Chapter 16

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12 years later (present day)

  

    I made it. I have the house I have always wanted, the job I’ve always dreamed of, and the girl I have always wanted to call my wife. So what’s wrong? I’m not living the life I wished for myself; no, I never wished to live a depressed and isolated life.

    All this money I got now, it symbolizes a ticking bomb waiting to blow. The house I’m living in right now – my house -, it just resembles a prison to my wife and I. We’ve also got a small frame, with a picture inside it, which is displayed right next to our door; that picture fuels me with anger and sorrow every time I see it. However it’s not all bad, I still have Dalia with me, but we’re racing through a short tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel, I can only see papers; divorce papers I suppose.

    I’m walking in our huge garden, making my way to the entrance of the house. I wipe the sweat off my forehead, and keep my eyes on the ground, so the sun wouldn’t hurt them so much. I open the door, and like always, I look at the man in the picture by the door, and then slam my fist onto the table. I have always kept his picture by the door because he used to resemble hope and happiness to me, but now, I use him as a reminder of how I let everything fall apart.

    I drag my feet to the sofa, with my head still down, but this time it’s brought down by shame and fear, not by the flaming sun. I lie on the sofa, reach for a cigarette, and light it up.

    “Stop it.” Dalia demands through her teeth. 

    I ignore her, look at the picture by the door, and start recalling the past, to remind myself of why I’m doing what I am doing now. The man in that picture told me to love and take care of my wife, and that’s what I am doing right now.

  “He would still be here if it weren’t for you.” She whispers coldly.

    That is the first time she ever accuses me for his murder. My wet eyes widen because of her words, and I rise slowly to meet her eyes, “What?”

    She turns around to face the picture, “If you have stopped him from ever entering that house, he would probably still be with us right now!” She stops, turns to face me again and stare at the cigarette between my fingers, “If you never hung out with these… murderers and never started smoking, none of this would have happened!” She shouts.

    I sigh and move closer to her, “I’m sorry for what they have done to your brother, and I hope he’s in a better place now. I am also sorry for smoking, but that’s the only way I know how to deal with the stress I’m under.”

    “Then tell me!” She begins to scream, “What’s wrong? Why have you been limiting the places I could go to for the past three months and why are you making me feel imprisoned in this house? Why are you always depressed? What made you go back to smoking? Why aren’t you telling me anything and why-” She stops and begins to cry.

    I move towards her and wrap my arms around her, “Dalia, I’m sorry, but I am only doing this to protect you.”

    She looks up to meet my sight, and the moment I looked into her sad eyes, I feel my heart tear in half, “What happened to you? What happened to the boy-, no, what happened to the man I fell in love with that night on the bridge?” She pushes me away, slips the cigarette away from my fingers and goes upstairs to our room, leaving me standing alone shattered and even more destroyed.

    I sit on the nearest chair to me, cover my face with my hands, and relax my elbows on my lap. I start remembering that night she just mentioned, the night on the bridge.

    We were both at our beach houses. Dalia texted me, and told me to meet her by the bridge because she needed to talk to me about college. The weather was a little chilly, the waves were moving in a lovely rhythm and the stars were shinning brightly, lighting up the dark sky. We moved side by side, talking about how different and hard it will be far away from home, our family, and away from each other.

    “I’m worried that we’ll all go to college, go our separate ways, find new friends, and then when we come back here after four years or so, everyone will forget about the other.” Dalia whispered over the light wind.

    “That won’t happen.” I assured her.

    “How can I know that you won’t come back with some other girl and new friends?”

     I laughed, “Why? Would that make you jealous?” I tease. 

    “I’m serious.”

    “First of all, we’re just friends, remember? Second,” I stop walking and she turns around to listen to my words, “I promise you when I go to college, I won’t look at any girl the way I look at you and I won’t talk to any girl the way I talk to you.”

    “Promise?”

    I grin, “Yes, and I promise as soon as I get my book published and make enough money for the both of us, I’ll be knocking on your door, asking your dad for you to be my wife.”

    When I finished my sentence, I saw my favorite view; her breathtaking and mesmerizing smile.

    I rise from my chair, and head upstairs to Dalia. I can’t handle this anymore; I have to tell her what’s going on. I know that it will frighten her, but I can’t continue hurting her like that, I need to see that smile on her face again. I walk into the bedroom, and find my wife lying in bed crying into a pillow. I force my trembling legs to move over the soft white carpet, and sit by her side.

    “Dalia, you know I love you, right?” I whisper.

    She forces herself to stop crying, sits up, moves her knees towards her chest and wraps her arms around her knees, “Mm…” is all I get from her, but I’m still able to hear the soreness in her throat because of the crying.

    “Firas… He got out of prison four months ago, and he threatened to-” I stop, because I find it hard to say the following words.

    “Haman?”

     I walk about the room, thinking of the words I will choose, “He said that if I don’t support him financially and give him what he asks for, he’ll take you away from me.”

    “But he can’t do that.” She whispers after a moment of dead silence.

    “It’s not him I am worried about. He said that he doesn’t care if he gets beaten or sent to jail again; all he wants is revenge for getting sent to jail.”

    “But he deserved it!” She yells.

    I move close to her, “He wasn’t directly involved in the murder.” I remind her. “He said if I try to do anything like getting some help, or something, there would be other people who will…” I think of less terrifying words, but can’t find any better words, “There would be other people who will avenge for him.”

    “So that man you just opened the door to and gave him money an hour ago was Firas?” She asks, and I can hear the fear in her voice.

    I nod, and she begins to sob. I hold her tight and whisper, “Dalia, he won’t touch you as long as you stay close to me, I won’t let anyone harm you. Everything will be fine, I promise I will figure a way out of this mess.” I only wish I know how to fix everything, I think.