The Easiest Target

Why Bother?

Today is the henna, a party of close friends and family (only women) where everyone just sits around, gets waxed and pampered in preparation for tomorrow. Usually it's a party at a fancy hall and I would already be tattooed with henna but I refused to attend it, just like I refused to participate in any of the shopping or planning for the actually wedding I don't want to have. Because I know my mom and my opinion will be left in the back of a pickup truck as long as she's involved.

So why bother?

Just like my idea to not get black henna because of it's toxic nature to skin. Unfortunately, my opinion and concerns don't matter and I'm forced to get it. The lady draws intricate webs and flower patters all over my arms to my back, something I objected to the whole time and no one cared to listen. They tattoo Athan's name on my back to show off to the world at my wedding because apparently my wedding dress has no back.

By the time the day is finished, I'm so tired of sitting still with my arms up like a cactus I jump in the shower and stretch under the hot water that washes away the crusted tattoo skins.

I don't get much sleep that night, either.

The next day is the wedding and my mom tries to give me the talk. I throw up the little food I could swallow that morning. Not because I don't know about it already — just because she's telling me about it like she expects me to do it. With Athan.

Everyone expects me to have sex with Athan. And when I realize that the wedding night is just a giant party celebrating a couple getting together to have sex (the halal way) for the (supposed) first time, I think I faint because I don't know when I got dressed to leave the apartment.

Cousins that ignored and bullied me all of these years are buzzing around me with excitement but not for me — just for the sake of being excited, getting dressed and pretty and dancing with their friends at a wedding they can control because they're relatives of the bride. The biggest, fanciest wedding of the year thanks to Athan's family's money.

My paternal aunt and her daughter, Sumaya, go with me to the salon where Athan's mom is waiting. She doesn't spares me a glance. They do my makeup and hair, put a beautiful black abaya on me, drop a hijab over my head and drive me to the wedding hall.

For a long time, I sit alone in an empty back room, waiting where I am instructed to wait.

Sumaya storms in and gives me food to eat. She tosses the tray on the table in front of me so hard it splatters all over me. If I cared — and if I was wearing the dress maybe — I'd have freaked out. I glare up at her as she folds her arms over her chest and smirks. "I heard Azan's a beast in bed," she leans down and whispers. "You should—"

I get up, grimacing at her. "You should respect yourself a little."

"How cute. The recluse talking about respect. Please. Azan's gonna pump you and dump you like yesterday's trash — cuz that's what you are," she smirks.

My stomach churns with discomfort. My throat clamps up tight. How disgustingly crude. I can't let him touch me. The fact that everyone thinks it only makes me feel like I'm missing something. Even Toki's unreasonable terror — does he know something I don't?

Athan's mother comes in and slows when she sees the tray of food.

"Sorry, Khala," Sumaya says shakily. "She threw it at me."

Athan's mother doesn't even spare me a glance. She just walks away. Sumaya sticks her tongue out at me and walks away.

I have no appetite and no desire to eat from someone who won't even look me in the eyes. I'm waiting for my emotional wheel to stop spinning to see which emotion I'm going to present. It's been spinning all day and I don't know what to feel.