by Emma Nichols
*
Iman studied the course confirmation paperwork in her hand. It wouldn’t sit still so she could read the words she had read so many times already, so she placed it on her dressing table. She would travel to Paris.
Her hand, pressed against her chest, moved with the steady beat of her heart. The fluttering sensation in her stomach wasn’t the same airy feeling that she had when thinking about Ash. There was more density, and weight, to the sensations associated with the trip, but Paris was the right thing to do. She couldn’t continue to maintain false hope. Confused, and drained, she looked at the document once again. I’m going to Paris.
She gazed out her bedroom window into the darkness, and to the southeast, in the general direction of the expat houses that sat out of reach. The excruciating pain that had consumed her, moments ago, had been replaced by a hollow, empty feeling. Had she been so foolish as to think that Ash felt something for her? She placed the document in the top drawer of her dressing table and undressed. Slipping beneath the sheets, her eyes wouldn’t shut, and her mind wouldn’t quiet. The chanting came and then faded, only the crickets remaining to listen to her thoughts.
21.
Ashley leaned into the restaurant wall sipping her coffee. She hadn’t stopped to peruse the breakfast options, instead, darting through the room and out the back door. She fiddled with the roll-up paper, which wasn’t complying, screwed it up, and threw it to the floor.
‘You’ll get carded,’ Craig teased.
His drawl brought the shadow of a smile to her face. She stared into his red-rimmed eyes. ‘Fucking Kate!’ she blurted.
He handed over his pack of cigarettes. She shook her head and sipped her coffee. ‘What’s she done?’ he asked, inhaling the smoke and blowing out slowly. He yawned wearily and sipped his drink.
‘She told Iman that her and I were together.’
‘She’s had it rough,’ Craig defended.
‘I know, but still.’
Craig tilted his head. ‘She told me ‘bout the rape,’ he said, his voice croaky.
‘Uh huh.’ Ash stared, waiting for more words.
He stood taller and tensed. ‘I jes wanna kill the fuckin’ bastard who did that t’ her,’ he said, his fiery anger fuelling the tears welling in his eyes.
‘Hey, bud.’ She reached out and pulled him down to her head height, closing her arms around his neck. ‘I’m glad she told you,’ she whispered.
He eased out of the hold. ‘Yeah, I guess.’ He drew down on the cigarette. ‘I’m gonna need t’ give her time,’ he said, thoughtfully.
Ash blushed. Maybe she needed to give Kate time too. ‘You’re right. I need to cut her some slack too.’
‘Iman’s in the kitchen on her own at the moment,’ he said. He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew rings into space above his head.
‘How do you know?’
‘Just seen Zack ‘n’ Niomi headin’ t’ his room,’ he said, with a coy smile. ‘Did ya know he proposed t’ her?’ he asked.
‘No shit! Good on him.’
Her smile broadened as she crossed the restaurant and gazed through the porthole window. She studied Iman’s back, admiring her shapely curves, her hands occupied by something she was making on the workbench. Warmth invaded Ash’s body, and her pulse raced through her chest. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door and stepped confidently into the kitchen.
Iman turned at the unexpected squeak and jumped. She turned back to the workbench and continued piping the pastry mixture onto the tray, fighting the shaking in her hands.
Ash stepped closer, circled Iman’s back, and faced her across the table. She watched as the unsteady hands tried to control the end of the piping bag. What was coming out was a long thin wriggly worm-like stripe of the mixture that didn’t have a chance of forming a bun. Ash’s smile turned into a giggle, but she stopped instantly at the sight of Iman’s puffy eyes. ‘Can we go somewhere and talk?’
Iman dropped the bag onto the top, wiped her hands on her apron and directed Ash into the restroom, closing the door behind her. Ash hadn’t moved far enough into the room, leaving her occupying Iman’s personal space as the door clicked shut. Iman gulped at the blazing heat between them.
Ash took a step closer, her fingers tentatively searching for Iman’s trembling hands, her eyes intently focused on the glassy light-brown pools that remained steadfast. As their fingertips connected, Iman shuddered, and her lips parted. Ash brushed her thumbs tenderly across the soft surface of Iman’s hands. ‘Are you okay… with this?’ she whispered. Iman nodded, biting down on her dry lips.
