Captive to the Storm

4

The fate written with the ink of pain promised nothing to the soul but agony. While some souls were accommodating to hosting pure pain, others were never ready for it. My soul was the sibling of pain.

The emotions that bloomed within my essence yesterday had already begun to dig a grave in my heart with their claws. My mind, which wanted to bury those budding emotions into the pit it made, had entered a rigged war with my heart, which was trying to prevent it.

His lips brushed against my ear. "There will be days when you'll scream at the top of your lungs for me not to stop," he said, with words that crushed my heart within the palms of his hands. "And on that day, I won't stop."

Following these words that left a breath of death right in the middle of my heart, he had lain down on my bed, right beside his son. He had only taken off his jacket, lying down on the bed with his trousers without a second thought, and closed his eyes next to the small body that was completely oblivious to everything. Was he at peace?

Charles Bukowski had a quote: "If you realize you have lost your soul, it means you still have a soul left to lose." There were still feelings struggling to breathe in my soul; I wasn't dead to him, and there was nothing I could do except interpret this purely as a physical desire.

There was a heavy weight on my right side and across my abdomen. Whatever was pressing down on my upper body was quite massive. The cold thing that covered my body like white snowflakes made me open my eyes slowly, just like a baby opening its eyes to the world for the first time. Even though the scorching sunlight leaking through my parted eyelids caused me to close my eyes again, I opened them despite all the negatives.

There was an arm resting right across my body as I lay sprawled out on the bed. That thick arm, with veins branching out like ivy, had tightly gripped my slender waist. The resulting image caused my chest to tighten. Due to the movements I made during the night, my black nightgown had ridden up, revealing a sensitive part of my body. Even though only a small portion of my underwear was visible, the situation was embarrassing.

What exactly was happening right now?

I looked to my side with just my eyes. I felt my pupils tremble because of the sight I had expected. The frame entering my vision was black hair. The owner of that arm wrapped around my waist had buried his face in my neck, and I could only see his thick, black hair.

I was lying in bed with him. Moreover, we were exceedingly close, and right now, if he woke up, I didn't have an answer to give him. When had we become like this, and where was Ege? I was in a dire state.

The moment I realized the breaths hitting my neck were irregular, I stopped. The man, who pulled in a deep, harsh breath, was he awake? As the fingers of the hand on my waist pressed into my skin, he slowly pulled his head away from the crook of my neck. His black, marble-shining eyes were narrowed from sleepiness; his lips were full, and his hair was messy.

The moment our eyes met, my body began to burn with anxiety. Why on earth had I started my day like this!

Asilkan didn't pull his hands away; instead, he lifted his body slightly and began to look down at me from above. I looked at him from the bed where I lay like a statue, his hand on my waist feeling as though it had entered a forbidden zone.

The name "Asilkan" slipped past my lips.

Asilkan placed the knee of one leg right between my two legs, and as he did so, his eyes grazed the hiked-up nightgown; after gazing at it brazenly, he positioned his entire body directly on top of mine. Placing his palms on either side of my head, he leaned down toward me slightly. "Why are we in this state, Yakut Karadağ?"

"I... I honestly don't know, please don't let your mind wander to other things, I don't know how this happened either..."

The corner of his lip curled up in a devilish way. This smile had startled me. "Isn't this natural, my beautiful wife," he said, while a finger of his hand twirled a lock of my fiery hair. "You and I are married, everything that happens at night is how it should be."

Even though he looked like he was teasing me, his expression was blank. His words contrasted with his face.

I could feel his breaths along my silence line; every single breath fell into a pit there and was buried.

As he slid his knee upward against my inner thighs toward my groin, he aimed the sharp edge of his black eyes straight into mine. As a result of the small movement he made with his knee, the strength in my knees dissolved, and a faint "Stop," fell from my lips.

"No, don't stop! Go on, I want to be with you, I want you!"

