Sworn Enemies, Secret Lovers

by Eve Rabi

“Megan?” His voice is gentle, and even though it’s dark, I feel his probing eyes on my face.

  “If … I …” Before I can stop it, a muffled sob escapes me. A few more follow and try as I might, I just can’t stop them. “I f …failed IVF three t …times.”

  He reaches over and places his hand gently on my shoulder. I drop my head to hide my pain. He reaches over and tilts my chin so that he can look at me. Gently, he cups my face with both his hands and strokes my cheeks with his thumbs. This show of tenderness brings on a deluge of tears.

  He reaches over and takes me in his arms. I should jerk away, maybe smile and wave that I’m okay, but I don’t. I can’t. I accept his embrace, and soon I’m sobbing in his arms, soaking his shirt with my tears.

  As I weep, he squeezes me to him, then plants light kisses on my hair. We sit like this until my sobs subside, and even then, he makes no attempt to release me, and I make no attempt to ease out of his embrace.

  I’m ashamed of my need to be held – guess it’s been a while. Nothing sexual, just warmth, affection, and tenderness, which I crave right now. It’s coming from the father of my baby; how wrong can that be?

  Minutes go by, and I find myself lying in his arms, my back to his accommodating chest. I bask in his masculine scent – the faint whiff of tobacco mingled with a musky but familiar aftershave – comforting.

  As our breathing synchronizes, his hand slowly slides to my belly. “This is a miracle, a gift to us,” he whispers. “Forget the circumstances, it’s still a miracle. I need you to love my baby. It means everything to me.”

  I nod several times and place my hand over his. He shuffles his strong hand over mine so that our fingers entwine. Snug in a tender but illicit embrace, we drift off to sleep.

  When I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself in Reed’s arms, reality bites – I’m married to a US Police Commissioner; Reed’s part of an Islamic militant group – what the fuck am I doing?

  Slowly, to avoid waking him, I ease out of his arms. Sitting a distance away from him, I watch the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps.

  Reed stirs, opens his eyes, and looks at me. He doesn’t say anything; he just holds my gaze. Then, he opens his arms to me.

  I stare at his opened arms and will myself to shake my head from side to side, to say something like, “No thanks, we shouldn’t be doing this. You just caught me at a weak moment. I’m okay. Really, I am,” then smile to show that I’m okay.

  I do nothing of that sort – I just melt into his arms.

  The way he holds me, the way he buries his face in my hair, the contented sigh he gives as he hugs me close, tells me that he needs this as much as I do. We fall asleep almost immediately.

  “Megan?”

  My eyes flicker open. Tiny streams of sunlight filter into the dungeon, telling me it’s morning. When I realize it’s Reed in my ear, I quickly shut my eyes and pretend I’m asleep.

  “Have to go back to the ward,” he whispers.

  Embarrassed that I could spend the night in his arms and like it, I keep my eyes shut and fake shallow, sleep-like breathing. After one last delightful cuddle and a light kiss on my forehead, he quietly extracts himself from me and creeps out of my cage.

  Spooning with my rapist.

  Blame it on the dark.

  Blame it on momentum.

  Blame anything.

  It happened.

  Though I try to still the static warning in my mind, I acknowledge the pivotal moment – a boundary has been crossed.

  Boundaries.

  ***

  9 p.m. I smooth down my hair for the umpteenth time, adjust my skirt, rinse out my mouth, and wait. When I hear the footsteps, I brace myself for his arrival, a smile on my face. But my smile dies when I see Shariff stride towards me, a frown on his face. Next to him walks Fazel, who appears to be complaining.

  “Megan, you can go back to the ward now,” Shariff says in a stiff voice. “But you have to behave from –”

  Back to the ward? But … but … what about my punishment? What about Reed? He’s going to be here any moment now. I’ll leave tomorrow, in the morning, after Reed leaves. Please.

  Just then Reed arrives with food and other stuff, a huge smile on his expectant face, his eyes shining. “Hey Megan!” he says, a look somewhere between knowing and bashful on his face.

