by Dem Had
I changed my number and never contacted my mother until one day she showed up at my job. Minutes before my shift ended, she made it impossible for me to avoid her. Emir was picking me up that night.
“Orestis,” she called as soon as I stepped out.
“Why are you here?” I whispered, getting close to her.
“I tried to call you, but….”
“I changed my number.” My voice was flat.
“Why?”
“What do you want?”
“To see you.”
“I have to go.”
“Give me your number.” She grabbed my shirt.
“No.” I stepped closer. “Now, I have to go. Somebody’s waiting for me.” I turned to leave.
“Introduce me,” she blurted.
“You’re out of your mind,” I muttered.
I stomped toward Emir’s car, got in, and gave him a kiss.
“What happened?” He eyed my burning face.
“Orestis, wait,” my mom called as she ran toward us.
“Start the car,” I said.
“Who’s she?”
“Start the car, now. Let’s go.”
He locked the doors and resituated to face me. “Babe?” He touched my shoulder.
I could see her outside the window behind him. She knocked on the window, but Emir raised his index finger without even looking at her.
“Who’s she?”
“My mom.”
“What does she want?”
“I don’t know.”
He sighed and opened the window. “Good evening, ma’am.” He was calm, direct, and sexy as hell. This is the wrong time to notice him.
She glanced at him and turned to me. “Let’s talk, please,” she said in Greek.
“Leave me alone.” I shook my head. “Let’s go.”
Her fingers clenched on the window as Emir turned the key to start the engine.
“I want to talk to my son.” She eyed Emir.
“It seems he doesn’t want to talk to you, and I don’t blame him.” His eyes darkened. “The last time he talked to you, he ended up with a broken nose and bruises on his birthday.”
She sighed. “Let me buy you two a coffee.” Her eyes watered. Who did she think she was fooling with those crocodile tears?
Emir held my hand, donning an arrogant smirk. “Okay, ma’am. Bring your car here and follow me.”
“What?” I hissed.
My mom nodded and ran to her car.
“What the fuck, Emir?” I punched his arm.
“Calm down.” He brought my hand to his face and kissed it. “I’m here for you. You’re in charge now. Let’s show her how wrong they are about us, okay?”
“I don’t…,” I mumbled. “Whatever.”
I wasn’t surprised when he pulled over outside of our apartment, but I didn’t know if it was a good idea for her to know where we lived. He offered her a seat on the couch and asked what she wanted to drink.
I went straight to the bathroom and changed my clothes. When I came out, I picked a beer from the fridge and sat on the chair next to Emir. She was looking around until her gaze stopped on the canvases in the corner. Emir eyed me with a smirk, lit a cigarette, and told her what he did for a living before she was able to show her indifference.
“What do you want?” I asked calmly.
“You are my son.”
“It sounds like you’re accusing me of something.” I took a sip of my beer. “And speak in English in front of Emir.” I was rude, but I never asked to see her today. I didn’t have the chance to prepare myself. For over a month, she had been out of my life and I was happy. At that moment, I realized what Emir was doing. He had brought her in our house, in our sanctuary, where we were in charge. Nobody else.
“I wanted to see you.”
“You know….” I shifted closer to Emir so she could see us together, as a couple. “For the first time in my life, I’m happy, and a big part of it is because I cut ties with you.”
“Why are you blaming me?” she protested.
“Are you serious? Do you really need to hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“Okay….” I inhaled deep. “You are as bad as Dad. Do you understand that? You always observed and encouraged him.”
“You don’t know the whole story, Orestis! It’s not right for parents to argue in front of their children.”
“But it’s right to let your child be beaten?”
“I would wait for him to calm down so I could talk to him. He would blame me for whatever you did. We always fought because of you.”
“If you fight with your husband, it’s your fucking problem, not mine.”
“In the end, he hit me too.” She lowered her head.
“When?” I asked, shocked.
“You were there! When I tried to stop him….”
I released a bark of laughter, and she stared at me, her mouth agape. “You can’t be serious. For twenty years you did nothing to support me, and you’re going to whine about an accidental push he gave to you while I was bleeding?”
“It’s not my fault he beat you.”
“It’s a mother’s job to protect her child. You’re not a mother to me!” I shouted.
Emir pushed me, hinting I was crossing the line. I breathed. She gazed at the floor in tears.
“Crying won’t change my opinion,” I said. “You were there, and you did nothing. If you want to believe you were a good mother, go on and lie to yourself, but don’t expect my approval.” I stood up and opened the door. “Please, leave.”
Emir was trying to hide his shock, biting his nails.
“Orestis…,” she said, standing up.
“Don’t! Just leave.”
She walked past the threshold, and I slammed the door. Exhaustion hit. Work wasn’t as tiring as having to deal with her. I dropped on the couch, wrapping my arms around his waist. I was on the verge of tears, but a huge weight was lifted from my chest. Emir held me tight in his arms until I stopped trembling. Admittedly, it felt good to finally let it out.
“Oh boy, you are a savage,” he teased.
“She would have a heart attack if I was to spill everything. Let’s say I kicked her out for her sake.”