‘I thought…’ Iman started to say.
‘Sshh!’ Ash released her right hand and softly pressed her index finger to Iman’s lips. ‘I’m sorry. I think Kate…’ Her eyes lowered, breaking the intensity, allowing Iman to breathe. ‘Kate said things that were… well, untrue.’ Iman’s lips twitched against her finger, sending goose bumps down her spine. She stepped back a fraction, her heart aching at the smallest increase in space between them.
Iman stared. The woody scent infiltrating her senses had her captivated. She couldn’t stop staring. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach felt jittery. The soft touch of Ash’s finger caused her lips to tingle, and the private place between her legs to throb so hard that she was struggling to breathe. Kiss me. The thought was on repeat and causing her to ache with desire. Ash was standing so close, the warmth of her breath caressing her so tenderly, her eyes so...? So, compassionate. So, passionate! The absence of the finger on her lips only served to increase her desperation, drawing a guttural groan. Ash moved away, and Iman closed the gap. Slowly she inched closer until she could feel Ash’s warm breath on her face again, and hear her heart beating. Or was it her own?’ Then all thoughts stopped, suspended in a space and time that would never exist again. The soft sweet sensation of Ash’s lips against hers sent a rush of blood to her cheeks, and wave after wave of electricity pulsing through her body.
Ash eased back. ‘Are you…o?’
Iman swept the word from her mouth, her lips crashing down on Ash’s. This time, there was a greater sense of urgency and undeniable confidence, the kiss conveying so much. Ash released a groan and Iman pulled back, her concerned eyes searching Ash for reassurance.
Ash cupped her face. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said softly, holding Iman’s worried look. ‘But I need to go before we both get into a lot of trouble.’
Iman studied the soft focus, holding Ash with such tenderness. Ash had released her face and was tracing an index finger from her temple, over her cheekbone, and down to her lips. The sensation seemed to be firing up every cell in her body. She started to fluster, unable to extract herself from Ash’s penetrating smile.
Ash took her hand and squeezed tightly, staring longingly into the light-brown, fiery eyes. ‘Can we date?’ she asked.
Iman’s smile broadened. ‘Yes,’ she said, unsure of where to put her quivering body.
Ash leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.
Iman’s fingers lingered on the tingling spot, as Ash opened the door and exited the restroom.
*
‘You look… happy,’ Niomi said, knowing that wasn’t the word she wanted. She studied Iman through a sideways glance, trying to work out what was so different about her friend’s demeanour. ‘Did you get your place on the course?’ she asked, wrapping her apron around her waist and washing her hands. She looked back at Iman and the faint aura that appeared to surround her. ‘You making those French cakes again?’ she asked, assessing the perfectly shaped piped buns sitting on the tray.
Iman put the piping bag down and placed the tray into the oven. ‘I hope so,’ she said with a broad, dreamy grin. She glided around the kitchen collecting ingredients, closely observed by Niomi’s inquisitive gaze.
Niomi tipped a bag of flour onto the metal surface, swept out the centre to form a doughnut shape then filled the space with a mix of yeast and cold water. Lifting the
flour into the centre, she started to work the mixture into a ball. She slapped it, sprinkled a layer of flour and stared at Iman. ‘I’m getting married,’ she announced, watching for a response. Iman’s hands stopped working, and she met Niomi’s beaming smile with a broad grin. ‘Zack let it slip last night at the party, but you’d gone by then,’ she added.
Iman’s hands rose to her cheeks. ‘Oh, wow.’ Her joy instantly shattered by the reality of their circumstances, ‘What are you going to say to your parents?’ she asked. Niomi’s parents were nowhere near as liberal as her own. On the contrary, they could easily abandon her for disgracing the family. ‘What about Joram?’
Niomi’s smile disappeared. ‘I know,’ was all she said. ‘I haven’t worked out how to tell them yet,’ she said, her hand beginning to manipulate the ball of dough.
‘Joram?’ she asked again.
‘I haven’t seen him in a while,’ she said. ‘I think he got the message when I told him he had no balls,’ she shrugged. Iman sniggered, encouraging Niomi to laugh with her.
