Chapter 11 #3
Samar stood there, silent. The man kept ranting, kept abusing, and his voice went fainter and fainter, until it was gone.
The silence of the night fell here too, the crickets suddenly too shrill.
Amaal realised her own body was heated, her heart racing, her spine tingling.
She stood still, waiting for Samar to come back inside.
He did not come. He leaned back on the wall, one leg folding to rest his shoe on the wall.
His head fell back, his eyes closed, and he mimed a cigarette between his right hand fingers.
He brought them to his lips, took a puff, then released.
His chest rose and fell in quick succession, then relaxed.
A sigh escaped his lips in the mime of smoke.
Amaal felt like a voyeur again, seeing something she was not supposed to see, being a part of something so intimate. But she couldn’t help it.
He took two more mime puffs, then straightened. His eyes popped open, and he again leaned back on the wall, crossing his arms across his chest, staring into the dark distance of the road.
She stood there with him, across the wall. Minutes passed. He did not move. Just kept staring at the road.
Finally, her patience wore out, and she stepped around the gate and back out. His head turned. Dark eyes met hers, and she gasped. They were red in rage, yes, but there were finger marks on his throat.
“What did he do!” She sprinted to him and grasped the side of his neck without thinking. He pulled it out of her hold, stepping away from her. It burned, but she stood her ground.
His face bent, close to her face, his expression menacing. “Do not listen to me again, and I will personally fire you.”
It wasn’t funny, it wasn’t cute, it wasn’t even hot. It was terrifying. Because he meant it.
“Sa…”
He straightened and turned his back to her, silent again. Dismissive.
“Who was he?”
No answer.
“Samar!”
No answer.
“He tried to attack me, I should know!”
“Nobody.”
That’s exactly what she was waiting for. Amaal marched around to him and glared him up — “Wasim Bakr. Awaami’s Youth Leader. Don’t lie to me again.”
He glanced over head, into thin air again.
“What did he say Atharva did?”
No answer.
“If you don’t tell me, I will ask Atharva.”
That threat did it. Samar’s eyes returned to her, this time angrier than before.
“I won’t tell him that th… this happened. He asked you to watch over me, I will not say anything to put you down like that.”
“Atharva bought six independent winners.”
Amaal’s eyes widened, the cogs in her mind whirring.
Simple touch to the finishing line. And he must have bought them before Awaami could start shopping.
Maybe even before the results were declared.
That is why Samar knew this morning that they weren’t touching majority.
Because Atharva already knew. Because they had spent the entire day doing this. Genius.
“That’s why Awaami is raging like a nailed bull?” She felt laughter bubble out of her nose.
“Now go inside.”
“You also come inside. It’s late, and not safe.”
He gaped at her, and then an amused scoff broke free from his lips.
“Sure, you can do that thing with somebody’s neck,” she gestured to the path Wasim had run down. “But there are wild animals too. And you don’t have a clock.”
“Clock?”
“That’s a gun.”
The penny dropped, and he broke into a low laugh. His chest, his shoulders, his face, his neck, they all vibrated. His eyes were squinted into the softest version of themselves, his head thrown back. No sound, just vibrations. Amaal filled her eyes with that sight.
A bright headlight beamed over his face and he sobered.
She observed how he stepped in front of her just as the bike stuttered to a stop in front of them.
The man in the helmet held out a brown paper bag.
Samar reached inside his pocket and paid him in a few fifties.
The biker took a U-turn and went back the way he had come.
“Is that a Clock?” She asked, trying to revive the laughter that had died prematurely.
“Glock,” he corrected, turning around and holding out the paper bag to her. She took it warily, wondering what she would find in there. It didn’t feel like a gun. The package was simple, stapled. She tore the paper top off and out rolled a small bottle. A spray bottle. A pepper spray bottle.
Her mouth dropped open. She held it up — “What is this?”
“Your prize.”
When she looked up at him, his mouth was smirking. She knocked the cap off and jerked the bottle up to spray him. He did not even blink, forget flinching.
“Are you mad? I could have sprayed you!” She checked the smell, sneezing, closing the cap before it did any harm.
“Stop playing with it and keep it in your purse.”
“Do you need my pain relief spray?”
“No.”
“You sprayed it on your back that day.”
“Hmm.”
She closed her eyes — “Samar, I could have gone on without hearing this Hmm today.”
“Get inside now,” he tipped his chin towards the gate.
“You also,” she tipped her chin just like his. “Or have you ordered more prizes for others?”
He stared at her a second longer than usual, and in that second, she hated how she thought about another girl from this lot getting a pepper spray from him. She also thought about how she would steal it from her if she did.
But then he locked his hands behind his back and gestured for her to lead the way with his eyes. She quietly turned and led the way inside.