  When he sees Shariff, his smile vanishes and a look of alarm crosses his face.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes darting between Shariff and myself.

  “Hey, Reed. I’m like … well, Shariff says I can go back, and I don’t have to do any more time here.” It’s a complaint for sure.

  “Oh.” His disappointment is visible.

  Shariff takes Reed’s elbow and leads him aside, and from the way Shariff points his index finger at Reed, I suspect Fazel has told him all about our spooning. Poor Reed.

  While they talk, I roll up my sheet, pack the magazines, and accept Fazel’s help, all the while aware that Reed is watching my every move.

  Before I leave the cage, I glance one last time at the mattress and remember last night – Reed’s warm embrace, the feather-light kiss on my forehead, the way our hands entwined, the way he breathed my name … “Me … gaaaan.”

  I sigh inwardly and smile to myself. Nice.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” I hear Reed say. “It was a mistake.”

  My smile vanishes as my head jerks to look at Reed.

  He catches my eye and sees my what-the-fuck look. He squeezes his eyes shut and scratches the back of his neck, making me believe that he’s sorry I heard that.

  Too late, a lump forms in my throat. Shrouded in disappointment and blinking rapidly to fight tears, I drag myself back to my room.

  It was a mistake.

  Those words … guess I expect him to say something like that when hauled over the coals.

  Probably would have said it myself. But still, it hurts like hell.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Although Reed and I never mention the night in the dungeon again, and even though he keeps his distance and has gone back to speaking three words at a time to me, it hovers like an Apache helicopter, eliciting knowing looks between us whenever we do communicate.

  In spite of my disappointment at his words to Shariff, my stern self-talk, my desire to toughen up, and my resolve to stop being so needy, I find myself drawn to him. I want to talk to him, know more about him, get to know him on a different level, spend time with him, have his baby. Well, I am having his baby already, but now, I want to have his child.

  Damn! Can’t believe I’m saying that. If I were in America, I’d probably have consecutive days of therapy. With a consultant therapist, too.

  But hey, I got this. I can control this. My vulnerability, it just has to be managed. That’s all. I can do it. I’m a US soldier, remember? Drink water, drive one. That’s how we do it.

  That boundary we smashed in the dungeon – I can rebuild it. And this time, I will fortify it with retaining blocks or some structural underpinning, or whatever the fuck it takes to fortify walls.

  And to my absolute amazement, I do just that. The underpinning, the retaining blocks – brilliant idea! I control my thoughts, manage my emotions, and just avoid him.

  In fact, I don’t even look at him.

  For twenty-four hours.

  I can’t help it; I crumble like a shortbread biscuit.

  We’re in the ward and both Reed and I are, as usual, avoiding each other, trying to be cool. Although, I know he sneaks looks at me, because the corner of my eyes have become pretty useful these days when it comes to Reed.

  “Leeanne,” I whisper, “ask him how he got that.” I drag my finger over my forehead. “Don’t tell him I’m asking.”

  “Okay,” she says in her conspirator’s voice and turns to Reed. “Reed, how did you get the scar?”

  He looks at her, then he looks past her at me.

  I quickly look away.

  “Who … who wants to
know?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

  Immediately, Leeanne points to me.

  “Leeanne!” I hiss. “What the fuck?!”

  He chuckles at my embarrassment. “Leeanne, tell nosey there, that if she wants to know more ‘bout me, she must ask me herself.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Leeanne, tell her not to roll her eyes,” he says as he folds his arms across his chest, a twinkle in his eyes.

  My face turns crimson.

  “Leeanne, tell her to stop blushing.”

  Embarrassed, I scurry away. “Aagghh! You guys!”

  “Leeanne, tell her not to give me the finger sign.”

  As I flee, Reed and Leeanne’s laughter rings in my ears.

  ***

  Reed knocks and enters my room.

  “Hey,” I say, surprised to see him in my room.

  “Eh, I, um …” He looks so sheepish and nervous, I have to smile. “Got you this.” He hands me a book.

