Chapter 12 - Scrabble
4 Days Later
Exact Location Unknown
Kennebec River, ME
"Stubborn." The sound of metal cracking through wood was mildly therapeutic, something that Harm found would ease the anger and pain. "Why is she so damned stubborn!" He rammed the edge of the axe through another log and then another, only taking six to cool his temper.
"Four days." And at some point Mac would have likely been able to rattle off the hours, minutes and seconds with annoying precision. But it had been four days and no glimpse of the woman he loved.
On the first day, she sobbed and called another man's name.
The second, she was angry with him and although some line of communication began, Mac had kept most of the day in the room wrapped in that damned robe, refusing to eat.
The third she toured the small cabin only regarding him because she needed sustenance, food and water. They spoke through some crude form of sign language but at least he understood that she was hungry. He made a stew and she devoured all of it and even a second plate after checking he had not tried to poison her.
The fourth day he woke up just plain grouchy, annoyed and pissed. Folding his 6'4" frame onto a sofa was playing havoc on his back and his nerves that were already like live wires. It was that morning that he yelled at her because this was now her second day wearing that damned turquoise niqab rather than the clothing that was hers.
And then he rushed out of the cabin like a bat out of hell in need of some sort of release. "Of course she can't remember. She's stubborn." Harm rationalized. He took another whack out of the wood and left the axe wedged into it.
He was out of ideas. Not that he had very many considerations on how to snap her lack of memory. But he simply didn't know how to help remind her. Maybe he needed to give up and let her go? He would if that was what she wanted most and he'd have to figure out how to heal the pieces of his shattered heart.
Nazanin liked the days when Harm was mostly outside because she didn't have to deal with his brooding or pleading or a combination of both. Then there were his heavy sighs, like the World was crashing down on him that had begun to soften her resolve to kill. She sat at the edge of the bedding staring out the window from which she could partially see the water. It was calm but the greying skies signified another round of heavy rains were bound to fall.
Four days she'd been stuck in the cabin. Four days with a man that she didn't know.
She spent much of the first day crying and praying it was all a dream that she would wake up from to find herself back in Tehran with Farid.
The second day, anger won out and besides pressing that razor to his throat she kept inside the room plotting a means to end him. She hid from the man that day fearing a retaliation that never came and ignored her stomach's growing protests for food.
The third day Nazanin decided to tour her jail and finally give in to her stomach's pleading. The naqib was dry enough to wear and she made sure to keep herself covered around the heathen. That afternoon he cooked for her and she marveled and how a man could be so proficient in the culinary art. He sliced and diced meat and vegetables and made the most delectable stew.
Today she woke up before he did and found the man asleep on the sofa where he barely fit. A throw covered only the top part of his torso, one foot was on the ground as the other hung over the side. His sleep was restless and the man kept mentioning one name over and over: Mac.
He'd actually addressed her by that word and Nazanin began to realize that it was a name of a woman he cared deeply for. During dinner the night before he sat and watched her eat, staring with such unguarded affection that she actually felt jealous over his Mac.
Farid had looked at her with that same reverence at once point but that all stopped the moment he married his second bride and if she were truthful, it was never that intense. Oh to be the woman that received that kind of love and adoration. Sadly, it was not meant to be her.
Nazanin spent most of the night wondering about this Mac of his. Who was she exactly? Was she still alive?
Once he woke contempt replaced any other assessment of her. He was cold and those beautiful eyes turned almost black as he glared at her over breakfast. The man even yanked the plate away before she was finished and then promptly disappeared out the front door like the man had done for two days, an action that made Nazanin feel like he was avoiding her.
Perhaps attempting to speak broken English before he was fully awake had been a bad idea? "I...want...home."
"Oh, You speak English now?" He seemed surprised as she hovered her thumb and index finger together to show him the gesture for 'a little.' "So. All this time you understood me? You can understand me?"
She nodded. "I...know...little."
"Little? Why the hell didn't you say something?"
Nazanin ignored his tone. She could understand his frustrations but a captive was not supposed to make things easier for their captor.
"I...want...home. Farid. Tehran...Home." He seemed to understand her or at least digest that she wanted to go back and that was when he abruptly stood up and grabbed her plate, slamming it into the sink.
"This is your home, Mac. America not Iran. You belong here, Mac."
Nazanin shook her head. "No...No Mac...I...Me...Naz-a-nin." Why couldn't he understand? She wasn't Mac. "I'm not that woman! I have a life, husband, a home and you are holding me against my will. Shame on you! May Allah punish you!"
