A few minutes later, a guy comes up behind my chair. I turn to look at him, and he is holding a dozen yellow roses.
“Delivery for Miss Rania.” He places the flowers on my desk and without saying anything else, he leaves instantly. I open the card attached to the roses, which is handwritten:
No word, no color, can express how sorry I am. Please forgive me. Adam.
I tear the card into pieces and throw it in the trashcan under my desk. I pick up the flowers and place them on the table in the refreshment room. No one would know if I kept them, but people keep staring at me. Within a few minutes, my desk phone starts ringing. I pick up the receiver.
“Please forgive me, Rania.” I hear Adam’s voice on the other end. Without even saying anything, I hang up the phone. He is dignified enough not to call me again. I notice people are watching me from their cubicles, but no one dares to ask me anything about my past four weeks. I engage myself in preparation for the summit, when an email pops up on my screen. Adam has sent me our vacation pictures. Now he wants to play emotional games with me. I roll my eyes at the subject of his email:
Do you remember the time?
I stare at my screen for a while, my finger itching, trying to decide if I should click on it or not. Oh damn! I never knew my hands were connected with my heart. I click on the slideshow, which plays the images of our two weeks’ tour together, one by one, with “Reason” playing in the background. I want to close the window, but somehow my hands are too frozen to click on the ‘close’ option. I don’t want him in my life, but why do I still want to see him? If he has hurt me so much, why do I still feel pulled toward him? I promise myself I will not cry from now on, but the tears don’t agree to my decision. The pictures on my monitor bring all the memories back, but I don’t remember him taking those pictures. I remember he had the camera, but the pictures in the slideshow portray both of us, as if there was a third person capturing our each and every moment. My mind starts concentrating on the song.
Have I really changed him? Am I the reason for his change? Is he truly sorry? I am glad my head is hidden behind my cubicle wall. I don’t want anyone to see me in misery. When the slideshow almost reaches the end, I finally gather the courage to shut it off. I delete the mail from my inbox and move on to my other work emails.
People come to me to ask me to join them at lunch, but I just don’t feel like getting up from my seat. I decide to eat something before boarding the plane. I know there is danger waiting for me at the other side of the land, but somehow, I am not afraid of it. Ethan can’t harm or seduce me against my will; and after Adam, there is no way I’d trust any man. I don’t know what happened to him that moment, what made him so jealous about me dancing with Nathan. He never showed this possessiveness with Mike; why did he overreact with Nathan? Is it because he drank too much that night? That’s why I hate alcohol; it brings out all the inhuman side of a human. He could have hit me, slapped me or even kissed me when we were alone, but in front of all his family and other people, it was so humiliating. And worst of all, he thought he could buy me with a million dollars? What was he thinking, that I would see money in my account and come back to him? It is so depressing to know that after all the time we shared, he had me so wrong. He considered me like other girls. He thought I was after his money too. What was he thinking when he transferred that money into my account? Was it his way of apologizing, or his way of paying for the time I gave him in the past month? Sometimes, men are so hard to understand. What goes in their minds makes no sense. One thing I have concluded so far, he never loved me. Love doesn’t hurt so much, does it? If he ever loved me, then why did he hurt me so much? And if he did love me, why didn’t he ever say it to me? And even if he had said he loved me, was I ready to hear him?
No.
I can’t let him love me. He’d doom his life. Sometimes, God makes things happen for a reason. Our separation is beneficial for both of us. The path we took together would have led us to the darkness. I have seen a Satan side of him at the party; I don’t want to create another demon out of Adam. He is a good soul; he should be like that. If I stay away from him, accept another job and move to another city, he will forget me sooner or later. Out of sight is out of mind. And this is the best possible way of doing it, accepting Ethan’s offer and focusing on my career. I haven’t spoken to Ben about my offer; I want my confirmation first. Once the summit is over, I’ll let Ben know and resign from this job.
