The Broken Tale

Don't Be Afraid

Hi, guys. Chanel here. Look so this chapter will have a lot of Iraqi traditions in it.
If any of these traditions are foreign or unknown to you, don't come at me for it.
They're Iraqi traditions and that's how it works in Iraq.
Anyway, I hope you will all enjoy this chapter!!!!!
Also this chapter will be a little long. Because you'll learn a lot about Layla and Ali's past here.
Song: it's a song by LIRANOV. I don't know how to spell it :(

.....Two years ago.....
          Layla sat silently in the salon chair. She clutched the bouquet of roses in her hand. She couldn't stop looking at herself. Her brown hair was curled up and pinned in a thousand different places into a beautiful up do. A tiara was planted in the center of big fluffs of braids and curls, a white veil hung down from the tiara. Layla observed the tulle details of her wedding dress. The bodice was covered in crystals, the sweetheart's neckline had small tulle around her shoulders. The skirt was big and fluffy, like a princess dress. Two pearl earrings hung from her ears. Her make up looked flawless. The fake eyelashes were long and thick, her plump red lips stood out from her face. Her blue eyes though, they were something Layla had never seen in herself.
They looked surrendered, meloncholic, dead. The fire, the spark and the beauty was all gone. All that Layla could see in her eyes was the last drop of hope she had left and the strength she built to face this day. But Layla wasn't gazing at herself because she thought she looked pretty, but she did because she thought she looked ridiculous. Like a child in a princess costume, only the outfit was a little bit fancier.
Eighteen.
She was only eighteen. She should be packing up for college, going on dates, having fun with her friends. Not sitting in a wedding dress.
"Miss Roni? Miss Roni?" Layla snapped out of her thoughts.
One of the hairdressers was standing next to her, holding a bottle of Chanel Grand Extrait perfume in her hand. "I'm sorry, Miss Roni but we have to deliver the final finishing touches."
Layla sighed and nodded silently.
The hairdresser gestured for another two hairdressers to join her. He sprayed her neck and shoulders with the perfume. The strong smell burnt her nostrils, it smelled amazing but Layla knew who bought it. She hated how she was. A trophy wife. And that had been her life long nightmare. They sprayed her hair to make the curls stand in place and fixed her veil.
"Alright, Miss Roni. Now if you get up for the entering ceremony." The eldest one of the hairdressers said.
Miss Roni.
Layla wanted to taste the name for as long as she could. She wanted to feel her last few hours as Layla Roni, her last few hours as herself. As the young girl with a love of life and actual dreams to achieve.
Layla got up and followed the hairdressers to another room in the salon. The room was dark but Layla could see the balloons and white roses on the floor and intricate wall patterns all aligned with lights on the walls. Layla walked down a red carpet and sat down on a large wedding sweetheart's sofa. It was white and soft, but all Layla could feel was her large dress.
Layla wondered how much just the salon and entering ceremony would have cost Ali. But yet again, the Elmars were one of the richest families in the Middle East. The hairdressers fixed her dress and veil, pulling it in different directions to make sure she would look good in photos. At last they were done and they left Layla alone, obviously fixing things outside. Waiting. Alone in the dark room only minutes before Layla reached the point she knew would be no return from. She tried to picture what her future would look like now, where she would be in ten years. But nothing. Blank . For the first time in her life, Layla couldn't predict or picture anything when it came to her own future.
            Layla almost cried as she heard the music outside. She gripped the neck of the bouquet, the music got louder. Got closer. Her time was ticking by. The two large doors were thrown open, the dark room was suddenly blinding,  illuminated with bright lights. Layla finally got a better view of the room. Of the white walls illuminated by lights. Some parts of the wall were deeper than the others, in the space between, lights had replaced the walls.
