Chapter Twelve
WHEN THE WORLD CRIMBLES
LYRIC
O ver a thousand reported dead and at least as many missing as authorities scramble to save as many people as possible from the rubble. The earthquake striking south of Marrakesh was at least 6.8 if not higher. The Red Crescent has been deployed, and recovering teams from neighboring countries are on the way. His Majesty King has tapped His Royal Highness, Prince Hassan Al Rasheed, to lead the rescue and recovery efforts.
My tummy drops, watching as person after person pulled from under collapsed buildings in the towns of Al Haouz and Taroudant. No one was spared. Historic landmarks all the way to Marrakesh were leveled by the earthquake.
I cover my throat, watching a little child’s limp body being pulled free, trying hard not to break down.
Despite the being found deep underground, his little fingers wiggle.
“Praise God,” the words pass brokenly from my lips. Covering my heart, I continue to watch, unable to drag myself away.
“You need to turn that off before Ayaan comes running in here and sees you upset. You’ve been glued to the tv all day.” Fi tells me, coming over to grab the remote.
“No,” I snatch it back. “I need to see what’s going on.” I tell her, turning down the volume in compromise. She’s right. I’ve been locked into the broadcast from the moment Hassan was called away fore day this morning.
“Why?” she screws me with a withering look. “These motherfuckers gave you one briefing, if you can even call it that. They have been locked away politicking and shit all day and have not once come to check on you after the news dropped. Being a consort is not a queen. It’s not anything other than waiting for him to come back and dick you down.”
Her words feel like slap after vicious slap of truth. The kind that only a true friend or sister will tell you. There is nothing I can say because she’s said everything I have been thinking in the weeks since Hassan forced me to marry him.
Gone is the powerhouse singer. The superstar has disappeared not only from the public, but from my very being. I only sing, play songs and lullabies for my son now. No accolades or achievements, no adoring fans or pleasing any crowds. I’m like a chubby little domesticated tabby, not even a fierce siamese like my cat back home with Onyx. No, I’m literally doing just as she says, waiting every day for Hassan to come back from his office or some meeting in another province to dick me down trying to get me pregnant.
“I don’t know what you want me to do. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m good and stuck. I have no power here. I’m locked in with a man who how controls every aspect of my life. Even being with Ayaan depends on me not making him mad, Fi.” Trying to make her understand is met with skepticism. Even I hear the defeated despondency in my tone.
“Girl, if you don’t get the fuck outta here with that bullshit. That man got you dickmatized. You can tell him no. You can make him honor your wishes. Yeah, he got you good with that whole kidnapping and lord of the manner thing, but let me learn you something like my granny used to say. You need to adapt and overcome because you’ve lost yourself.” She huffs, turning away. Frustration is palpable in her every movement.
“I get it and I’m sorry I got you caught up in my mess, bestie.” Her head swivels back to me. I see things too.
“How are things over at Fariq’s?” I ask in a gentle tone.
Shoulders slumping, she sits down on the settee facing opposite mine. “Terrible, horrible, no good.” Then she covers her face, staring down at the plush rug beneath our bare feet. “We made love.” The confession erupts like out of her like Mount Kilauea.
She looks up, her face flushed with so much emotion I’m not sure to respond.
“Okay, you made love?” I ask only because my friend calls sex many things but never this. I also know she’s not been with anyone since long before her transition.
“Yes,” the words come out on a hiccup and a sob.
Rushing over to her side, I hug her close. “Shh, hunnie. It’s okay. Was he mean? Are you okay?” My tummy is in knots. I know how vulnerable sex makes us and I know this is a big deal for Fi.
“He was amazing,” her voice strikes a high pitch on the last word.
“T-that’s good. That’s what we want, right?” I ask, trying to figure out why she’s so upset.
She nods even as her eyes fill with more tears. “Yeah, but —” her words trail off. Then she looks back. Leaning in close, she says in hushed tones. “I’ve been working with Prosper to get us out of here, but now I’m scared I’m involved with him and worse. I think he may really like me back.”