I keep myself busy all day in preparation for the summit, and designing some e-brochures for home décor for Spring 2013 catalogs. I check the time and it is almost five in the evening. My flight is supposed to take off around 8 p.m., so I get up and pack my stuff. On my way, I meet Ben and we exchange goodbyes. Ben hands over some information regarding the work and people whom I am supposed to meet there. I get my trolley bag and take the elevator.
When the elevator door opens on the ground floor, I see Adam standing in front of me. He looks at my bag and then to me, but I ignore him and head toward the turnstile. People are watching both of us; I don’t know what they are waiting for. There isn’t any drama going on! I yell in my head.
Within seconds, Adam grabs me firmly by my arm, and pushes me inside the elevator. He closes the door and hits the ‘lock’ button. We are all alone in the elevator now.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Adam says. He is standing too close to me, no more than half an inch away. I look steadily into his eyes. He is drunk...again. I don’t respond to him, as I am not answerable to him. He keeps looking at me, his gaze inflamed, and I watch him blankly, feeling nothing. Perhaps all the tears that I shed in the past three days have taken everything with them.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he yells at me. He seems not to be concerned about his status or reputation—what people might have thought when they saw him locking us both in the elevator. He bangs his fist on the wall above my head in frustration. “Please talk to me, Rania. Say something.” I shudder and look away, toward my trolley bag, avoiding his eyes on me. There is nothing to say; what should I say? “Don’t treat me like this, please. Don’t shove me out of your life like that. I won’t be able to live.”
I still don’t respond to him. In just a glance, I see his wet eyes, looking at me pleadingly. Is he trying to play emotional games with me? I avert my eyes and keep looking at the bag on the floor. I don’t give him any expression to read on my face. I know he holds the power to read me.
“Your silence is killing me, Rania.” He takes a deep breath, then grabs my hand and guides it to slap his face. I pull my hand away in fear. What the hell is he doing? “Hit me, Rania. Hit me. Slap me. Fight with me. Curse me. Shout at me, but at least, say something. I can’t stand your indifference. Please, talk to me.” He is trying to catch his breath. “Argue with me. Ask me, why did I do this to you? Curse me for what I did to you, but don’t kill me with your silence. I know I have made a mistake and I know you have forgiven me, but please, give me one last chance to prove myself.” He rests his forehead on mine. “I can’t live without you.”
I don’t know why he is doing this here, not giving a shit about his or my reputation, leaving people wondering what we are doing inside the building’s main elevator, perhaps sharing a private moment in the middle of the day. I shut my eyes for a moment and move my face away. I just can’t look into his intense eyes.
“Please look at me once, Rania. I can’t live with this pain.” He whispers his appeal in my ear. He bloody knows my body melts at his touch and he is taking full advantage of it.
Both his hands are locked over mine, pushing me hard against the wall. I have no escape, and if he doesn’t let me go soon I will miss my flight. He starts doing his magic; he touches my face, caressing me tenderly with his warm lips. I don’t move, I don’t give any vibrations to him, but oh hell, I do feel his touch. He is breathing hard, low rumbles vibrating in his chest. Why is he torturing me like this? I try to calm my breath; I don’t want him to feel that
I am aroused at his touch. But he has always driven me wild. When I don’t respond, he stops and looks into my eyes.
“You’re not going to say anything? Ever?” I still look away from him, ignoring his heated gaze on me, which is inflaming my heart and my body. He takes out something from his pocket and places it on my palm. “I would prefer dying at your hands to living with your indifference.” He guides my hand and points it to his forehead.
Shit. I didn’t realize I was holding a pistol. He takes deep breaths. “Shoot me, Rania. Free me from this pain.” Now it is getting hard for me to breathe. Is he bloody serious? “When my soul can’t be yours, then there is no point in it staying in my body. Free me, Rania. No one will blame you. I wrote my will, which says no one is to blame, but your gift of death will be much easier on me than my current life. Come on, baby, pull the trigger. Spare me, dammit.”
