by Emma Nichols
Ash straddled her waist, her palms tracing the long muscles each side of Iman’s spine, easing along her shoulders, and then tracking down the outside of her back, her fingertips trailing lightly across the exposed part of Iman’s breast. She repeated the path, adjusting the pressure in her hands with each cycle as she tuned into Iman’s needs. She swayed her body with the sweeping motion across Iman’s back, occasionally stopping at her neck, for her thumbs to ease up to the base of her skull.
Iman drifted deeper into a trance, lost in the sensual massage.
Ash steadily increased the pressure with her thumbs, on the tight spots her palms had discovered, coaxing them to relax.
Iman remained silent, breathing softly.
Ash continued to work around Iman’s shoulders and down her arms, capturing her hands, and caressing them, loving them. Then she massaged up her spine again, and into the back of her neck. Applying the pressure through her forearms, she shifted the sensation down Iman’s back to something more languid, connecting them beyond physical touch.
Iman remained under the hypnotic spell.
Ash shifted again, her fingers easing through Iman’s hair, seeking out the subtle dips and pressure points on her head.
Iman released a soft sigh.
Ash eased down Iman’s body and leaned forward, resting her chest on Iman’s back, her lips softly touching her exposed neck. Her arms wrapped around the top of Iman’s head and clasping her hands; she lay perfectly still.
Iman breathed softly, enjoying the exquisite sensation of Ash’s breasts against her, the heat on her back, and the supportive feeling of Ash’s arms and hands, cradling her head. She had never experienced anything as intimate and comforting. The warmth of the massage had soothed her, its effects swept through her and purified her body, cleansed her soul; and drawn them closer. She didn’t want the feeling to end, but she knew it would, all too soon. She fought against the sadness rising into her chest, but the silent tears still wetted the pillow beneath her head. Whatever the future held, though, no one could take this moment from her.
*
Ash placed the suitcase in the back of the 4x4.
Iman pulled her father into her arms, but it was his embrace that provided the strength she lacked at that moment. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said, unable to control the tears from spilling onto her cheeks.
‘We’ll miss you too,’ Muhammad said, wiping at his own damp eyes.
Tarek pulled his sister into his arms and slapped her on the back. ‘You’re the best chef and don’t let them tell you any different,’ he said, squeezing her tightly. His irises had darkened before he released her, and his eyes scanned the sky as Iman moved towards their mother.
‘Bye Mum,’ Iman said softly.
Marla pulled her daughter close to her chest, though her embrace maintained the familiar tension it always had and didn’t reflect the pain in her breaking heart. ‘Be safe Immy,’ she said, holding back the tears.
‘Ammy!’ Iman approached her blubbering sister with open arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. ‘I’ll be home soon,’ she whispered. Amena nodded against her chest but continued to cry.
‘I’m going to miss you,’ Amena sobbed, pulling back and wiping at her blotchy, puffy face.
Ash’s eyes tracked the ground at her feet. The crushing feeling in her chest wouldn’t lift. Watching Iman saying goodbye to her family intensified the pain in her heart as if life itself were seeping through her fingers. Iman turned to face her, her red eyes adding to the profound sense of grief she already felt. ‘Shall we go?’ she asked, barely able to utter the words.
Iman nodded. She turned to face the four pairs of glassy eyes. Iman was still sniffling. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she said, but the words hung in the uncertainty surrounding their reality. Iman opened the passenger door and climbed silently into the car.
Ash eased the driver’s seat and turned the engine. ‘You ready?’ she asked. Iman’s teary eyes answered the question, and Ash turned her attention to the road, stemming the tears burning behind her eyes. Even the thought of Iman’s safety in Paris didn’t come close to filling the pit of despair in which she now found herself. Whichever way she looked at their situation, there was uncertainty. Except for the intense love they shared. In those moments of togetherness, everything was crystal clear. She eased her foot down on the accelerator. ‘It’s gonna be a hot one,’ she said, staring vacantly.
Iman remained silent, gazing out the side window.