“Fi.” A deep baritone has us both turning to the entrance. The moment Fariq’s gaze lands on her, his face darkens, and he spears me with a menacing look. Then he does the unthinkable — steps into our royal suite.
Striding directly over to us like his life is not in peril with every step he takes inside of the suite of the prince and his royal consort Fariq doesn’t stop until him drops to his hunches in front of Fi.
“Why are you crying beautiful one?” His voice is rough as he rubs away a stray tear.
“We just saw a little boy — it was a boy, I think?” Her eyes search over to mine and I nod, helping with her smooth lie. “He was being pulled out of the rubble and he was alive. I just got overwhelmed, but Lyric was helping me through it.” She smiles over at me.
Turning to look at me, Fariq gives me a fleeting smile. I don’t think he will ever like me. It’s fine as long as he’s good to my friend.
“Shukran,” he murmurs to me. “Come, we must go. The prince will be here shortly, he’s had a very hard day. He will need his family.” Rising after offering the little heads up, he pulls Fi to her feet and they exit through the gardens as they often do.
Sitting back, I finally do as Fi suggested earlier and turn off the TV. I don’t want Hassan to see what he’s been immersed in all day.
I call for fresh tea and refreshments. It’s early evening, and the sun is going down. I already know he will have his Mahgrib, evening prayers before coming to the suite, so that gives me a little time to freshen up.
I hurry through my ablutions, bringing Ayaan with me to play a little after the attendant drops him off with a smile. This is rote for me now. Each evening I’m the very picture of domestication when my husband arrives. I can’t lie and say there is not a part of me that doesn’t actually love this life that has been forced on me.
Retirement was a very real dream, but if I’m being honest, that’s all it was. Maybe I was fooling myself. If I were never found out, I don’t know if I would have ever stopped going on tour. The draw of excitement and the drug of my fandom’s adoration is something I have always struggled not to let motivate me to do more than I should.
Taking the wine to market as part of my brand would have been a huge endeavor, but I would have loved it too much to stop. There is just something about making your own money, and being the queen of your destiny, that always hits a sweet spot for me. Especially after seeing how my mom was caught up in Rob’s snare of his controlling my dad’s money and using his position in the church to quell any dissent from us. Always reminding us of a woman’s place and the man as head of the household.
Hassan making me sit down is the only way this life would have come to pass. Though his methods are foul as fuck. I want and need my career. I want and need my family. I stop myself at the thought. When did I start thinking of him as such? Nemesis, lover even reluctant husband but family?
“Baba,” Ayaan squeals running on feet surer than they were a month ago over to his looming father.
“Ibni,” comes the soft chuckle as Hassan hugs him close. He has eyes only for Ayaan, yet I can see the shadows lurking in their depths. He pulls him close to his freshly shaven face and clean clothes he’s changed into before his prayers. Closing his eyes he holds Ayaan, seeming to take in all the love our son is more than happy to shower on him. That is until his mini-me gets antsy and starts to squirm away.
I watch as he puts him down to let him play.
“Are you hungry?” I ask moving to call for refreshments.
“No.” I pause at the sharp reply.
Pausing at the clipped severity in his voice, I turn back. “Tea?”
He shakes his head, his eyes flicking to me barely, then on a sigh he sits on one couch facing where Ayaan is busy placing blocks. Focusing completely on our son he seems intent on shutting me out.
Flummoxed, I stand feeling lost, my tummy knotting with worry and feeling more than a little silly, not sure if I should go to him or settle on the floor and play with Ayaan.
I’m terrible at this. Never had to cater to a man in my life. I’m the one people cater to. The person servants constantly inquire if I need anything. And never have I ever been as dismissive to any person as he being to me.
Head high, I go over to my son and sit on the floor crisscrossed opposite him. His smile is beatific. “Here, Mommy.” He hands me an armful of blocks before resuming his tower.
