We're back to Christian's POV. He's been beaten up. This chapter takes place the morning after the "nasty bruise" conversation. Hope you enjoy!
~c~s~
I examine myself in the mirror for what must be the tenth time today. You stupid, stupid man! I scold myself. I hate the fact that my stupidity is now literally plastered all over my face, for everyone to see. I carefully trace the cuts and bruises with my fingers. The aspirin I took earlier helps somewhat, reducing my earlier splitting headache to the dull throb I feel now. My face feels uncomfortable, it pulls a bit, like I'm wearing a mask. The cut on my lip keeps bothering me. Every time I forget about it, I accidently pull it open again, making it bleed.
All in all, I'm actually pretty lucky. It could have been worse. A lot worse. These are just superficial wounds that will heal quickly enough. You should have known better, I scold myself some more. And I should have. Normally, I can spot the weirdos a mile off. But I wasn't paying attention now was I? My head was full of him. Syed.
I can feel anger flush through my body. Anger at myself. What the hell was I thinking going to his engagement party? What was I doing there? What did I think I was going to accomplish? Did I think I was going to be able to stop him? That he would change his mind, just as soon as he clapped eyes on me? Ha! You stupid, stupid man… That's exactly what you thought, isn't it?
More anger. Anger at him. For pushing me away. Again. Denying me… it… us… I hate him for it. Especially when he makes out like it's all my fault. Like I seduced him or something - against his will. I put the mirror away, done with the sight of me.
Closing my eyes, I see his face, like it was yesterday, so close… looking at me… I feel all the anger threatening to slip away. Instinctively, I try and hold on to it. I know I am on shaky ground at the moment. I have managed to avoid studying my other wounds. The ones you can't see, because they are hidden deep inside. I know my anger is my way of coping. It's keeping me going, keeping me on my feet. Keeping me from over thinking things, overanalyzing. As soon as I take a moment to think, feel… I'll lose it. And I'm not ready for that. I don't think I can take it. So I hang on to the anger.
And there's plenty to be angry about. That fucking self-loathing, self-denying piece of shit that did this to me for starters. I hate guys like that. Disgusted with themselves, but determined to blame it all on anyone but them. I wonder how many men he's hurt before he hurt me. And how many there will be after me. Another thought I push away. I know I should go to the police. Make sure that arsehole can't hurt anyone else. I know I should. But I'm not. I just can't right now. Not right now…
Ian. Barging in on me like that. Who the hell does he think he is? I wonder if he's used his keys before, getting in when I'm not around? I don't like the thought of that one bit. I'm changing the lock ASAP.
Zainab. I don't understand people like her. You think you know them, and then suddenly they say something and you realize you don't know them at all. I guess a lot of it can be blamed on ignorance. No homosexuals in Pakistan? Yeah right. I shake my head in exasperation. Ouch. Not a good idea. My headache might have subsided somewhat, but my head obviously doesn't like to be shaken just yet.
There are no homosexuals in Pakistan. Those are the words that send him back to me. Her words. What the hell is he playing at? One minute he is pushing me away, telling me never to touch him again. Fully resolved to live the rest of his life without me, live the life he thinks he should. Doesn't want to listen to me, talk to me, be seen with me. But somehow, he found out that I was hurt and there he was, banging on my door. Looking at me, concern in his eyes. I could see him wince when he first saw the damage on me. With two steps he was close enough to touch, staring at the ugly bruises on my face. Then… touching my head. What was he doing? Wasn't this the same man that basically told me to get the hell out of his life only one night earlier? So why was he here now? Taking pity on me? Well I don't need his pity. I need him. So I sent him away.
He was the one that told Jane. I didn't want her to know, didn't want her to worry about me. But I'm glad that she came. It felt good to talk to her. Made me feel better. I thought it was Ian that sent her over. But it wasn't Ian. It was him.
At first I thought he'd sent her because he couldn't, wouldn't, be there for me himself. Seemed to make sense at the time. Which is why I was so surprised to see him at my door again, just a few minutes after Jane left. Of course I let him in. It didn't even occur to me to deny him. That's when he came out with all the nonsense about his mum. He told me cared about me.
'I just… can't be what you want me to be…' he said.
But his eyes told me a different story. I could see him struggling again. Gone was his resolve to stay away from me. This game we're playing is exhausting me. Except that it is no game. Not to me and not to him, I'm sure of it. I tried to get real close, forcing him to react. Stupidly forgetting about my own treacherous body's wants and needs. I managed to forget about that for a bit, nursing my wounds on the outside, wilfully ignoring the ones inside. Worked just fine, until I closed the gap between us, coming ever closer. My senses were assaulted all at once by his proximity. My body desperate for the feel of his. My nose filled with his unique, enticingly masculine scent. His taste, not forgotten, seeming to still linger in my mouth. I could almost feel all rational thought slip out of my head, making room for the want, the need, the excruciating need of him and only him.
I did manage to register that it wasn't just me. I could tell he was equally affected. I could tell even before he spoke with that quiet voice of his, swallowing, his lips parting slightly, his eyes shimmering.
'That's a nasty bruise'.
And then I blew it.
'You gonna kiss it better?'
I regretted it the moment the words came out of my mouth. Too much. Way too much. And just like that, he was gone.
I pick up the mirror once more. I'm going stir crazy cooped up in here. As much as I hate the thought of people staring at me, I don't think I can stay inside this flat for a minute longer. Might as well go into work. I pretend that it has nothing to do with wanting to see him again. But even my own reflection isn't buying it. You stupid, stupid man... Staying angry at Syed might be something I'm physically incapable of, but I make up for it by staying plenty angry at myself. Wistfully, I put the mirror down again.
And then I let myself think about the other person I'll be likely to run into if I go into work. Zainab. An excellent target for my pent up rage. I haven't forgotten about her little speech at Bushra's party, or her hurtful remarks about the way I dress. But then her and Amira decide they want me to help organize the engagement party, suddenly I'm useful to her. Just as long as I'm not to 'in her face' about it I suppose. For a moment I amuse myself with the thought of her, catching me and Syed going at it in the unit. I imagine the look on her face, and snort back the laughter. Ouch. Forgot about the ribs there. And the lip. Yep, bleeding again. With a sigh, I grab another tissue and press it against my lip. It'll stop in a minute.
In the meantime, I have made up my mind. I'm going into work. Let them think what they want. Yes. That's right. I can feel the fight bubbling up inside me. I don't have to give in. The world can go fuck itself for all I care.
Twenty minutes later I'm leaving the flat. As soon as I've set foot outside, part of me starts screaming at me to just go back in. Close the blinds. Crawl into bed. Turn down the lights. Just hide under the duvet, to close my eyes and ears to the nasty world outside. But I'm ignoring that. Burying it deep inside, not letting anyone see. I hold my head up high and look defiantly at anyone who dares to look my way. There. That's better. I clench my teeth and keep on walking till I reach the unit. Alright, I tell myself, here we go. I square my shoulders and open the door.
~c~s~
Reviews, as always, much apreciated!