Ash drove.
Iman continued to stare. As they approached the familiar souk that they didn’t get to see, a sad smile formed on her face in the shadow of her dark eyes. ‘Do you think we’ll ever be together?’ she asked softly.
Ash struggled to answer, unwilling to consider any other scenario. They’d been over this time and time again, since the incident. ‘Yes, we will. I’m going to take leave in a couple of weeks and come to Paris. We can take a look around, and I’ll see if I can get a transfer.’ She looked across to Iman, and then to the road ahead. The anguish in Iman’s beautiful eyes ripped through her again, and she struggled to breathe through the sharp pain in her heart.
‘I’ll miss my family so much,’ Iman said, rubbing her wet eyes. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to cry, but the promise was just an illusion. She didn’t feel brave.
‘I know.’
They travelled in silence.
‘You got your passport?’ Ash asked as they approached the airport.
Iman released a huff. ‘Yes…unfortunately.’
The silence continued.
‘Do you want children?’ Iman asked.
Ash flinched. ‘What makes you ask?’
‘I was just thinking about the world we bring them into, and how cruel it is.’
The words cut through Ash. She was struggling to hold it together. ‘Life’s tough,’ she said, her voice breaking under the strain.
‘I hate it,’ Iman responded. ‘I hate the injustice.’
‘Yes.’ Ash steered the 4x4 into the Dier ez-Zor airport car park. She switched off the engine and sat, her hand refusing to undo the seatbelt. Iman moved first and exited the car with urgency. Ash followed, grabbed the suitcase from the boot and rushed behind her, into the small departure lounge.
‘I’ll check in then.’ Iman’s dark eyes lowered to the ticket in her hand.
Ash moved to take Iman’s hands but retracted immediately. The inability to touch the woman she loved was causing her head to burst and her heart to fracture: killing her.
‘Call me when you get there,’ Ash said, grasping for something positive on which to fix her attention.
‘Please come soon,’ Iman begged.
Ash swallowed hard, fighting the pressure in her head. ‘I will. I’ll speak to Kate about a transfer as soon as I get back from here,’ she said, trying to smile.
Iman nodded. ‘I’d better go,’ she said. She took a step closer and put her arms around Ash’s back. The contact was brief, wholly inadequate, and left her wanting, and crying inside. Releasing her, she took the handle of the suitcase and dragged it through to the check-in area.
Ash couldn’t watch any longer. She turned and ran.
Iman stood in the line, her mind foggy and unable to focus. Consumed by an overwhelming sense of loss, she waited, stepped a pace forwards, and waited again. She moved to an empty check-in desk, and the woman smiled at her, but all she could do was watch the process that was taking place in front of her.
‘Passport please.’
She handed it over.
‘Place your bag on here please.’
She lifted her case onto the conveyor belt and watched it dive into the hole, on the other side of the curtain.
‘Have a nice trip.’
She took her passport back and placed it in her pocket. She wandered through to the next step in the process, and eventually found herself sitting at the departure gate, staring at the aircraft that was taking her away from everyone she loved.
*
Ash thumped her hands down on the steering wheel. ‘Nooooo!’ she screamed, without a care for who might be watching her. She pounded again. Even though she would take leave and go to Paris, the reality still struck her. What then? The dark, soulless gaze in Iman’s eyes as she’d said about missing her family, and the profound sense of grief that had hit her as Iman had walked away. It was wrong. It was all so wrong. Yes, they could make a life together in Paris, or anywhere else in the world. But, that was only one half of the problem. ‘Fuucckk!’ she screamed. Driven by the red mist in her mind, she slammed the 4x4 into gear and sped out of the car park.