  I look at the cover. Pregnancy and You. “Okay, will read it.”

  For a moment there is an uncomfortable silence. I guess both of us don’t really know how to react with each other after our pains to avoid one another.

  “Okay, good,” he finally says. “There’ll be a test soon.” That remark lightens the mood and we both smile.

  “Okay,” I say flipping through the book.

  “Failure is not an option.”

  I chuckle. “And if I pass? Will you let me go?”

  His smile disappears. “Wish I could, Megan. Really wish I could.”

  I wrinkle my nose.

  With a nod, he walks to the door.

  “What’s your relationship with Shariff?” I call out. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I know there’s a … a connection between the two of you.”

  He stops and turns around slowly. After an exasperated sigh, he says, “You and your questions …”

  With a smile, I flick my index finger, motioning him over. “Tell me.”

  He takes a few steps towards me. “He got me out of jail. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably still be there.”

  “Oh?”

  He nods. “Now his son needs me and I’ll be there for him. I owe him.”

  “Of course.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can demand your release, though.”

  “Um … okay. How does he feel about the baby?”

  He thinks for a moment before he answers. “Well, I’ve informed him what our … eh, my plans are. He’s okay with it. Doesn’t want me complicating things with you like fall …” He catches himself in time. “He’s okay with it.”

  Falling for me? You’re soooo busted, mister!

  I nod. “Well, good thing you told him it was a mistake, huh?”

  A look of discomfort flits across his face. “Sorry about that. I had to say something. I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay. I understand.” Like fucking hell I do. “I probably would have done … said the same thing.”

  The look on his face tells me he doesn’t believe me.

  “So, who’s gonna help you take care of the baby? I mean, how can you take care of this baby yourself? I need to know. I’m sorry, but I do need to know.”

  He lifts and drops his shoulders. “All babies come with a manual, don’t they? I can read.”

  I smile. “Seriously. You don’t seem capable, with your issues.”

  “I’ve done it twice before. Besides, I have family – meddling mother, domineering sister, bullying brothers ...”

  “O … kay.”

  “Interrogation over?”

  I jerk back and frown. “Interrogation? What interrogation?”

  With a smile that lights up his whole face, he points at the book. “Read it.”

  I nod.

  He turns and walks towards the door. Then he stops, turns around, and walks back to me. For a moment he stares at me. Then he cups my cheek with his hand, looks me in the eye, and in a low, meaningful voice says, “For the record … it wasn’t.”

  I look at him, raised eyebrows.

  “I’d do it again if I could.”

  Before I can respond, he removes his hand from my face and walks towards the door, a smile on his face. When he finally shuts the door behind him, my eyes are still glued to the closed door.

  I fall back onto my bed and grin at the ceiling.

  ***

  “Can you believe it? Wiped out just like that? How tragic is that?”

  “Christ! I don’t know how someone recovers from something like that,” Leeanne says. “He must hate the US with a passion.”

  “Yeah, I would. I know that for sure.”

  “Hey, Megan,” Leeanne says, peering at me. “You’re not falling for this guy, are you?”

  I jerk my head to look at her. “What kind of a question is that?”

  “Well, I’m just asking. I mean, you do realize he … you know … like, I’m wondering if the lines here are getting blurred? Maybe you are confused and not thinking clearly?”

  I glare at Leeanne. “That is ridiculous to even … even suggest that, Leeanne. How could you? I don’t believe you could even ask such a question. I mean …”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” she says, her eyes fixed on my face.

  “No, Leeanne,” I manage to bristle. “I’m not! Falling for him, that is. I’m just … just … just curious. Affected by all I’ve learned about him.”

  “Okay, cos nothing good can come of it. You’re vulnerable – it will end in heartache.”

  “Oh, puh-leeesse!”

  “You’re also married.”

  I force myself to feign indignation and hold her gaze.

  “Will you tell your husband ‘bout the baby?”

  Immediately, I look away. I shake my head from side to side, my shoulders hunched.