Layla could see some of her family members under her eyelashes. Like an army, they stormed into the room, dancing and waving colorful pieces of sparkly cloth as was tradition in Kurdish weddings. Amplifiers above her in the ceiling played a loud Kurdish song. A song Layla rememebered hearing thousands of times as a child, and a song she hated along with every other kurdish tradition being preformed. Layla cringed at the lyrics. The already horrible song was complimented by the jingling and rattling of all the golden jewelry the dancing crowd's women were wearing.
"A waste of gold on illiterate housewives," Layla thought.
As was tradition, the bride would be considered a useless whore if she looked at anywhere else but the floor. Most brides would break this rule, strutting their dress and make up as hard as they could. Showing off as much they could. But they would all be called whores behind their backs. Layla could hardly blame them though. Almost all brides in the Middle East were fifteen year old girls dropping out of school. Girls who were seen as curses for their families. Girls who could be called whores for simply standing next to a guy. Instead of ruining their name and waiting for their daughters to become victims of honor killings, almost all families would marry them off.
Layla was sad that it had become so common that most thirteen year old girls would to drop out of school and get married. And not one in a million families would hesitate to give them what they wanted.
Layla barely flinched for what she felt was a lifetime before finally the song changed to a slower and more romantic Arabic song. She saw from the crowd's feet that they parted, making a small pathway. Layla saw a pair of black oxfords slowly walk towards her.
She gulped.
This is the only way, Talya. I can do this, don't worry about me. I've always been able to figure myself out.
Her own words comforted her.
She rememebered the verse she wrote in her diary almost eight years ago. "Only I can give myself strength. Only I can save myself and only I can destroy myself. That's how little power these idiots have over me." If only she could go back and talk to her ten year old self. To tell her she was right but not in the way that she expected. To tell her that one day, she herself would choose the unimaginable. And to tell her that those ten year old words would help her cope with that unimaginable.
She saw his hand. And that was her que. She put her hand in his and got to her feet. Layla had always been called tall, but even with heels she was still shorter than him. She didn't get a chance to look at her soon to be husband.
They stood still hand in hand while their relatives danced Infront of them. Layla noticed the cameras and camera men recording. She knew they were recording both their wedding movie and giving the Arabian world a glimpse of the infamous Elmar wedding.
They stood still for a while. Finally the song changed to a different one, Ali offered his arm. Layla hesitatingly wrapped her arm around his. He walked both down the red carpet load out for them, dancing and screaming relatives guided either side of them. Ali lead Layla to the black Range Rover decorated in a white ribbon and a huge pink flower. Two chauffeurs got the door for both of them. Layla tried to keep her eyes away from everyone as she got into the passanger's seat. Fidgeting, she waited as Ali got into the driver's seat. They both waited as the cameras got footage of them both. Layla was relived when he began to drive off.
Although their relatives followed them in cars playing loud music, Ali himself played a calm tune on the radio. Layla was glad the venue was a long drive from the salon. The silence in the car only made her more nervous, made the knot in her stomach even tighter. Even then, Layla didn't dare to glance over at Ali. She had already lost everything for this marriage, She didn't want to ruin it.
"Are you nervous?" Ali broke their silence.
"Kind of." Layla answered shortly in the smallest voice she could muster but still clear enough for him to hear.
"You don't have to be." Ali put a hand on her thigh, providing her with strange comfort, "You're not alone, Laili. Everything will go according to our deal."
"Th-thank you." Layla answered and turned to gaze out the window. Ali pulled his hand away and focused on the road.
"What are you thinking of?" He asked after a long silence.
"What?"
"What are you thinking of?"
Layla was hesitant but she reliezed it was useless to hide it. "Talya."
"Talya?"
"I left her all alone with a guy she's only ever met once in a foreign country she's never been to."
Ali chuckled a little, "Talya is by far the feistiest girl I've ever met. I'm sure she can take care of herself."
Layla didn't have anything to say to that. He was right but that couldn't extinguish the worry she had in her. After all, Talya was one of the few people Layla really had in her life.
"You're not apart forever, you know. We can visit her whenever you want." Ali added.
Layla looked at him with a look of hopeful disbelief, "really?"