"I don't understand Farsi! I don't you stubborn, stubborn woman!"
He terrified her then. The tall man looming over that slammed his fist into the table. Nazanin's retaliation came in the form of quite a hard slap. It shocked the both of them but seemed to stop his tirade. Seconds later he was grabbing the axe that leaned against the door frame and she saw herself sliced into a million tiny pieces never to be heard from again.
Instead he threw open the front door and went outside and she to the confines of her bedroom.
Up until late morning she sat on the bed and looked out the window occasionally spotting him working on this or that outside of the cabin. Rain had forced him inside and to her bedroom where he entered without knocking.
She practically ran to the farthest corner in order to put space between them but the man didn't even bother looking at her as he plucked clothing out of the lower drawers of the dresser, underwear from the top and stalked into the bathroom like a petulant child. For a time she stood in the corner, arms folded across her chest waiting on him to do… something. He didn't. Simply finished his shower and left through the opposite door where he wouldn't have to cross through the bedroom again. "Heathen!"
Nazanin stood and moved to the door, pressing her ear against it to hear the sounds of pots and pans being moved in the kitchen. Ah, so he was going to cook now and here she thought after his tirade this morning, she would have to starve. With a sigh she turned and caught her reflection from the large mirror in the corner. She didn't like who she saw. The naqib was dirty, even the scarf that covered her face was too. And her eyes, they were worn and tired, a far cry from the woman she was just a few days earlier.
Despite having scrubbed them clean a few days earlier, the material covering her body was now uncomfortable and beginning to smell enough that it was repulsing her as well. "Allah, please guide me." She asked with her head to the heavens.
Rain was beating down on the cabin again when she emerged from the room in the early afternoon. She had finally resigned to wearing another woman's clothes choosing a pair of soft beige slacks and a blue turtleneck sweater that felt heavenly on her skin. There was a grey scarf big enough that Nazanin could use to cover her head but her face would still be exposed. It was something, she figured, a way to remain somewhat modest in front of the stranger.
Harm was cursing when she walked out having just burnt his thumb on the lower oven rack when he was trying to pull out garlic bread. It was the faint smell of the shower gel that invaded his senses and had him spinning around to find Mac standing between the livingroom and kitchen. He couldn't help but to take in the sight of her, finally out of that damned naqib and in clothes that were her own. They still fit her well, albeit a tad bit bigger as her body had lost some weight and tone. She was still every bit as lovely and even the scarf covering her head did nothing to hide her natural beauty. He was sure his heart stopped for a moment as her lips turned in a small smile and she uttered the word, "Hello."
"Uh, hi...Hello… you ummm… dressed?" The anger from earlier melted away at once as he pointed to her moving his hand up and down. "You look good… nice…" Sexy, his brain filled in and he turned away from her to hide the blush that creeped into his cheeks. "Are you hungry? I made lasagna… with meat… you like meat…you liked meat." He stopped his rambling and turned towards her. "You still eat meat don't you?"
"Meet?"
"Yeah, meat… dead animal? Cow? You know? Moo." She looked at him with the most absurd expression and so he pointed at the small casserole dish cooling on the stove. "Nevermind. You can sit down, I'll plate it."
Nazanin's mouth watered from the wonderful smell of spices she couldn't discern. Whatever he placed in front of her looked delectable and she couldn't resist sneaking a bite before he sat down. "Oh." It was good, so was the bread.
"Good?"
"Good." She nodded and proceeded to finish off the plate along with the second one he gave her.
The weather hadn't abated after dinner and they both sat looking everywhere but at each other. The tension felt like quicksand ready to swallow them whole until Harm pointed at a bunch of thin boxes stacked on the coffee table. "I found those. I know we can't really talk but, maybe we could play a game?"
"Ga..Game?"
Harm nodded. "Yeah a game...game you know? It's terrible outside so you play games." He stood, grabbed a box with letters on and shook it so that the pieces slid around inside. "Scrabble. It's. word game. You spell things."
Nazanin curiously watched as he pulled open the box, took out a board and set it in the middle of the small table. She stared down to find colored squares with numbers and then the small, wood-like tiles etched with letters. "What this?"
He picked that particular game with a purpose, a gambit in hopes to spark a memory. "You and I used to play Scrabble, remember? You always knew the oddest words. Made me look for a dictionary a time or two."
It had been during their short little honeymoon and a day just as dreary. Mac was sitting cross legged on the floor with such a cute grin patiently waiting for him to search through the dictionary in hopes to overturn her impending win. "You can't always win, flyboy."
