The Easiest Target

This Isn't Me!

A beautiful chandelier hangs over me when I wake up. Azan leans into my field of view. He frowns, like he read the panic in my eyes. "Don't get your frikin hopes up. Get up and eat."

I try to roll myself up; he stops me from falling and gently helps me sit up on the couch. My head sways for a second and when it straightens, my eyes shift left and right, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I feel like I'm in a white heaven: white fuzzy couch, white furry carpet under my feet, wide space and black accessories all around. There's a large TV attached to the wall in front of me on a charcoal gray wall. Under it is a bookshelf lined with books from left to right. All of them are worn textbooks. Medical books. Beautiful glass Yemeni trinkets line the top of it neatly.

"Where am I?"

"My room," Azan sighs and gets off the black coffee table in front of me.

I slip off the couch, digging my fingers into the furry carpet for comfort but it doesn't help much. How many girls had come to this room before me? He gets me up and shouts at me to calm down and eat. I feel something slither off my shoulder and scream. I'm in my tank top. My hair is out. I start to tear up, looking around for my sweater, panic swelling in me.

"Will you calm the hell down?!"

"Where's my sweater?"

"I threw it out. It smelled like cumin."

I want to shrink away and hide from him. He's quiet for a second then swears and steps into a closet to the right of the TV. He comes out with a black hoodie and tosses it over my shoulders. I slip my right arm into it, sniffling.

He fixes the sweater around my shoulders, uncharacteristically quiet. He pulls the hood up over my head, takes me back to the couch and makes me sit. We eat sandwiches and drink strawberry smoothies but he's quiet the whole time. That somehow makes me more uncomfortable than when he's causing problems.

I try to focus my attention on the book opened on the table: a medical book. All of the books are on health and medicine. He's into medicine? I remember dislocating my elbow and look at him with partial awe.

He looks angry. Disturbed? I don't know anymore. I can't read him. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"You're losing weight way too fast. Are your parents starving you to make you fit into a wedding dress or something?" He sounds like he knows that situation too well. "Do you want to see a doctor?" I look at his worried or angry expression and shake my head, hating how warmed I am by his concern. He takes a multivitamin bottle off the tray of food he prepared and offers it to me.

The bell rings downstairs and he wipes his face in frustration and leaves. I drop my sandwich in relief because I can't eat another bite. My stomach is burning and it hurts to breathe. Azan comes back a minute later with all the shopping bags. He gets an outfit out for me and drags me into the bathroom across the hall with the fluffy beige carpets everywhere. I gasp when he opens the door.

"What's wrong, now?"

"It's bigger than my room." He gives a small chuckle and sets my clothes down on one of the many counters.

"C'mon. It's a Halloween party so get dressed. There's underwear here, too." He looks at me for a second. "Do you have your period? Cuz there's only tampons in my mom's bathroom. Are you allowed to use —"

"So you can accuse me of something to have me checked again?!" I sneer at him.

"I can check," he smirks.