"Why not? I promised, didn't I?"
"I...I can't tell you how much this means to me."
"Layla, just because this isn't the most romantic marriage in the world, it doesn't mean it won't be. We just have a few rules, follow them and we'll get along just fine. Maybe be even better than fine."
Layla was overjoyed but also doubtful. He was giving much more than what she bargained for. It may have sounded like it was too good to be true for anyone else but not Layla. She had already seen how cruel this world, especially the Middle East could be. She wasn't going to trust anyone so easily.
"Wh-what'll happen after the wedding?" She asked.
"We'll stay at one of my bungalows for the night."
"One of your bungalows?"
"Yeah and?"
Layla felt stupid for saying that. 'Yeah and?' He was right. She was asking Ali Elmar, CEO of one of the biggest companies in the Middle East if he could afford a few bungalows?
"I'm sorry." She said.
"For what?"
"For what I just said." Layla answered. She cringed at her Kurdish accent. Ever since she was little, everyone would tell her that she sounded like a foreign westerner speaking Kurdish. Layla never minded it though, for she was always more comfortable speaking English. She always got compliments all throughout her childhood for her perfect, accent-less English.
"Don't worry about it." Ali replied in English. Layla was shocked by how flawless his English was. But she more than relieved. Layla was always uncomfortable speaking them.
"You can speak English?" She asked in English.
"Yeah. But I didn't expect you to be this surprised." Ali answered with a grin, "Although to be honest few people in Iraq can speak English though so I don't blame you."
"I can not express how relieved this makes me."
"I travel around a lot, I guess I picked it up."
Layla wasn't surprised. She rememebered seeing news headlines about him traveling around Dubai, Europe and America. "Why wouldn't he though? He's a twenty-six year old millionaire with nothing to do." Layla thought.
"I hope you don't mind me asking but you never told me what state we're gonna move to." Layla asked hesitatingly.
"Why would I mind? It's natural for you to want to know," Ali answered, "we're going to California., Los Angeles."
"L-Los Angeles? That's so amazing!" Layla couldn't hide her excitement. "When?"
"First thing tomorrow morning."
"T-tomorrow?"
"I thought you said you'd want to leave right away. I figured a teenage girl won't run away for nothing if she didn't want to leave this place so badly."
Layla bit her lip at that. She already expected him to forever use that as an insult against her but it still hurt when he did. A failed runaway attempt. It made Layla feel like a coward, a loser.
"I do but I thought it may take some time to get visas and-" Layla began.
"That's not your problem, Honey." Ali interrupted, "I already sorted everything out. My father's house there is ready for us. And I already enrolled you at university."
"University?"
"It was part of our promise, remember?" Ali said, "women may not be strong enough to keep their promises but a real man will always keep his word."
Layla immediately regretted every good thing she said. That was the biggest turn off so far for her. But Layla sighed, it wasn't impossible for someone to change. "It's only one sexist view. I can change his mind. No big deal." She thought to herself.
"I don't think gender-"
"Now, this is what we said," Ali stopped her, "I said if you follow the rules, we'll get along. And rule number one is don't ever argue."
Layla was astonished and rather disappointed. But she sighed and stopped her negative thoughts. She had to be grateful. At least she could go to university. And most importantly, she would never have to set foot in Iraq ever avain. She would be free of this prison and that was the entire point of her marriage and why she ran away in the first place, wasn't it? At least Talya was relatively safe in Greece. At least Ali could speak English and he respected her. Maybe this won't be perfect but it wasn't that bad, was it? But nevertheless, Layla stayed quiet the rest of the ride.
Ali held her hand tightly in his. Layla braced herself, knowing all too well how publicized this was gonna be. Ali must have noticed her anxiety because he gave her a comforting look. Layla found ease, peace and comfort in his brown eyes. Neither one of which she had seen in anybody for her entire life. Layla didn't know when they were supposed to enter, with Ali keeping her hand in his, Layla completely relied on him for this. After all, he himself knew how the wedding would go better than anyone else.
