare me a glance before he yelled orders and we came back home in about ten minutes, thanks for his men’s reckless driving.

A part of me wished to just blurt out all the part, and I was positive it was the crazy part, that part of me which I never let out. The other part of me had a complete different agenda; it wanted me to lock myself in my room and cry. Weep. Sob. Wail, until even the tears begged me to stop crying.

This is no shock to anyone that being a woman is never easy. Do those women who say ‘Being a guy is so easy’ actually know that they’re the ones who have to go out and earn for their families, that it’s their duty and they are bound by it? Every male, every female, everyone’s life is tough. But where guys can smirk like it comes natural to them, or put on a cold expression, or drown their sorrows in alcohol, girls usually just cry themselves to sleep. Not all, but at least some of them.

Nobody bothered me the following night, which was quite shocking, honestly, because I bet my Mom couldn’t wait to let out all her anger on me. This time, she even had a solid reason.

I lay in bed, gazing at the ceiling, wondering. . .what would Harry be doing?

Needles pricked at my heart. I miss him. It hasn’t even been a whole day and already my heart aches to see him. Talk to him. Before, I was bound by the laws of religion to not speak to him openly, to not see him. But, now that he is my mahram, I still can’t do any of that openly. I couldn’t risk calling him, saying I wasn’t allowed to lock my door, and anybody could barge in any second. In my barely illuminated room by the gold faerie lights hung around the frame of my door, I could see shadows of footsteps outside, as if someone would patrol every five minutes.

I sigh.

Consequences be damned.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and with shaky fingers dial the number I could never forget.

“Don’t tell me you’re that wild to call me.”

Sparks light me up. “Harry. . .” I barely whisper, closing my eyes and finally, finally letting the tears free. God, it feels so good. The wetness against my skin: a reminder of what calm tears could bring sometimes.

I hear him whisper-hiss, “Aabi? Do I need to put some sense into you?” He’s angry, but I don’t care. I don’t care. He could even yell for hours, and it would still give me more peace than before.

“Maybe? I don’t know. I am glad you are okay. God,” I furiously wipe at the corners of my eyes, suddenly angry at myself for crying. “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re fine.”

“Oh, I know. Very well. And I do hope you also know how very furious I am with you. Perhaps I should cut the call.” On the last sentence, his voice wavers, giving away he is lying. He would never cut the call, and that makes me smile despite the tears.

“How are you feeling?” I ask him. I dart my eyes to the door, stilling for a mere second. I thought somebody was at the door. Phew. Almost stopped breathing from shock.

He is silent for a few heartbeats. Then, after what seems like forever, his voice echo’s in my ear. “Did he hurt you?”

He slapped me. “No.”

“Aabi. . .”

Well, technically, my father didn’t hurt me. Physically, yes, although the bruise on my cheek looks less nasty than I expected it to be, I don’t think it would go unnoticed by my very alert husband.

He could never hurt me emotionally. Never.