Iman stared at the large white metal object out the window. She couldn’t relate to it, or its purpose. The crew were embarking, and all she could do was watch their movements as if stuck in a time warp. She couldn’t compute the scene playing out in front of her eyes and started to fidget. She glanced around at the smiling faces, occupying the small space, waiting to fly. How many of them were running away? She scanned each one. The cheery family with the young baby: maybe a holiday? The grave, young, suited man, a business trip maybe? The young Syrian couple, gazing into each other’s eyes lovingly, a honeymoon? Even they seemed to maintain a respectful distance, but at least they were allowed to be honest with their affections. She slumped back into the padded chair. Life wasn’t meant to be like this! She rose from the seat and paced the small area.
Ash screeched the car to a halt and jumped out. She’d driven the longest route back that she could, but that hadn’t helped to assuage the emptiness or the loneliness in Iman’s eyes that haunted her. She slammed through the front door and dove into the fridge. Cracking open the beer, she took a slug and swallowed. The beer wasn’t going to be enough to alleviate the pressure in her head or fill the void in her heart. She placed the bottle on the kitchen surface and searched the cupboards, pulled out a bottle of Cognac and poured a large glass.
Stepping out into the garden, glass and bottle in hand, she tried to breathe in the balmy air. The sun still beat down, the crickets were still chirping, and the beeping of car horns would always rumble in the distance, but nothing else remained the same. She sat watching the slight movement on the surface of the swimming pool and took a long slug of the burning fluid, allowing it to wallow in her mouth. The joy of the raft race, only a few days ago, seemed a distant memory. And even if Craig hadn’t gone on holiday, if he’d been there for her now, it still wouldn’t have helped. He couldn’t work that kind of magic! She swallowed hard. The searing heat down the back of her throat was far more preferable than the excruciating pain accompanying her thoughts, and a welcome distraction. She leaned into the plastic chair and allowed her eyes to close. Perhaps that would help? It didn’t. Maybe she’d go to work after all. She took another slug. Fuck it! It was too late in the day to bother. She’d just get drunk. She poured another glass, leaned back and closed her eyes again, willing for not this!
*
‘I didn’t know you drank Cognac.’
The illusion of the voice caused Ash’s eyelids to shoot open. Her heart raced in her chest, and she jumped up in her seat. ‘Jeez!’ She stood, staring, stunned. No words could express the sensations coursing through her, as she locked onto the light-brown smiling eyes.
‘I couldn’t do it,’ Iman said, stepping into Ash’s personal space, cupping her cheeks, and placing a languid kiss on her open lips. She eased out of the kiss, maintaining the contact between them: her forehead against Ash’s. ‘I’m not running away, Ash,’ she said softly, but with absolute determination.
Ash couldn’t speak, her mouth wouldn’t move. Her heart still racing, she tried to swallow. ‘I…’ The spinning sensation in her head had nothing to do with the Cognac, most of which still sat in the glass on the table. The quivering in her stomach was rising through her chest, and her hands were shaking. She stared at the beautiful woman in front of her, who was continuing to justify herself, and grinned.
‘I’m not doing it, and that’s final. I refuse to run. If I… If we go anywhere it will be because we choose to and we do it together when we decide. I already called Dad from the airport, so they know where to find me…’
Ash’s grin broadened. ‘I love you so much,’ she said. Finally, she could breathe.
Heat rushed to Iman’s cheeks. She’d expected Ash to argue. ‘I…’ Her words were swept away by the soft mouth tenderly caressing her lips. Her heart fluttered, and her mind quieted at the soothing strength of Ash’s hands in hers. This was right. She groaned, falling deeper into the telling kiss.
Ash eased out of the kiss, resting her cheek against Iman’s. ‘Will you make love with me?’ she asked, in a whisper.
‘Always,’ Iman whispered back, biting down on Ash’s earlobe, and eliciting a shudder.
‘Fuucckk,’ Ash groaned.
About Emma Nichols
Emma Nichols lives in Buckinghamshire with her partner and two children. She served for 12 years in the British Army, studied Psychology, and published several non-fiction books under another name, before dipping her toes into the world of lesbian fiction.
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Other Books by Emma Nichols
Visit getbook.at/TheVincentiSeries to discover The Vincenti Series: Finding You, Remember Us and The Hangover.
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