Ali knew the right que though, and Layla luckily didn't miss it either because the large oak doors they were standing Infront threw open and a wind of loud old ottoman music hurled at them. Hand in hand, Ali guided Layla inside. Walking on yet another red carpet, either side of them was illuminated with spark filled fireworks. All the guests were sitting down around round tables covered in white silk tablecloths and decorated with large glass vases of roses. Nobody was standing except the dancers performing a fabulous performance of ottoman dances Layla had seen on TV when she was younger. Even their outfits matched the old Turkish outfits of the sixteenth century.
Layla observed the roof, not one single inch of the ceiling was left without roses. All the red and white roses formed a canopy over them, the steps to their own wedding table was decked out with tulle curtains pulled back with yet another string of roses and poppies. Layla was praying that the flowers weren't entirely natural, she would be more or less killing and wasting an entire field of flowers for her wedding. But she knew she barely had any choice in how the wedding was going to go. Two little girls were carrying Layla's train.
One of the few things Layla got to choose in her own wedding was what dress those little girls would wear. Ali guided her up the steps. Even though the music was loud, Layla could make out what he said, "you look so beautiful." Layla only smiled in return. She doubted that he saw it though.
As Layla sat down, she caught glimpse of the little girls. She smiled, their cuteness and innocence in their cute little red princess dresses and small crystal tiaras Ali had allowed her to choose just warmed her heart. One of the little girls, the youngest one with short brown hair, was Layla's younger sister, Dunya, the world. She was Layla's world just as her name said. Even if she was only four years old, protecting her from the cruelty the Middle East inflicted on women was Layla's life long purpose.
The little girl gazed at her older sister with awe. Layla remembered herself when she was little, probably around or even around Dunya's age, and how she'd awe at brides. How she would admire and be envious of their beautiful dresses and tiaras. But now, Layla knew it wasn't their clothes or make up she was so impressed by when she was younger, but it was the idea that those brides were getting something she always wanted, independence.
Layla now laughed at how wrong and far off she was as a child. Being a bride to one of the richest men in Asia today, she reliezed middle eastern brides were only getting more tied down, their chains were only being tightened and passed off to another merciless capturer. Layla could even consider herself lucky, at least Ali was willing to give her some small freedom that one in ten million women in Iraq and developing Asian countries wouldn't get.
As muslims, the real wedding, the real agreement between them with a mullah present was already done during their khituba, their engagement party. And they had already signed the legal marriage documents at court a few days ago as it was accustomed. So in all legal and religious terms and by all accounts, they were already married. This was nothing more than a celebration party. But as was tradition in Iraqi marriages, they could only sleep together after this party, after they officially announced it to everyone. But some Iraqi couples would ignore this rule and not hold a wedding party, especially those who couldn't afford it. Instead they would just get married with a mullah and sign the documents at court and immediately become a family. It was a break with tradition but it wasn't something shunned today in Iraq.
As they were told, the little girls ran back to their parents, leaving no one standing except the large procession of dancers. Layla looked indifferently at the dancers dancing and twirling one on leg, wrapping and twirling their tulle veils around themselves to add grace to their preformance. Layla round their dance quite entertaining. It helped soothe her mind of the stress. In the middle of it, Layla heard Ali whisper in her ear. "Do you like it?"
Layla couldn't lie, "I love it. But where did you find them?"
Layla knew these dancers were common in Turkey and Jordan but as far as she knew, they weren't in Iraq especially because nobody would let their children, especially their daughters, become dancers without putting a bullet in their heads. There was nothing exotic, nothing revealing about their dance so Layla couldn't understand why people had such a taboo against it. But yet again, most Iraqis were Muslims, and in a religion were women were supposed to be conservative and modest, dancing Infront of many men was simply a language Iraqis couldn't speak.
"I hired them from Ankara." Ali answered.
"Wow....You um didn't have to." Layla said awkwardly.
"Nonsense. Anything for my beautiful wife." Ali said and straightened his posture.