  “Why not?”

  “He won’t understand,” I whisper. “Nobody will.”

  “You just gonna have the baby, give it to Reed, and pretend it never happened? How you gonna live with yourself if you don’t tell your husband at least? I mean, you’re a POW. In Iraq. You’re living a worst-case scenario. If he really loves you, he will understand.”

  “See, that’s the thing – he’s not like that. Damien’s the assistant police commissioner. What he says goes. He’s used to giving orders, not accepting things because he has to. He’d probably see this as theft of … of his property and he’ll never get over it.”

  “Sounds like a bit of a bully.”

  I study the carpet in silence. “He’s never held me like that,” I murmur.

  “What? What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” I quickly say and fall silent, wishing Leeanne would just leave me alone and never mention Damien again.

  The moment she leaves, I close my eyes and place my hand over my stomach, the spot where Reed’s hand lay in the dungeon. Never before have I been enveloped with affection and tenderness like I was that night, and it’s a little seductive. A lot seductive. I long for it again.

  Damien has never been affectionate, not even when we dated. Now that I think of it, he’s downright cold and even distant. I’m a touchy-feely sort of person, and gravitate towards warmth and affection. Yet, I was fine with it. Until now. Suddenly, it’s not okay for him to be that way.

  Reed, in spite of everything, has a warmth and tenderness about him and I still think he would be a great dad. Damien, on the other hand – he would be … firm, a disciplinarian. Too much of an authoritarian, maybe. How different these two men are. Damien doesn’t really want kids, yet Reed will do anything to have this one.

  The more I think about Damien, the angrier I become, and I make a decision – I need to end my marriage the moment I get home. I don’t want to live a life devoid of warmth and affection anymore. One small taste of it and I’m hooked. It’s my cocaine. Well, my crack-cocaine because it’s not pure.

  Alone, I continue my pity party.

  Chapter Sixteen
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br />   Prisoner Darla Davies. In twenty-five words or fewer – around five feet nine, statuesque, poker-straight blonde hair that ends just above her Victorian waist, tanned legs from here to Timbuktu, piercing powder-blue peepers, and a walk that would make Naomi Campbell envious enough to want to throw another phone. How many words so far?

  Striking, sexy, confident and … full of crap. But let’s back up a bit.

  We’re in the ward when we first hear the commotion. At first I think it’s another drove of wounded insurgents after a shootout with coalition forces. It isn’t – it’s the new prisoner, Darla, who glides regally through the ward, as if she’s at a Hollywood red-carpet event, followed closely by three armed militants. Escorted, more like it.

  Everyone in the bunker stops what they’re doing and stares. What’s most noticeable about her – she does not appear afraid, just pissed off.

  Mesmerized by her striking beauty and aura, everybody in the ward, including Reed, clears a path for the third prisoner.

  Even more astounding is the sight of the men behind her – struggling with three extra-large leopard print and zebra striped Maine Pasco suitcases.

  Leeanne and I give each other the thumbs up. We long for company. Any change in routine, any argument, any deviation is most welcome. Relieves boredom.

  “Wonder if she speaks English?” Leeanne asks.

  “Oh, please don’t let her be Russian or German or someone who struggles with English!” I say.

  As expected, and still to our disappointment, we are kept away from the new fashionable fashionista. Even when she starts to work in the ward, Bitchface will not let us talk to her. Since the guards are watching, Leeanne and I stay away.

  “Hey!” I whisper when the first opportunity arises. “English?”

  “Get lost!” the prisoner snarls.

  Taken aback by her rudeness, I stare at her for a nanosecond before rushing off to Leeanne. “Psst! Leeanne!” I point to the prisoner. “Speaks English!”

  “English? As in cor blimey?”

  “No, no, no, fellow infidel. English, as in probably … American … New Yorker!”

  Leeanne gives two thumbs up.

  “She’s a rude bitch though,” I add.

  Leeanne puts down the tray she’s carrying and snakes her way to me, her eyes narrowing. “Got attitude, has she?”