Tears start pouring down my face. Is he insane? I can’t kill him. I can’t see him in pain like this, but I cannot accept him back, either. My heart is stuck between intense feelings of love and betrayal. He can’t do this to me. He just can’t play these games with me. I pull my hand away from his forehead and calmly put the pistol back in his jacket pocket. I’m trying my best to compose myself, because if I lose my senses here, like him, it will lead us to insanity. I can’t even show him how freaked out I am over this stupid act of his. He doesn’t have to do all this to get my attention. My attention, my heart was always his and will always be, but somehow, the words don’t come out of my mouth. His crazy actions have robbed me of speech. He notices my tears and looks at me helplessly.
I see a broken Adam in front of me, and the sight of him being tortured by my indifference is terrible. I can’t stand to see him in pain. I see love in his eyes, but I don’t want him to fall in love with me. It would lead him to darkness and he doesn’t have a clue about it. I love him too, so it’s my job to protect him from my demons. If he takes my path, he‘ll be abandoned. I can’t ruin his life for my sake. He shouldn’t love me like this. It is better if I disappear out of his life.
We look at each other for a few minutes, not saying anything. I turn around and pick up my trolley bag and push the lock button to open the doors of elevator. The sliding door opens to the crowd, probably wanting to know what happened behind the closed doors. I know he is watching me from behind, I can feel his heated gaze on me. I ignore the crowd and exit through the turnstile, leaving him alone in his pain.
***
“Welcome to the Adobe® Creative Suite Workshop, the last of 2012.” Ethan Murray speaks from the podium with pride.
“I warmly welcome all the students, professionals and creative individuals in this workshop. Our two-day program includes digital workflow workshops, webinars, one-on-one training and tech support, and consulting for photographers, studios, agencies, and corporate art departments. It provides professional technical instructions, while understanding the needs of photographers and creative individuals.” He takes a sip of his coffee. He is always at ease, speaking to so many people at once. God! I hate his confidence.
I had been planning to go to New York to attend the summit, but I knew Adam would know where I was, so I requested Ben to change my reservations with the other guy on my team at the very last moment, and send me to Las Vegas to attend Ethan Murray’s workshop instead. Since the people Murray wanted me to interview with were going to be there, he had arranged for me to meet them after my training in Las Vegas. I am in the grand convention center, inside the Venetian, where my hotel room is also booked. Ethan Murray has been dealing with me very professionally since I landed last night. He was courteous enough to pick me up from the airport, but he didn’t talk much, other than about the workshop. He never discussed Adam, though I guessed he was keenly following the news about him. Or he might have realized that I am not the one he should be wasting his time with. From my past experience, I also assumed he would ask me for a dinner when dropping me off at the hotel, but he didn’t say anything. I am glad he is keeping his distance. I really want to keep a safe distance from all men.
“For those who are technically inclined, we are here to offer hands-on training on seamless vector pattern creation in Illustrator, including powerful image tracing for design flexibility. We also offer training on Photoshop Extended for 3D artwork creation with intuitive on-canvas and in-context scene editing.” He continues his long speech very professionally, and I see everyone listening to him attentively. He speaks for half an hour, providing details about the two-day workshop and what it offers for individuals. My mind is successfully distracted by my work, in which I am seeking passion. Working professionally in a company like Adobe® was my dream, and now I feel it is about to come true.
I don’t know how two days of training ended in the blink of an eye, but I must say I learned a lot in this workshop. I feel bad I haven’t spoken to Ben about my new job; he has financed all these trainings for me so I could learn more and bring the knowledge back to his company. It feels like I’m betraying him. During the last day of the workshop, Ethan took me out for lunch with a few other people from his team and we discussed my job details. I informed them that I‘d join them next month, as I needed time for knowledge transfer.