As the years drifted their fingers across dusty pages, a memory of that night fell into my mind. I had told him not to stop, to keep going, and that I wanted him. One night rebuilt my life from scratch, and the remaining piles of rubble crushed the old Yakut.

"You should pay attention to whose bed you wake up in, my rebellious wife," he spoke. "The moment I start taking my desires, this bed will bear witness to your nudity."

When my eyes locked onto his confident voice, he looked at me as if he wanted to engrave my facial expression into his mind.

With difficulty, I said, "Something like that won't happen. This isn't a real marriage, and I am not your wife. Do whatever you want with whoever you want, but don't harbor any desire toward me. Because a mistake is made once, not a second time."

As if rebelling against my words, he pressed his knee down a little harder, and while my pure devotion to him began to beg on its knees before him, my mind threw a heavy punch at my passion, harshly explaining to it to pull itself together.

As his lips caressed my carotid artery, "You are the bride of the Karadağs, Yakut Karadağ. You are that woman who is a cat next to me but turns into a lion the moment she steps out this door... And I want that woman."

Of course, these things he said weren't entirely new. We lived in the same house, and certain feelings inevitably sprouted between us. But I knew that he didn't see me as his true wife either.

"You're testing me," I spoke, defying my rigid body. "I'm aware of that, but I wasn't the one cozying up to you last night, and I have no intention of sleeping with you. Please, will you get off me now?"

I couldn't even remember what had happened at night; I certainly wasn't going to go and climb into his bed. Moreover, it was absurd for him to think this way when I didn't even want to be anywhere near him.

"Then why did I open my eyes on your slender neck?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know," I said, raising a single eyebrow just like he did.

As we stubbornly stared into each other's eyes as if entering a staring contest, the bedroom door opened. When the sound in the room made both of us look toward the door, my eyes found Fatih Ege, looking at us with a half-finished glass of milk in his hand. The little boy, looking at us with raised eyebrows because of our current posture, took another sip from his glass while looking at us. He must have been embarrassed because he quickly averted his eyes from us.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to knock," he spoke in a low voice.

No matter what, my son seeing us in this fashion caused my cheeks to burn with shame; though he didn't understand anything given his age, our closeness had both startled and embarrassed him. While I was keeping company with that same emotion, Asilkan threw his body to my side. Taking a deep breath and calming down with the weight lifting off me, I kept my eyes solely on my son.

"Where were you, Ege?" I asked softly. His name was Fatih Ege, but while he preferred to be called Fatih, I preferred to call him by the name I gave him, Ege, when addressing him.

Ege said, "I woke up when I got cramped in bed this morning, and I couldn't fall back asleep. So I went down to Tülay, ma'am's place." He raised the glass in his hand. "She gave me milk."

Lady Tülay was a domestic worker who dealt with the kitchen chores of the house. An elderly woman, she was a loved person in this house and was deeply respected by both Ege and Asilkan.

The body beside me got up from the bed. "Was your grandfather awake?" he asked, walking over to the wardrobe in the room.

I cast my eyes onto his back and watched him. He had slept in his trousers, shirtless.

"Yes," Ege said, "I even saw him. He was reading the newspaper."

Asilkan just nodded. He opened the wardrobe and briefly swept his black eyes across the expensive clothes inside. Pulling a white, ironed shirt and black dress trousers out of the wardrobe, the man tossed what was in his hand onto the single armchair.

Asilkan said, "Go down to your grandfather, your mother and I have a matter to discuss," in a masculine voice. His voice still sounded sleepy.

Ege only nodded at his father. "Okay."

With the child leaving the room, his hands went to the belt of his trousers. With astonishment, I said, "Are you going to get dressed here?"

His eyes didn't leave his open belt, and with the metallic sound of the belt coming undone, his voice was heard as well. "I'll get dressed in my room."

"I live here too, and you know this isn't appropriate."

Asilkan raised his head and shifted his narrowed eyes toward me.