by Zack Love
Lily’s face softened with empathy. “That is a lot for any person to handle. But I think you like the challenge of nurturing broken creatures – like your bird, Icarus.” She looked down and flipped through some pages of notes until she found what she was looking for. “During one of our very first sessions, you said that ‘nursing Icarus back to health gives me some sort of answer when I’m peering down the nihilistic abyss.’ And when I asked you to explain that, you said that ‘there’s something very simple and decent about nursing him back to health – especially because I accidentally broke his wing.’”
“Yes, but I never broke Anissa’s wing. And I have serious doubts as to whether I can really fix it. In many ways, her needs are a bottomless pit. Even if I somehow truly healed her, I could easily go bankrupt trying to support her cause. The extent of suffering in Syria is well beyond the capacity of entire donor countries and humanitarian organizations. Even the more limited goal of protecting the Christians of Syria and Iraq is way beyond the scope of what any one person can do.”
“And you feel like she expects that of you?”
“Well, she’s about as sweet and grateful as someone can be, and she’s never once pressured me into giving anything – she’s just educated me a little about the need and what her organization is doing to meet it. But that actually makes me feel even guiltier about not doing more, because I know how much she and those she’s trying to help need the support of people like me. But, as good and innocent as she may be, how do I know if my wealth isn’t a big part of her attraction to me? After all, she’s known me only when I had billions.”
Lily stopped taking notes and looked up. “But isn’t that true of any woman you met for the first time in the last fifteen years or so? You can’t be sure with any of them that your wealth isn’t partly responsible for their attraction to you, unless of course you lose all of your money and they still like you just as much.”
“Very true. Like power, money has a frightening capacity to distort people’s behavior: it can change those who have it or those around them who need it – usually both. And just as she doesn’t know whether I’d be as generous with her cause if I were less wealthy, I don’t know if she’d be as interested in me.”
Lily tapped her pen on her lower lip for a moment. “True, but you could always stop your financial support of her cause, just to see whether her behavior towards you changes.”
I nodded in agreement, leaned back, and cupped the back of my head in my hands. “That’s exactly what I’m planning to do. The problem is that we’ve already established this image of me as this magnanimous philanthropist. So altering that is a bit like Anissa altering her image as this exceptionally innocent woman.”
“Well, she clearly isn’t as innocent as you thought: she was literally robbed of her innocence.”
“Exactly. And a part of me was perversely excited by the privileged and exclusive status of being the very first man inside of her, which I clearly wasn’t in the end. But that’s obviously a stupidly superficial distinction for me to care about. And I don’t. I certainly don’t blame her for lying to me about her virginity – for her own comfort, or even to increase my perception of her uniqueness in the hope that I’d help her cause.”
“Julien, it sounds to me like this relationship is simply maturing. You both need to see each other for who you really are, rather than for the idealized and misleading image that was projected for courtship purposes.”
I rubbed the scruff on my cheek. “One of the things that I find most intriguing about Anissa is that she apparently can bring out the best in me, and gives me perspective like no one else ever has... I’m probably not as generous as I want her to think I am. The truth is that I would have never made any donations to her cause without her. But she does make me strive towards something better, and I genuinely like that. Unfortunately, the biggest issue – my past – will still end this relationship. And that’s why there is trouble in paradise.”
Lily gave me that annoyed look that she always produced whenever I failed to reveal something obviously important to the topic at hand. “And why is your past the biggest issue?”
“Because it’s not something that I can ever reveal to anyone – especially not her. But it haunts me, and she will always want to know about it, just as you do, and my refusal to discuss it will drive a wedge between us. Whereas you would just view me as a difficult or uncooperative therapy client, she would view me as a closed life-partner who purposely prevents true intimacy from forming.”
“You don’t think she would understand your wish not to discuss it, given that Anissa herself survived traumas that she didn’t readily reveal to you?”
“Well, that’s precisely the problem. We’ve known each other for just a few months and she’s already revealed the details of her traumas, so it’s only natural for her to expect me to reciprocate in the near future. And I can’t. So, ultimately, even if we can get past all of the other questions – about sexual compatibility, money and motives, my womanizing ways, etc. – this issue will create distance between us, and I’ll end up breaking her heart, which breaks my heart. Because this woman – at the age of eighteen – has already suffered more than a lifetime of pain, and the last thing I’d want to do is cause her any more grief.”
By the time I left Lily’s office, I had practically talked myself into never seeing Anissa again outside of the classroom. But God clearly wanted to toy with me a bit longer, because on the way back to my place I got this text from her: “Can’t stop thinking about you. I want to give you something very special. When can I see you?”
Two hours later, she was in my bedroom. The air was thick with sexual tension, perhaps because of her pent-up gratitude for my six-million-dollar donation, and maybe an eagerness to assure me that the way our sexual intimacy unraveled the last time was an anomaly. Needless to say, our fourth time having sex was the best yet for me (and, as far as I could tell, for her as well). So, maybe my doubts about sexual compatibility were premature.