Niomi looked up from the dough. ‘Will you help me?’ she asked.
Iman flinched. The idea of facing Niomi’s parents, given her own relationship status, caused her heart to stop. ‘I can speak to my parents, see if they can help,’ she offered.
‘Would you?’ Niomi asked, reaching for Iman’s shoulders and pulling her into an enthusiastic hug. Iman allowed herself to be squeezed, her mind racing to work out how she would address Niomi’s situation with her parents. Even though they knew each other, both sets of parents came from different perspectives. It would be a miracle if her father could talk them into accepting Zack. ‘Thank you,’ Niomi said, releasing her and returning to her work. Iman smiled. Love felt so good; surely it couldn’t be a sin? She picked up an egg, cracked it into the bowl and started whisking.
‘We kissed,’ Iman said, her eyes staying with the whisk in her hand.
Niomi gasped, her hand powdering her face with flour. She started to giggle, clamping her hand to her open mouth. ‘What was it like?’ she chirped.
Iman looked up; her eyes were bright, her tone serious. ‘So amazing,’ she said, a starry-eyed grin across her flushed cheeks. ‘And it was…’ she paused, looking to the ceiling for the right word. ‘Excruciating.’
Niomi frowned. ‘Excruciating?’
Iman started laughing. ‘Yes, excruciating, to have to stop kissing her, and excruciating to not be able to touch her.’
Niomi’s cheeks flared, and her eyes widened, but she was laughing excitedly. ‘Oh my heavens,’ she said. ‘You really kissed her. You really are a lesbian.’
Iman laughed loudly at Niomi’s first use of the word. ‘Yes, I really did, and yes, I really am,’ she said, starting to whisk again, distracted by the electric sensation pulsing between her legs. Excruciating!
22.
Amena sat at the kitchen table, her eyes scanning above the line of the book in her hands, with a broad smile on her face. ‘You look happy,’ she quizzed. ‘A different kind of happy,’ she added. Iman always looked happy when she was baking, but there was something about her demeanour that had shifted; lightness in the way she moved, a romantic aura surrounding her. She always held herself with graceful allure, but there was something else, something subtle and deeply fascinating. Iman looked up, the softness in her eyes caressing Amena, causing her to giggle. ‘You have, haven’t you!’ she stated, making sense of her sister’s look.
‘Have what?’ Iman asked, with a coy smile, toying with the ingredients in the bowl in her hand.
‘Done something?’ Amena lowered the book to her lap and studied her sister carefully. The sensual way the flour sifted through her fingers, with the lightest of touch. ‘You have, I can tell,’ Amena said, sitting up excitedly.’ What did you do? Who with?’ she pressed.
Iman balked at the second question, before starting to giggle. ‘Ash of course.’ She shrugged trying to look nonchalant and looked anything but, as a wave of exhilaration caused a sharp intake of breath.
Amena’s hands swept to her mouth but failed to stifle the gasp. She jumped to her feet and raced across the kitchen, squealing with delight. ‘Tell me, tell me, what was it like?’ She grabbed Iman and squeezed her. ‘I’m so excited for you,’ she babbled, hopping up and down and squeezing again. Iman pondered dreamily, unsure where to start or how to explain the exquisite sensations that had revealed themselves in the brief kiss. Her lips tingled, and her face burned at the physical memory. ‘Come on, tell me,’ Amena pressed, impatiently.
‘It was so sensual,’ Iman said, with a deep sigh, her index finger lazily sliding back and forth across the block of butter that sat next to the bowl. The silky texture started to stimulate her skin, and the intensity of her finger movements increased.
Amena coughed loudly. ‘Huh hum.’ She nodded her head towards the butter, smiling wickedly. Iman jerked out of her dream and wiped her hands on her apron. Amena started giggling.
‘Sshhh,’ Iman chuckled, her eyes scanning the kitchen-diner. Even though they were at home and their parents were out, the wary response was ingrained.
Amena grabbed her hands. ‘Tell me more,’ she insisted.
Iman immersed herself in her memory of the kiss, her fingers blending the butter into the flour. ‘Her lips are so soft and gentle. They caress you like the softest silk. Then there’s this delicious woody scent and salty sweet taste. It’s like she touches you in all the right places, even though she’s not touching you.