Layla felt a blush come over her.
After the dancers concluded their dance, the song changed to a Kurdish song. Their Kurdish version of pop music. Songs they could dance the traditional Kurdish dances to. Layla was glad people got into dancing and some eyes were at least taken off of her. But much to her surprise, even with so many guests dancing, Ali had had the staff keep strict order. Even when they were dancing arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder in the traditional Kurdish halparke, no one made a mess. Everyone danced in their own places, forming a curved line around the venue.
Hours of the same dancing passed by. Layla and Ali barely talked during. Layla just sat quietly, clinging to the fabric of her dress.
Finally it was dinner time. The music slowed down to a calm piano tune. Everyone sat down at their own tables. Many waiters served every table with trays of fabulously decorated meats, rice and salads. Layla and Ali's own food was served to them as well but neither one of them touched it. Layla's stomach felt heavier than a boulder and she couldn't eat anything. Layla saw her own family approaching. Nervousness and anger ate away at her. But under the table, Layla felt Ali's warm hand wrap hers. He intertwined his fingers in hers, locking their hands. Layla knew this was supposed to comfort her, supposed to help her cope. Because now, only she and Ali knew what truly was going on.
Her family climbed up the steps, Layla's anger only got worse with every step they took. Layla's father was at the front. He was wearing a crisp black suit, his half greying hair was gelled up and styled. Layla lowered her eyes. She like most middle eastern girls had never been close with her father.
He had been Layla's knight in shinning armor in her early childhood. But later, he too entangled her in chains. Layla's mother, Fatima and her older sister, Jamila, followed her father. Layla's mother was a strict disciplinerian. She was strict and demanding and was a sole believer of almost all middle eastern ideas. But unlike almost all women in the Middle East, Layla's mother was educated. Both of her parents were. Layla's mother had attended university and had a well paid job as a pharmacist. Both of her parents were strong believers in education for everyone so Layla and all her siblings were sent to private schools where they learnt how to speak English, Arabic and French. They had more knowledge and had a taste for the modern world. Most children never attended or dropped out of school before high school, and those who didn't, the Iraqi education system was essentially propaganda with little accurate information.
While most children could barely speak their mother tongue, Layla and her family could speak several other languages. Fatima had long chestnut hair and big blue eyes which Layla had inherited. For a woman well into her middle years, Layla's mother was rather beautiful. And unlike almost all women, she wasn't wearing hijab. She was wearing traditional Kurdish clothes. But the fabric it was made of was very expensive and it was complimented with a large golden belt that covered her entire abdomen and two large gold necklaces, one made entirely of chains of golden coins. Layla's older sister, twenty-one year old Jamila, and her younger brother, Omar, who was merely sixteen followed her parents up the steps. Jamila was holding her own daughter, one year old Amal, in her arms. Jamila used to be beautiful. She had long dark hair simular to Layla's but hers was thick and shiny. She had large brown eyes and beautiful clear skin. 
When she was younger, Jamila would wear t-shirts and skinny denim jeans. But ever since she got married, her husband, Tariq, had forced her to wear dresses and traditional Kurdish clothes. Her brown hair was quickly ripped out by her husband or fell out. Her brown eyes lost their light and she began to look like an aging actress. But none of that got her any sympathy from her family. To them this was normal.
Omar was wearing a blue button down shirt with black jeans. Layla saw the pain and disappointment in his eyes. He wasn't looking at her at all while the rest of her family were radiant. She and Ali both stood up as was customery to show their respect.
"Sit, sit." Her father said.
Ali shook hands with her father. Amal twisted and turned in Jamila's arms.
"This wedding has been an extravagance," her mother said, "I can't imagine how much you must've spent on this."
Ali smiled politely, "You're embarrassing me. You only get married once, why not make it special? And you have raised a daughter that is worth the world, Mrs.Roni."
Ali gave Layla a quick smile. Layla's mother grinned in pride.
"I know she will be a good wife." Jamila said. "She's always been responsible, right, Omar?"
