The Easiest Target

Liar

I turn off the water, step into the tub and slip on something soft while trying to unplug the tub. He jerks out so fast I slip, plunged into the water. A pair of hands grab me under the arms and heave me upright. I cough out salty water and swipe at my face, trying to breath and cough at the same time.

"What the hell," Athan pants, groaning in pain, holding me in his lap, hunched over me. "Are you trying to crush my balls?!"

I get up to my knees, heaving and crying, pulling his arms out of the water. He holds his left arm down firmly so I can't inspect it. "I-it's a bath bomb," he blurts. "Calm down, Hadeel. It's a bath bomb."

I drop to my knees and start to cry, bawling at the top of my lungs. He keeps his head hung, quiet. I sob, trying to push his face up — to get him to look at me. "You promised me! You promised me you wouldn't hurt yourself!"

He lifts his head, his eyes red and gives a forced smile. "It's just a bath bomb."

"Liar. Liar! YOU FRIKIN LIAR!" I scream, my whole head feeling like it's dislodged at the jaw, my left ear popping and stabbing violent pain all across my face. My words are slurred, my throat breaking.

He's completely dressed.... He's lying. "Why are you doing this to me? You forced me to be your wife but even when I try to like you — even when I try to care about you, you push me away, hurt me, or humiliate me! WHY?! I would've given you everything I could if you had just been nice to me but you don't want me! You don't even like me! SO WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

"Why do I have to want something?!"

"BECAUSE YOU DON'T LIKE ME!" I shake him.

"What if I did?" he cries.

"But you DON'T!" I push his face up. His bottom lip trembles for a second before he turns away. My heart nearly stops. Don't believe it. He's lying. It's an act. "You promised me you wouldn't hurt yourself," I whimper.

"Why would you care?" he snaps, his voice breaking. "You'd celebrate if I died! You could just go be with your damn boyfriend and be happy!"

I pull away from him and stand as the world spins, the suffocating heat dizzying me. "You're right, Athan," I pant, drool and snot and tears trailing down my chin. "You're always right. You know what you think you are?" I turn and point at him, his bloody water draining from my clothes. "You think you're a god. That's why the idea of a real god scares you shitless. Nothing goes your way because chasing your desires is like chasing a shadow and that's what your undisciplined self has been condemned to: the illusion of control. That's why you can't even stand Toky —"

He jumps up, his eyes wide with pure terror. He screams my name — almost loud enough to shake the cement walls of the skyscraper we're in. I drop to a squat impulsively. Then —

WHOSH! BANG!

I fall forward and turn around in horror as Hilal pulls at the knife lodged into the doorframe. A hand yanks me back from behind and Athan slams the thick metal door shut, knocking his uncle and the knife out of the bathroom. He pulls me back into his arms and holds me tight, shaking and swearing.

"Please, please tell me you have your phone on you," he pants. I stare at him as though he's insane and he remembers and swears. He picks me up and looks around, panicking. He puts me on the counter and paces in circles. He swears over and over again, blood dripping down his fingertips.

"Do you think," his uncle shouts loudly through his banging on the other side of the door, "that I would just sit back and let you register that parasite as your wife? I let you live because you're my blood, nephew! Don't for one second think I liked you. You're dead! You, that bitch, and your mother!"

BAM! BAM! BAM!

He finally stops, our eyes meeting. He comes closer hesitantly and holds my waist. "H-he can't get in," he shakes his head unconvincingly.

"This is about money?" I bleat.

Athan gives a mirthless chuckle. "We're not talking a few millions, here, Yemenia."

"Just give it to him," I whisper. 'Is it worth this all?!"

Athan's Adam's apple bobs, looking left and right, searching through the drawers for some sort of weapon. "I can't. It's in a trust set up by my father. Only I can be paid out. Hilal controlled it through my mom until I was eighteen."

Everything goes silent. Athan's eyes lock on mine, filling with horror. "Mama," he gasps.

He goes to the door hesitantly and my hair stands on end. "Move," I force out. It's too quiet out there. I don't think he'd just walk away like last time.

Athan presses his ear to the door, listening. I slide off the counter. "Athan, move," I warn.

"This isn't what I wanted," he whispers frantically. "You were supposed to be gone!"

"Athan!" I shout.

"You were supposed to leave!" he explodes at me.

I see a shadow shift beneath Athan's feet and my legs race before my mind can properly process what I was feeling. I slam my shoulder into Athan, shoving him off his feet as holes skewer the metal door. Pain rips through me for a second. Athan slides backward quickly, pulling me along to hide behind the cement wall.

"Hadeel? Hadeel!" He pulls up my sweater and lets out a cry, screaming my name.

"I'm okay," I pant, lowering my sweater. It's just the bruises he gave me.

"No," Athan let's out a sob, shocking me.

"I'm okay," I drawl.

Tears sprinkle down from his eyes as he quickly lays me down on my side and gathers towels around me. My body feels so cold. So ridiculously cold and — heavy. But the pain in my face is gone. The pain ... everywhere is gone. Athan sits beside me and presses the towel to my back. He bends down, resting his forehead to my temple, bawling like a child. I pat his head gently, tears gathering in my eyes.

"Don't be scared, Athan," I drawl. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Hadeel," he sobs. "No! No, please! I didn't want this. This wasn't supposed to happen!"

I giggle, despite the tears falling from my eyes. "Everything that happens, happens for the best," I force out. I'm so tired.

"Nooo. Not this. Please, God. Please. I'll let her go. Please ...."

I glimpse his uncle's eye watching us through a hole and chills pulse down my spine. He laughs. "Serves you right, gold digger."

His image blurs. The rest of the day's a barrage of blurs and muffled shouts.