OUR BEAUTIFUL days together continued, and I was ecstatic about our routine. In early February, we put on our snowsuits and drove to Troodos. Unfortunately, the snow was icy and hard instead of fluffy. We rented ski equipment and went down a hill, almost hitting every tree in our way. It was to be expected from two rookies. We stumbled and laughed as we entered a traditional café to warm up across the woodstove. We ordered two cups of Cypriot coffee.
“For your information, this is Turkish coffee,” Emir said.
“I know,” I whispered, “but I’m not supposed to say that.” I looked around to ensure nobody was listening. “In Greece it is called Greek coffee, but it’s the same. Go figure….” I’d read somewhere that it had originated from Yemen, therefore Arabic coffee.
He giggled, and his nose was still bright red like Rudolph’s. My heart skipped a beat as I stared, brushing my knees on his thigh.
“Next Christmas let’s rent a chalet up here,” he said, looking out the window.
I gazed at the vast whiteness. “With a fireplace.”
Emir
THE LACK of emotional turmoil can make one sick of happiness, or maybe I was just a twisted bipolar who couldn’t handle the lack of depression. A drama queen who sought conflict. Since we’d moved in together, our days were those of a newlywed couple, with all ups and no downs. Sex was explosive, Orestis was perfect, my art was selling like crazy, and I was invited to exhibit my work in a gallery in June. While everything seemed perfect, I had to hide from my parents that I had moved to the south. Still, I was sure my dad knew.
Whenever I was home alone, my brain wouldn’t stop obsessing; How long will we last? When is the day he will get bored of me and kick me out? Does he love me, or is he just attached to me? Is loneliness
our only connection? What kind of future will we have? Do we expect to be partners for life? What am I doing with my life? Do I love him? Do I love him? Do I love him?
With these thoughts in mind, I downloaded a hookup app. I looked around, chatting with people who would die to have what I had, yet still, I found myself lying to my man to go fuck another, jeopardizing everything for carnal pleasure.
My lecherous self itched to resurface. I found out about a cruising area. Every type of men were fucking out in the open, surrounded by trees, next to the sea. I ejaculated countless times, plunging in random mouths, and I lost count of how many dicks passed into my ass. I was numb and drunk in the ecstasy of the orgy. I would go home afterward, tiptoeing to the bathroom to wash myself for an hour before lying next to Orestis. Whenever I felt the pressure of work and routine getting the best of me, I would go again, feeding my guilt. Every time I would be riskier and dirtier.
The fourth time, sniffing on poppers, I was double penetrated over and over until I cried out for them to stop. I was disgusted with myself. I cried in the shower until I sobered up. When I went to bed after venting some steam, my sweet boy clung to my arm.
“Welcome home,” Orestis murmured in his sleep and pressed his face on me. “Where were you?” He turned to face the wall, snoring.
Misgivings nagged me. I was overwhelmed with mixed feelings that fucked with my brain. I picked up my phone, deleted the account, and uninstalled the app. I’ve had enough. I stopped before hurting us any more.
The grand opening of the gallery was on the first of June. It was raining, and it was hot like a monsoon. Talk about bad luck. To my surprise, that didn’t stop people from visiting the gallery for a glass or two of bubbly wine. Orestis was by my side, helping Elisa, the gallery owner, pour wine and talk with peers. He was doing a better job than me in public relations. And I thought he was an introvert. He would crack an even bigger smile when our eyes met. As the first night drew to a close, I noticed a bunch of motorcycles in the street. I got closer to the glass, facing the road, and realized that they were driving slowly, looking inside the gallery from behind their black helmets.
It was a team of ultranationalists, the kind of people who wish death for every Turk, every immigrant, and every gay, and hell, I was three in one. What was worse was that I was a recognized artist in their territory. Their brutality had shifted since they formed a political party and entered the parliament from the front door. At least I knew I was safe for the time being.
Orestis
THREE MORE days before the closing of the exhibition, and as happy as I’d been for his success, the feeling skyrocketed that it would soon be over. For two weeks I hadn’t seen Emir at all. Despite being told that he didn’t need to be there, he had insisted on staying until closing every night to make connections. I either visited him at the gallery or waited for him at home, hoping to see him before bed. Sometimes I fell asleep after a brief phone call with him.
That night, I planned on waiting for him since I was working late the next day, and he texted that he wouldn’t be late. Maybe we could watch a movie together. My phone buzzed a few minutes before eleven.
“Were you sleeping?”
“No, I’m waiting for you.”
“Will you pick me up? All four tires are… flat.” His voice wavered.
“All of them? How?”
“I don’t know.”
“On my way.” I hung up, put on my shoes, and drove to the gallery.
The parking lot was dark since the streetlight next to it wasn’t working. I caught sight of Emir’s car and drove closer, but he wasn’t in it. I pulled over and stepped out, dialing his phone. In the dead silence, a buzzing sounded, but he was nowhere to be seen. I followed the vibrating to the other side of his car. My phone fell from my grip, my heart sank in my chest, and cold sweat ran down my nape. Blood on the ground.