Omar looked up. He paused and looked at Layla. Finally he nodded and took his eyes off of his sister.
"But, Ali, I am still not too sure about your ideas of moving away. America is far..." her mother started.
"They are not ideas, Mrs.Roni. And with all due respect. Layla is now mine, where we live is now my decision." Ali said. Layla was shocked by the firmness in his voice. The way he talked left no room for anime else to argue. Even Layla's family looked shocked as well.
"You're right. She's now yours and your business." Her father added.
"Yes of course. But you know a mother's heart." Fatima said.
What a mother. Marrying her teenage daughter off to a stranger. Layla almost said that aloud.
"Well, we won't take up much more of your time." Her father said.
Ali shook hands with her father one last time before they left.
Traditionally, the second course of a wedding was cutting a large wedding cake and sometimes slow dancing. But Layla had begged Ali to skip that part and end the wedding early. He agreed. People began to leave one by one after they had reliezed the second course won't be happening.
Once most of the guests had left, Ali decided it was time for them to leave as well. Their exit wouldn't be nearly as grand as their entery. He, again hand in hand, lead her outside.
Near the door, Layla noticed her friend, Botsn and his family. She stopped in her tracks and locked her gaze at them. Ali turned around to see what was holding her.
"Do you want to talk to them?" Ali asked when he noticed her staring.
"Can I?" Layla asked, completely stunned.
She knew Ali was well aware of the rumors that surround Layla's friendship with Botan. Him just allowing her to talk him like that was suspicious to no end.
"Of course." He said, gesturing to them, "I'd love to meet them."
Layla nodded.
She almost ran to Botan and his family. She subconsciously threw her arms around Botan's neck. He hugged her back, Layla finally felt safe. Safe in her best friend's arms, someone she knew could and would protect her.
"You looked stunning, Laili," Botan said, pulling away but keeping her hands in his, "I'm..."
Botan turned to look at Ali who was standing with a grin on his face.
"I didn't expect this but I'm still happy for you." Botan continued, he offered Ali his hand, "congradulations, man. You've got the best girl in the world."
Ali smiled and shook his hand, "thank you."
"Layla, dear!"
Layla had comepletely forgotten about Botan's family. She turned around and saw his mother, Zhela with her arms outstretched towards Layla. Layla threw herself in her arms.
"I can't believe it. Our little Laili is all grown up." Zhela said, stroking Layla's veil. Layla turned and gave Botan's father, Robin, a quick hug as well.
"You better take good care of my darling, son." Zhela said to Ali.
"You can rest assured." Ali laughed.
"Yes. Laili has always been like a daughter to us." Robin added.
"Congradulations, Layla." Botan's young fiancé, Ayla, said politely.
"Thank you." Layla answered.
Two little girls pushed Botan aside and ran to Layla, both hugging her dress. The little girls were Dunya and Botan's five year old sister, Clara. Layla bent down and hugged them.
"Mama said you're leaving," Dunya said in Kurdish, "is it true?"
"Didi, what have I told you about speaking Kurdish?" Layla asked, stroking Dunya's short brown hair with a smile, "ask again but this time in English, okay?"
Dunya nodded and asked again.
"I'll come back, Didi. I'll still visit and we'll still play together." Layla answered.
"But who will braid my hair? And help me with homework?" Dunya asked with tears in her eyes.
"You still have Omar, ne vous?" Layla asked, incorporating a little bit of French into her words. To keep up Dunya's languages.
"Yes but he's always sad," Dunya said, "s'il vous plaît ne partez pas." Please don't go.
Layla was at her Absaloute end, she could've cried any second but she held strong for Dunya. "You still have Clara too. She'll take my place. She'll be your big sister until I come back, right Clara?"
Clara's tears were already running down her face. She nodded with a fake smile as she tried to wipe her tears away. Layla hugged Clara, "don't cry, Princess. Princesses don't cry, do they?"
"Why are you taking my sister away?" Dunya turned to Ali.