As she lay naked with her breasts resting atop my chest, we basked in the relaxed afterglow of our closeness for a few precious moments, as I caressed the curve of her spine. She rose from my chest to look at me more intently, as a lock of her hair fell and blocked part of her eye. “Are you sure that you forgive me for lying to you?” she began. “I can see how it might really disturb someone. Virginity means so much in my culture. And Jihadists exploit that by raping women – which basically marks them as damaged goods.”
Reaching forward, I brushed the fallen lock of hair behind her ear, so that both of her exquisite eyes were visible. “Of course I forgive you, Anissa. In my mind, you really were still a virgin, at least as far as consensual sex was concerned. And that’s the only kind that counts in my book. Coerced sex isn’t something that anyone should experience even once.” I gently caressed her cheek with the back of my hand. “Losing one’s virginity is all about the conscious decision to have sex for the first time, and with rape there is no such decision. So, that special moment didn’t really happen in your life until you chose to give yourself to me. So it’s just as much of an honor, as far as I’m concerned. And compared to my sexual history, you’re about as virginal as they get!” I added, trying to add some levity into the discussion.
She smiled and then offered a joke of her own: “And it’s only fitting that there be a Syrian virgin behind the virgin state that she’s trying to support, right?”
“Exactly,” I agreed lightheartedly.
“So you forgive me for misleading you?” Her eyes searched mine for reassurance, their plea piercing my heart.
“Of course I do,” I said, holding her intense stare with my own. “I can certainly understand why you’d need to lie to yourself and others about it.”
“Well, in preparation to tell you the truth and maybe to try to start living with it more honestly, I thought a lot about whether there was any way to see some good in it. And, in a way, it’s actually what saved my life.”
I furrowed my brow. “How so?”
“Well, the rape delayed things long enough for my older brother to show up with his security guard, and I was able to escape only thanks to the shootout that ensued. Had the Islamists not wanted to rape the women, starting with me, they would have just slaughtered us all well before my brother arrived with security.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I just can’t believe what you’ve lived through. It really breaks my heart to hear your stories.”
“Sometimes I can’t believe it either. But I have faith that it’s all somehow part of God’s master plan, and I do my best to transform the painful past into a present guided by purpose and goodness. And you’ve been a huge part of that,” she said with a shining, grateful smile.
A part of me was dying to share with her the concerns that I had mentioned to Lily, about wanting to know that Anissa likes me for who I am and not for my wealth or what I can do for her cause. But it wasn’t the right time – especially not after she just mentioned her family history. So I focused on the other side of the coin: “It’s been my honor to help such a worthy cause. You really do give me perspective, and help me to be a better person, Anissa.”
She dipped down to give me a deep kiss, and then sprang off of me, wrapping herself in a sheet before getting off the bed. “There’s something really special that I want to give you.” She went over to her purse and rummaged through it for a moment, as I suddenly recalled her last text message and wondered what her gift could be.
She came back and sat beside me with her hand concealing whatever it was that she wanted to give me. “The help you’ve given is way beyond anything that I could have ever done myself; even in several lifetimes of working and saving, I probably couldn’t give what you donated – at least not at my age, and even if all of my relatives were pitching in. You literally made it possible for my family to leave the hell that was Raqqa. Of course, Islamists attacked them again, and I don’t even know what their current fate is. I’m really worried and concerned about them – this war is so miserable and unpredictable... In this kind of situation, you need good friends who can help. And it’s only because you’ve been that kind of friend to my family and community, and to such an extraordinary extent, that I could even think of giving you something so valuable to me.”
I sat up, with no clue how to respond to such a momentous introduction before whatever honor she was about to bestow upon me. I almost preferred not to know. “You’re too kind, Anissa. But no thanks are needed – and certainly not such personal, precious gifts. Really.”
“I know, but I truly want to give this to you. It’s the only other thing I could give you, besides my first time, to show you how grateful I am and how important what you’ve done is.”
“Well, now you’ve overwhelmed me with curiosity, so I at least have to ask what this gift is that you want to offer me,” I replied with a smile.
Anissa turned her hand over and opened her fist, revealing a silver cross on a necklace in her palm. “This is the last thing that my mother gave me, on the last night that I saw her alive. It’s been in our family for generations, starting with my mother’s grandmother. My mother gave it to me for my trip to the USA, as a reminder of my roots. But – as a token of my eternal gratitude to you – I want you to have it, as a reminder of the community that you’ve so helped.”
I held her hand and peered at the family keepsake she wanted to transfer to me. It really did look beautiful, with its budding flower shapes on each end of the crucifix. There was something ancient and mystical about it – perhaps because I knew that it had traveled generations and continents before reaching my bedroom. I looked up at Anissa. “I’m incredibly touched by the symbolism of your gesture.” I gently used my hand to fold her fingers back over the necklace. “But there’s no way that I could take something like this from you. It’s far too important to your family history, your identity, and your personal story. Really. Just the fact that you even thought of giving it to me is already unforgettably special. But I couldn’t live with the guilt of being the reason that you’re not wearing it.”