“Oh my god!” My voice trembled. I dropped to my knees but hesitated to touch his body. His shirt was ripped, and his face was hardly recognizable.
“Emir,” I cried, “can you hear me?”
He grabbed my hand in a sloppy move. I dialed 112 and cursed at the automated voice informing me that my call was being recorded. I started shouting at the endless ringing as it went unanswered. I dialed again—no answer. I had heard complaints about the emergency, but I’d never thought it would be that bad. I tried to lift him up, but he groaned every time I moved him. I figured it was better to wait for the paramedics, in case he had a bone broken or internal bleeding.
Desperate, I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Help!” before calling again.
While we waited, I sat on the ground, whispering in his ear to keep him awake. The twenty-five minutes felt like eternity before the ambulance arrived.
I felt tipsy, as if I had consumed a whole bottle of whiskey. Time flowed both fast and slow. The next thing I remember was sitting on a chair in the waiting room, when they told me I could come in.
Emir was connected to an IV and his head was wrapped from jaw to crown. The blood was washed from his face, but there were wounds. His shirt was missing, and his torso was one big bruise.
When Emir woke up, he wouldn’t look me in the eye. Even though he couldn’t talk, a police officer kicked me out to question him. Emir filed a report, but I had no idea what was in it.
It was a nightmare. He wouldn’t face me, couldn’t talk, and just stared at the ceiling. I called in sick at work, and by noon we left the hospital in a taxi. I helped him lie on the bed, placed a pillow under his head, and prepared a cold soup he could drink with a straw. It took hours for his blank expression to crack. Tears streamed down his face as he rolled in the bed to hug me, drowning his weeping on my chest.
“What happened?” I whispered. “Who did this to you?”
His phone buzzed. It was Elisa from the gallery, and he handed it to me. I walked out of the room.
“It’s Orestis. Emir can’t talk right now,” I whispered, heading to the staircase.
“What happened?”
“Last night, somebody attacked him in the parking lot. I found him…,” I sobbed out. “Jaw dislocation and a broken premolar. He has bruises all over, but they’re minor.”
“The police left a minute ago. Orestis, whoever did this slashed his tires with a knife and waited.”
Who? And why? I picked up a pen and a piece of paper and gave it to Emir.
“Who attacked you?” I demanded.
He shrugged.
“Was it a man or a woman?”
He rolled his eyes as if I was talking nonsense, but his lips parted. “Four men,” he stiffly mumbled.
“What the— Do you know them?” I asked.
Emir shook his head and stared into my eyes for a moment. He picked up the pen and wrote: They want me to leave.
My blood boiled. I knew someone lunatic enough to do something like that.
“My dad… I’m gonna kill him,” I hissed. His hands clenching on my fingers couldn’t stop them from trembling, and I shook them away, cupping his face. “I’m going to turn him inside out.” My jaw stiffened.
His eyes grew wide and the pen scribbled on the paper before he shoved it in my face.
It wasn’t him.
“How do you know? If it wasn’t him, then who? Who would…?”
He raised his palm in front of my face, interrupting me. He reached out his arms, beckoning me to get closer. He wiped unexpected tears from my eyes. He pulled me close to him, mumbling a thank-you with a muffled voice. Having him so vulnerable in my arms, I thought about all the times he had been strong for me. Now, it was my turn.
Emir
I COULD take the jaw support off ten days after the attack, but I still had to keep it on most of the time. I was able to move my jaw, but it hurt like hell. Eating was out of the question; my diet consisted only of liquid food and I was getting sick of it. The bruises on my body faded, except the ones on my side where those fuckers had repeatedly kicked me. Oddly enough, my ribs hadn�
��t broken. Orestis stayed by my side except when he had to go to work. Pain struck every time I moved, thus I spent my days on the couch, immersed in marathons of my favorite series until my man returned home.
Those days were both confusing and enlightening. What was I doing? Orestis would eventually be targeted too. I was scared shitless at the thought he might call and tell me he had been attacked or that he would come home all beaten up. Or worse, I would get a call from the hospital. Every day, I was full of fear for him. He deserved better. I deserved better.
The political circus got serious and dangerous. Discussions between parties about closing the barricades permanently raised my anxiety. What would happen to us if access between sides was cut off?
He was free from his sadistic father, and I was glad I had helped him. I was glad I’d been able to be there for him. I would never forget how he’d been there for me either. In less than a year, I’d felt things I’d never imagined I could feel. I hoped neither of us would feel the same for another person. I wanted to claim the title of first in his heart even if we separated.
As soon as the door closed behind him, I got dressed and walked to the gallery to check on my car, but to my surprise, all four tires had been replaced. Only Orestis could have done this. I drove home and packed my stuff. I went to the beach for a final walk, trying to rip every happy moment from my heart and toss them to the sea. Hours passed while I sat there as the little waves crashed on my feet. When I returned home, I was calm and ready for a tsunami to swallow me even if there was nothing I could do.
Orestis came in, tired and ranting about a coworker being an ass. He smiled and hugged me, pecking my lips. I took off the strap to enable myself to speak. My voice cracked, and I choked. I knew I couldn’t say anything while watching him, so I moved to the window and gazed out.