Ali just laughed and picked her up in his arms.
"Well come back and visit often, you're not losing her," he said, "and we'll bring you gifts."
He pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled at her, "tell you what? Maybe we'll even bring you back a baby niece, how's that?"
"A niece?" Dunya sniffed, "like Amal?"
"Yes, but with my daughter, you can do her hair and play with her, we won't mind the way Jamila does. But don't tell angone, that's our little secret."
Dunya smile and gave her pinky to Ali, "I pinky promise!"
"That's a good girl." Ali kissed her cheek and put her down. Dunya did look better, more hopeful.
"Will you have a baby the next time you come back?" Clara asked, fixing her big green eyes on Layla.
"We'll see, Clara. Maybe I will," Layla said, she took both Dunya and Clara in her arms, "but baby or not, you two will always be my princesses."
Layla got up, "look after each other." She said.
"Ali, would you mind if I talked to Layla alone?" Botan asked.
After a few moments of silence, Ali gestured them to go, nodding, "of course."
Botan guided Layla to a corner. Confusion, pain and frustration radiated off of Botan.
"What happend, Layla?" he immediately asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Stop playing dumb," Botan said, "you ran away, Layla! You ran away to be happy not to come back with a stranger who's eight years older than you as your fucking husband!"
"I can handle myself." Layla interrupted.
"Can you? Can you really?" Botan asked rhetorically.
Layla stayed silent. Lying to Botan was never easy. She knew any word she said would give her away.
"I know something is up, Laili, you don't have to say it. I just-I just wish I could help."
"have to go, Botan. But please rememeber that I'll miss you so much." Layla said.
Botan held her cold hands, "I'll miss you too. Laili, whatever you need, anything at all, I'll be by your side in just a few hours. For both you and Talya."
Layla's eyes filled up with tears. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her in a hug.
"Thank you, you monkey," she said, "I love you."
"I love you too, sis." He said.
             The bungalow was far into the countryside. Layla's hands grew so cold that she buried it in her dress. The car was warm but her anxiety drained all heat from Layla. Ali didn't say much, the two hour long ride was quiet. Layla just stared out the window at the stars that were very visible in the black sky. Finally, Layla saw lights in the distance. The lights grew and Layla's breath was taken. The bungalow was more of a mansion. A granite covered mansion surrounded by large green lawns. Two security guards were at the enterence. Layla saw a stone path leading to a parking spot under a leaf wrapped roof. Ali drove way faster inside and finally stopped the car. Layla's hand ripped through a layer of tulle in her dress. Running was no longer an option now. He got out first and got the door for her. Layla hesitated at first but got out. But much to her surprise, Ali picked her up bridal style and headed for the door. A security guard got the mansion door for him and all he carried her inside. The mansion was warm and dimly lit with candles. Ali carried Layla upstairs to a large bedroom. He set her down on the bed and leaned down on her. Layla wanted to push him away, fear took over her but she fought it. But as he brought his lips down on hers, his phone began to ring in his pocket. Ali got up and looked at the phone.
"I have to take this. My sister said she left out some clothes for you in the closet, you can get dressed if you want." He said to her.
Layla nodded and watched him leave the room. Relief filled Layla. Of course she knew she would have to give Ali her virgnity and give into intercourse with him like a wife. He made that quite clear in their deal. But that didn't make it any easier for her. Layla got up and looked in the closet. And her fear was only fueled. All that there was in there were two nightgowns.
"Iswear I could murder his sister right now." Layla mumbled to herself.