Amena stood, watching her sister’s every movement, her mouth open, and her cheeks darkening. ‘Wow!’ She exclaimed softly, reaching her fingers to her lips, vicariously engaging in the sensual experience Iman was describing. She had never been kissed in that way before. ‘Oh my.’ She watched, transfixed until Iman removed her hands from the bowl and moved to the sink to rinse them. ‘Are you going to tell Dad?’ she asked.
Iman’s eyes lowered to the sink, rubbing her fingers together to remove the sticky mixture. She started to rub more furiously, splashing water and beginning to grumble. ‘Ahhh!’ she screamed, slamming her hands down on the sink, succumbing to the frustration that had risen swiftly and consumed all the good feelings.
‘What’s wrong?’ Amena asked, closing the gap between them and placing her hand on her sister’s tense back. ‘Immy?’ she begged.
Iman turned, her eyes darker, her focus narrowed. ‘I… I…’
‘Hey, it’s okay.’ Amena swept the wavy hair out of her sister’s eyes.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Paris!’ she said.
Amena released a deep sigh and smiled. ‘And?’
‘What if…?’ Iman couldn’t bring herself to pose the question. She couldn’t face the possibility that Ash wouldn’t wait for her, or be there with her.
Amena reached up and cupped her sister’s cheeks firmly. ‘You don’t have to go,’ she said.
Iman mumbled. ‘But what if I don’t go and then…?’
‘Immy.’ The voice was strong, certain, and confident.
Iman backed down and nodded sheepishly, waiting for the admonishment on her sister’s lips.
‘Stop. You are worrying about things that may not happen. Speak to Ash.’
Iman continued to nod, tormented by her fears, unsure as to how she should broach the subject of Paris, and unwilling to face rejection from Ash.
‘What if…?’ she started again!
‘No Immy! There are no what if’s. If you love each other you will find a way to be together,’ Amena continued fervently.
Iman’s face softened, and a weak smile started to form. She pulled Immy into her arms. ‘I love you so much,’ she said, squeezing her tightly. Something about her sister’s unwavering confidence settled her. ‘We’re going to the souk later,’ she whispered, with a hint of optimism.
Amena released the hold and stared into the light-brown pools, searching. ‘Don’t be afraid of loving her,’ she said.
Iman released an uncont
rolled chuckle, as the truth landed with a resounding thud in her chest. She held Amena’s intensely dark eyes. ‘How did you get to be so wise?’ she asked, with a tender smile.
Amena frowned.
Iman leaned in and placed a kiss on the lines that had formed on her forehead. ‘Thank you.’
‘Enjoy the souk,’ Amena said, a sparkle returning to her eyes and her cheeks colouring as she spoke.
‘I will.’
*
Ash paced across her bedroom floor, and back again. She’d never given what she wore to the markets any consideration when she had gone with Craig and a couple of other expats. Now though, nothing in her wardrobe seemed appropriate. She picked up the open-necked white shirt, studied it, and threw it down on the bed, blowing out the air that seemed to restrict her lungs. She dug deeper into her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of black linens that had more creases in them than a camel’s backside. Fuck! Where’s the iron? She threw the trousers on top of the white shirt and dived into her chest of draws.
‘Black jeans, where are you?’ she mumbled to herself, scrabbling around, one drawer after another. She pulled out the folded jeans and stepped into them. Struggling for balance, she hopped around until the jeans were past her knees. She hoicked them up over her hips and did up a couple of buttons. ‘Fuck!’ she exclaimed, as the banging on the front door hit her ears.
She leapt down the stairs, pulled open the front door, and gulped, immediately crossing her arms over her partly exposed chest. ‘Umm.’ A bolt of lightning shot down her spine, and her words were stuck in her throat.
Iman flushed instantly, and averted her gaze, though her eyes insisted on tracking back to the bare shoulders, and tracing down the arms that obscured her view, and then down to the taut stomach and the half-buttoned, jeans. She emitted something between a chuckle and a groan, her eyes gaining confidence with every second that passed. Her hand moved to her mouth, and the tip of her index finger rested at the edge, between her lips, toying with her teeth.