After the last day of workshop, everyone plans to go to a nightclub and party the whole night, as it is New Year’s Eve. Since I have no other choice, I follow the rest of the team. It is better to hang out with strangers on the streets of Las Vegas than to stay in the hotel and cry about my misery. I know if I stay alone, my memories of Adam will haunt me. All the girls and boys walk on the Strip, lost in their own lives. Everyone looks jovial, and I hope no one has gone through what I’ve been through. It is a tad cold, but no one is feeling the temperature due to the sultry atmosphere around us. We all walk for a couple of hours, and then we hit a nightclub in MGM Grand.
I see lots of people drunk on the dance floor, stripping their clothes off and getting crazy over the music. I wonder why people get crazy on New Year’s Eve. It is just a regular day and a regular night. What is so special about it? A bunch of good-looking guys come up to me when they see me sitting alone at the corner of the bar. I know I am the odd one out, not drinking in a club and not even dancing. I don’t even know what I am doing here. The music is too loud, and the blue and purple lights are making people look weird. Even my pink shirt looks lavender somehow, in this light. My heart is beating against the pulsing beat of the music, grinding from every corner of the club. One of the guys asks me if I will dance with him but I refuse, giving him a totally not-interested look.
“May I have the honor of dancing with you?” I hear Ethan’s voice behind me. I turn around to see him standing there, wearing black jeans and long-sleeved black t-shirt. He looks quite young for his age. Perhaps the clothes make him look younger, or the flickering lights hold a bit of power to change people’s ages. He walks toward me with a smile. The guys around me leave the bar and give us some privacy.
“I am sorry, Mr. Murray. I don’t dance.” I try to be polite to him.
“Oh really?” He takes his glasses off, giving me a dubious look. I am assuming he knows a lot about me, since he has been stalking me in Edmonton. He pulls out the bar stool and sits next to me.
“How about a drink on me? After all, we need to celebrate your new job.”
“I don’t drink, either, Mr. Murray. You should know, I am a very boring person.” I smile, looking directly at him with confidence.
“I doubt that. But drinks are for celebration, so—”
“I don’t take alcohol, so thank you.”
“That’s fine. How about juice? Fruit punch?” He waits for my response. “Tea? Milk?” I laugh at his offers and shake my head. “You have a beautiful smile, Miss Ahmed. So the juice is okay with you?” I nod in acceptance. The bartender places a glass and an ashtray in front of him. “Do you mind if I smoke and drink?” he asks.
“Why would I mind? But I didn’t know you smoke, too.” I look at his ashtray.
“Well, not regularly. Luckily this club allows smoking, so I have a choice.” He lights up his cigarette and blows the smoke to the other side of him. Not at me, fortunately.
A few minutes later, the bartender places a huge round glass in front of me. I look at it with astonishment and then to Ethan Murray. A smile cracks at the corner of his lips.
“That’s electrolyte peach punch. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
The big round glass has a blue and orange layered smoothie. I take a sip of it. It is indeed good, but tastes nothing like peach.
“It is impossible to finish it. But thanks, it’s really good.”
“I notice you didn’t eat much today or yesterday. At least, this juice will fill up your tummy.” He looks at me from head to toe with concern. “You have visibly lost weight since the last time I saw you.”
I stay quiet, not sure what to say. He is right; I haven’t eaten much in the past five days. I hope he doesn’t know I have been living in a shelter home. I wonder if he knows about my house fire or not. If he is keeping track of everything I do, then he knows about me and Adam breaking up. But it is good that he is not bringing up that topic.
“I’m glad you have accepted this career opportunity. Our company takes care of the employees very well and California is a lovely place to live, also. Have you ever been there?”
“Yes, I have. When I was ten, my father took me to Disneyland. We had a whole California tour, visiting the San Diego Zoo, Disney and Universal.” I smile to myself, recalling that long-lost memory. I still remember my father paid a large amount for dressing me up as Cinderella, just to see the smile on my face. My mom also bought a tiara for herself and we took a picture with the real Cinderella, outside her castle.
A Prayer Heeded Page 4