But Layla wasn't going to walk around in a corset and sky high heels. She had little choice but to wear what she had at hand. She picked out the red one. A very short red silk dress that was short enough to be considered a shirt rather than a dress which had spaghetti straps for sleeves. Layla carefully laid the wedding dress on a sofa. She washed the heavy layers of make up off and looked at herself in the mirror. The dress had a low cut neckline and an entirely open back. But that dress was better than the other nightgown option which was essentially made of tulle lingerie that would give her much less coverage. She tried to open the braids and unpin her hair. She was sure posited by how many crystal topped pins there were in her dress. Layla decided to get some water downstairs, seeing as Ali was making his call out in the garden. The bungalow was beautiful and cozy. The fireplace and coffee tables were decorated with precious antiques. The furniture looked new and undeniably expensive. Layla poured herself a glass of water from a jug she saw on the counter. The cold water washed down a small bit of the anxiety in her throat.
"You're so beautiful." Ali's voice whispered in Layla's ears.
Layla froze. She felt him put his hand on her hips, brushing her hair aside and rubbing his lips against her neck. Layla gripped the glass, he pulled her head to a side, giving himself better access to her neck. He pulled her to face him, pushing her against the counter. Layla looked up into his lustful eyes. He brushed his lips against hers, softly at first but then deepening their kiss. Layla, like almost every other Iraqi girl, had never had a boyfriend. She didn't know what to do, and with little choice, she gave Ali all control. Ali took her arms and wrapped them around his neck, positioning his own hands around her.
"Hold on." He instructed.
She did and he lifted her to the counter, going back to her lips. His hands ran up her collarbone, making her shiver. He broke their kiss and looked at her.
"Are you nervous?" He asked.
Layla lied, shaking her head but he didn't believe her.
"Just follow my lead," Ali murmered, "don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."
Layla sighed and nodded. And in one sweep, Ali again carried her back to the bedroom. And this time, he shut the door. Layla knew she was not going to leave this room intact. He gently set her down on the bed, not breaking his lips from hers. Layla could only pray that he could someday love or respect her half as much as he lusted for her. After a rumble of him undoing his belt and unbuttoning his shirt, he threw her dress to the floor. Layla had a full view of Ali's perfectly toned body. His deep chest and toned abdomen. Cold air hit her body along with the cruel reality that never left Layla's mind. He wrapped her legs around his waist and pinned her arms down.
"Don't be afraid, Layla." He reassured her again.
Finally, the moment Layla dreaded had arrived. Layla shut her eyes and buried her hands in the sheets. She wanted it to happen and be over fast. Instead of waiting in anxious pain for so long. And she didn't have long to wait. Layla failed to fight back a scream as she felt a stinging hard pain emerge in her abdomen.
"Shhh. It'll only hurt a little bit." Ali said.
He went in again, slowly this time. Layla's eyes filled up with tears. The pain was strong and it only fueled the emotional pain. Ali came down and cupped her face. Layla tried to find comfort in his eyes.
          Ali did whatever he had been craving to do for provably the entire night. Pleasure was simply out of question for Layla. All she felt was pain, regret, and pity for herself. After hours, Ali finally gave out. Layla took a breath of relief as he laid down next to her. She quickly reached for the bed sheets and covered herself. All she heard for a long time was Ali's heavy breaths.
"How do you feel?" Ali finally asked.
The question completely caught Layla off guard. What was she supposed to say?
"Different." She answered.
"Different?"
Layla shrugged in the dark.
"I still don't get why you don't want to go on a honeymoon." Ali said.
"We're already going to America. A honeymoon is only a waste of money."
Layla lied yet again. She had always wanted a beautiful honeymoon to a beach island. But that was only part of a dream she had lost. It was part of a dream that she would marry for love when she was ready. And that dream was forever lost in a ripple of time.
"Laili, from now and then, money is not your concern." Ali said.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, it's fine."
Ali's phone rang yet again. He sighed, getting up and put on his boxers.
"Go to sleep. We're leaving early in the morning ." Ali said as he left the room, taking the call.
Layla was rather glad to be left alone. She turned to her side, facing the window. The moon illuminated the gardens and seemingly endless countryside grasslands.
Oh lord, the great one above mercy on me, ease my pain. Oh great lord, I beg of you, Send the miracle I beg of you for, send me the dove.

Thank you for reading!!!!
Los amo a todos!
Until next time!
Byeeeee!