"No but I'd like to get within shooting range...You're killing me here." Of course, he found the word and quickly tossed the book to the side with a huff. "'Zymurgy' 120 points for you.. How exactly do you know that word?"
She shrugged and her grin was breathtaking. "Just things you learn." Mac stood, walked towards Harm and slipped onto his lap. "I can teach you a few other words."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Well, there's 'Kiss.'"
Harm grabbed the dictionary and made a show of leafing through the pages stopping at the Ks. "Let's see… Kiss: to touch with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, reverence, or greeting...How many points could I get for that?"
"All of them." She lowered her head down and touched her lips to his. "You win."
For the rest of their honeymoon and for the first few months of marriage there was always a Scrabble board on the coffee table, Mac's way of leaving little messages for him some of which required him to find the dictionary. Others were pretty self explanatory like the late night he walked into their apartment to find the word 'Naked' across the board.
He'd find her in their bedroom wearing one of his work ties and nothing else.
Nazanin grabbed a tile from the table and looked at it. She watched as the man took four letters and arranged them on the board. H-A-R-M. "Ha...Har..Harm? Harm?!"
Harm meant to hurt, she knew and Nazanin quickly pushed away from the table until he grabbed her wrist preventing an escape. "No wait...I'm not gonna hurt you...Harm is my name. Me...name." He let her go and searched the pile to find an O and N using them to spell 'Harmon.'
"Harmon." He pointed at the board and then himself multiple times repeating the name until she nodded in understanding. Then he removed the O and the N again and pointed a finger at his chest. "Harm. Harm. I'm Harm."
Nazanin searched through the letters arranging them to spell her name. "I...Nazanin."
"No. Your name is Mac….Well it's Sarah, Sarah MacKenzie." He used the first A in 'Nazanin' to spell out 'Sarah' and then used the M in 'Harm' to spell out 'Mac.' "Sarah...Mac, you."
He pointed at her and Nazanin merely shook her head. "No. I Nazanin." She insisted and pulled apart the letters that spelled 'Mac' and 'Sarah'.
"Sarah, please...I know you're in there." Those lovely eyes of his held hers, the piercing blue eyes that spoke to her soul. Nazanin felt a warmth spread through her then an unexicable balm that covered the anguish.
She wasn't sure when his hand had taken hers but his rough palm felt heavenly against her softer skin. The joined hands simply fit well together and when his thumb stroked her palm a familiar tingle of electricity crackled to life between them.
"You felt that too." Harm said and brought his thumb over her delicate wrist, sneaking under the sweater so the pad of his finger felt the scars. "What happened?"
Nazanin watched his fingers moving, her lips parted, heart beating against her chest like a jackhammer. His touch was having the most dizzying effect and though everything within her said to pull away, she could not. Even as his fingers snaked under the sleeve and found her scars, her eyes were focused on his hand.
She pulled up the sleeve and showed him the raised and jagged patches of skin - burns, she was told. From what? Nazanin never knew because Farid never explained anything past an "accident" that she'd been involved in that burnt her flesh and stole her memories.
"Pain?" She asked suddenly and as if burnt, his fingers stopped moving. Nazanin actually missed his touch, the rough skin that was too gentle and tender. Whoever this Mac was he must have touched with such reverence.
Harm released her at once, "Are you in pain?"
"No...You pain." Nazanin reached across the table and tilted his head to get a better look at the visible scar from a razors cut. "I cut...Scare you me."
"Oh, Mac you don't have to be scared. I would never hurt you."
Nazanin sat back roughly, her eyes rolling from annoyance. She jabbed herself on the chest with force hoping ye would understand once and for all. "Nazanin...Nazanin. No Mac. Noooo Mac. Nazanin! Nazanin!"
"Okay...Okay… Nazanin. Not Mac. Nazanin." Not Mac. Christ it hurt him so much to even think it or pretend she was someone else. He tempered down the anger slowly building inside because he knew that rage wouldn't fix things, only time could. And so Harm began to take all of the word tiles and toss them into the little bag that came with the set.
He placed one tile holder in front of Mac...err..Nazanin and another before him. "It's way too early for sleep. We can play a little."
"Play?"
"Game." He pointed at the board, gave the bag a good shake and pulled out some letters, showing her how it worked. "English only, I never learned much Farsi."
Nazanin took her own letters just how Harm had shown her feeling a sense of familiarity as she spread them across the holder. Her hand touched his again briefly as they both attempted to play first. That brush of his fingers had happened once before or maybe it was her mind playing tricks? Maybe she was starting to feel something for her captor?