“You and your Mexican-Catholic guilt,” she joked, with a half-smile that suggested a touch of disappointment.
“I have a much better idea,” I said, getting up to fetch my phone. “Put that on your neck, where it belongs, and let me take some photos of it, with your beautiful chest, but also some close-ups of the cross itself.”
“You want to do this with me topless?”
“I promise you – this will not lead to another selfie scandal,” he joked.
I chuckled. “Well, I’ve just never been photographed nude before.”
“Would you consider it as an alternative to giving away your necklace to someone outside of your family – something that you’ve also never done before?”
She smiled. “Fair enough. I trusted you not to drop me from your balcony. So I suppose I can trust you never to show these to anyone.”
“Yes, you can,” I assured her.
We then had a fifteen-minute amateur photography session of sorts, during which I snapped some beautiful and very sexy photos of her, and some close-ups of the cross on her neck.
By around 11 p.m., we thought it would be best for her to sleep in one of my guest bedrooms, given that we both had to wake up early the next day, and that neither of us was a very good sleeper even alone, much less with a fellow insomniac in the bed.
Chapter 9: Anissa
Monday, April 21, 2014
To My Dearest,
I still haven’t been able to reach my family in Syria. I never see Maria or Uncle Luke available on Skype, and whenever I try their cell phones, the call goes straight to voicemail. I looked for some updates about the situation in and near Kessab online, and I found stories of residents fleeing to neighboring towns. Other reports indicated that some refugees were robbed and murdered by Islamists in the area, and in other cases, kidnapped for ransom.
We held a campus rally for Kessab and about fifty people showed up, but they were mostly members of the MCA and the campus organization for Armenian students. Placards held up in the crowd tried to raise awareness about the current situation and the horrible prospect of history repeating itself: “Third Expulsion of Kessab’s Christians,” “Turkey: Your Past & Present Shame Humanity,” “Freedom & Security for Mideast Christians Now,” and “Has the Armenian Genocide Taught Us Nothing?”
At one point, when Michael addressed the crowd about the attack on Kessab and what was happening, I hoped that he might have more information that offered some clues about the fate of my family. But, unfortunately, his speech to the group contained no additional details beyond what I had already read on the Internet.
After he handed his megaphone to the next speaker, I saw him walk over to Karen, who stood by his side for the rest of the demonstration. But about fifteen minutes later, his eyes crossed mine through the crowd assembled there, and I saw him say something to Karen, presumably excusing himself for a moment because he then walked through the various people standing between them and me, until he reached me.
“Hi, Inās. I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened.” His lips pursed in genuine empathy. “I wish I had news for you about your family, but I don’t.”
“It’s OK,” I replied, looking away for a moment to relieve the tension. “Hopefully my sister will contact me soon.”
“I wish we had a bigger turnout for this protest, but it’s always hard with last-minute rallies on campus.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes I wonder how much these protests even help when it’s the facts on the ground over there that really matter.”
“Of course they matter,” I corrected his moment of defeatism. “The more awareness there is about these issues, the more likely it is that world powers, or even individuals, will try to help.”
“I know – I just don’t want our members getting discouraged by the apathy that’s all around us. What really matters is
trying to change the concrete reality in Syria however we can, because if we wait for the world to wake up, there won’t be any Christians left there. I’m going to spend the next forty-eight hours arranging for weapons procurements and delivery. That’s the most urgent task – to get our people some armed security.”
I looked over at Karen, who was watching us. “So you got the money?”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you briefly,” he began awkwardly. “So that I could thank you for your help getting the latest donation from your professor so fast. It’s beyond anything I could have hoped for, and it should really help with security and avoiding more situations like Kessab, if we can mobilize Christian militia members fast enough – and to enough critical locations.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Michael. First of all, he gave that money before I even had a chance to ask him for it. He read about Kessab while he was at his office and decided to donate on his own. So it really came from the goodness of his heart, contrary to what you think about him. And secondly, even if I did have to ask him for it, I would have done so for the cause, not for you. So no need to thank me either way,” I noted, somewhat bitterly.
Michael winced at the tense awkwardness between us. “Right. Well, I’m still grateful and just felt the need to tell you.” He looked down for a moment, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to end the conversation. “Sorry again, about your family. I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” he added, before turning around and walking back towards Karen.
Ugh. I have so many mixed feelings about how things have unfolded between us – a mixture of regret, bitterness, confusion, and questions about what might have been...
And I’m also torn about Julien. I think I’m falling in love with him, even though I really don’t know anything about him, except that he’s incredibly smart and successful and has horrible nightmares. But I know nothing about his family, his childhood, his past loves, or anything else for that matter. And every time I’ve tried to ask about even the most basic details of his childhood, he manages to change the subject or turn the focus to me. All he has ever told me is that he grew up in Mexico, and was extremely close with his mother, who died of cancer shortly after he graduated from high school. That’s literally all I know about a man who is becoming an obsession – a man I want to love even more than I realized I could love.