His eyes didn't make matters any better and as he studied the board to place his first word, Nazanin realized where she knew him from. "Paris."
This was the man that attacked Farid and she wasn't sure if she should be greatful or hate him. What Farid had done was a form of punishment. She spoke out of turn, it was deserved but the savagery was just for show. Still, Harm had stopped her beating and retaliated giving Farid a taste of his own medicine. "Paris. Harm hit Farid."
"Farid was hurting you. I couldn't let him." On the board he spelled out the word 'Fate' because that was clearly the only reason he would bump into her out of the blue.
Nazanin looked at her tiles and took a few placing them in order and using the F from the word he made to spell 'Free.' "Harm love Mac?" She asked as he spelled the word 'Empty.'
"Yes. I still do. I always will." His hand took hers again, surprised Nazanin didn't pull away. Harm willed her to remember, mentally putting all of his energy into it. "I want to kiss you so bad."
'Kiss' she didn't understand the word but his eyes clearly spoke what his mouth didn't. His ireses darkened when they focused on her lips and to Nazanin it felt like he were touching her there. Her body tingled with femenine awareness, her breath coming in short gasps. What was he doing to her?
Harm couldn't kiss her. It felt like a betrayl, like he was kissing abother woman. "Sarah, please remember. Show me how to help you remember. Please Mac, please." He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles.
"Mac...No! Nazanin!" She yanked her hand away and jabbed a finger at her chest so forcefully it hurt hoping to get the point across. "No Mac!"
"Damnit, Mac!" Harm would never hurt her, could never hurt her but all rational thought escaped him when his hands gripped her shoulders in a vice. It was painful, she winced at his man handling and her expressive eyes went wide.
He shook her, if not for any other reason than to provoke her to call herself 'Mac.' "You. Are. Mac." Harm punctuated the words, shaking her again. "Sarah MacKenzie….You are Sarah MacKenzie! Say it! Say it Goddamn you!"
Apparently even the years spent in her mental prison didn't affect her reflexes for the moment he let her go her hand shot up. The crack of her palm to the side of his face wasn't expected although it was well deserved and Harm stood there dumbly watching her.
With an air of defiance she stood taller, awaiting the punishment she so richly deserved for striking a man. Nazanin expected retaliatory action especially when Harm's fists rolled into balls.
Nothing happened.
His shoulders slumped, blue eyes turned a shade of grey and then he was turning on his heel, yanking the front door open and disappearing outside.
She stared at the now closed door, the one Harm slammed before heading off on a hard run past the cabin and into the woods. An ache jolted inside her heart, a kind of burning sensation that forced a hand to her chest in hopes it wouldn't stop beating altogether. Nazanin had never felt such pain not even when Farid took on a younger, prettier wife and she was practically abandoned until he needed her.
Any love she felt for that man waned the second he took on a third wife and she was sent to live on the opposite side of the apartments far from where her disapproving looks could not be noticed. Oh, he still sought her out, still slept with her but Nazanin would just lay there until he finished like a dutiful wife would. It seemed Farid only wanted her body when he needed intellectual conversation and comfort. She offered that to him only because of her innate desire to be the main person he consorted with not the two younger wives that didn't challenge him.
She wanted to love him again as she had… once?
Nazanin's brow furled in concentration, her mind scurrying to recall the past. Their wedding had been nice enough, Farid was mostly kind to her, but it wasn't love, was it?
No, it wasn't love but a form of infatuation that captives had for their captors. In the end that's all she was a captive of Farid's, only moving when he told her to. Only assisting him when he told her to. Only breathing and living because he told her to. ALthough he was seldom abusive towards her, Nazanin knew Farid had a mean streak and had been on the receiving end of some of those outbursts. In private he would ask for forgiveness, in public, he acted every bit the cocky man with the subservient wife that needed to be punished and punished well.
That wasn't love.
Farid never looked at her like Harm had these few days with a quiet admiration when he thought she wasn't looking. Farid never touched her with such gentleness like Harm had today. Farid never seemed so broken nor did his eyes express anything more than animosity that she was far more intellectual than he. "Allah, why are you doing this to me?"
Nazanin glanced up to the ceiling in hopes that something would make sense but all she received in return was the drumming of a headache that spread through her skull. She had been getting those a lot since arriving at the cabin and attributed it to stress and the unknown. Sighing, she walked to the sofa and lay on it, pulling up the throw to her neck. She needed some sleep, some rest and hopefully find a way out of this predicament and back to Farid.