Again and again he builds the tower as high as he can until it falls. Each time I praise his ability. Yet it is his father he looks to for acknowledgment.
“Great job, little man.” Comes the deep baritone each time as he watches him intently. I can feel his eyes on us, but I don’t dare look up, fearing what I may see.
“Story?” Ayaan asks Hassan over a heavy yawn much later, after more play and songs.
“Yes.” Ayaan is already curling up beside him as I go to get the book he likes most, The People Who Could Fly, my sister, Song gifted to him when she came for the wedding.
“The Beautiful Girl Of The Moon Tower,” Hassan begins, telling the Black Folktale story. Ayaan almost manages to make it to the end of the tale before he drifts off to sleep.
“I’ll take him.” I offer, moving to take my baby.
“I have him,” Hassan says, sounding cold and aloof. I guess family time did nothing to ease the trauma of the events of the day or whatever has him acting so mean to me.
I don’t take it personally. The devastation he must have witnessed would have shaken even the toughest person. I’m still not over seeing that child pulled from the rubble.
I follow, giving him the space he seems to need. Ayaan seems to be his safe place. I understand why that isn’t me, though knowing that does nothing to soften the blow. I chalk it up to the little girl in me hoping for the family she deserved but was only served betrayal in the worse way.
“Good night, my love,” I whisper, leaning over Ayaan after Hassan says his goodnight and blessing over our son.
I place a soft kiss on his brow. Gazing down at his angelic face my heart squeezes thinking again of the child I saw earlier.
Entering the living room area, I’m once again at a loss about how to approach this man who seems to be akin to a lion with a thorn in his paw, only I am the thorn.
His gaze tracks me as though I’m prey after I make the decision to join him in the seating area instead of staying in our bedroom.I’ve never been a coward and I won’t start being one now.
I sit on the couch a little down from him, wishing not for the first time this palace had alcohol but knowing my anxiety would probably have me sliding into being a stone cold drunk if liquor was available.
“I’m so sorry about everything you’ve had to endure today,” I say to the closed off expression of my husband that greets me.
He remains stonily silent just regarding me with a coolness that is so unsettling I have to make myself stop from squirming like an ant under a magnifying glass being held by a malicious child under the sun.
“Okay,” I say rising. “I just wanted you to know I was here if you needed to talk about it.”
Stepping away from the glacial coldness of his response, I’m proud of myself for not completely collapsing from his awful reaction.
“Like you give a fuck.” The viciously snarled words stop me cold.
If I had the sense God gave a cricket, I’d take my ass right on out of here. Instead, I whirl around, forgetting for a moment how utterly I’m at his mercy.
“What?” Sputtering with confused indignation, I step back over to him. “I waited all day for word. Fi and I were glued to the TV for news updates. W-we saw a little boy not much older than Ayaan being pulled from the rubble.” The words come out on a sob.
Hot tears spill down my face. I cover my face. In that moment, I want nothing more than for his strong arms, to close around me, to hold me, letting know everything will be okay. I need him so much, but I realize in seconds there will be no comfort coming from him.
“Hm, your tears are touching, wife. Yet still, after seeing all that fucking tragedy of families being buried alive and children being orphaned, you still find the time to try to rip ours apart.” He may as well have slapped me. The viciousness of his word cut me like shards of glass.
“What are you talking about?” Stunned at his words, I dash the wetness from my face, turning to confront this braying beast towering over me with the wrath of hell in his eyes.
“You trying to leave me and take my son. I told you what would happen if I caught you.” His words are like sharp daggers of an icy blade slicing into me.
I back up, but he snatches me, drawing me tightly into his much larger form. His body pulsates with rage. His eyes are gold and jade ice cutting at every emotion he sees playing across my face.
“I don’t know what you talking about, Hassan.” I can tell the moment he realizes the untruth of my words — the same moment I recall something Fi said in the midst of our conversation earlier — something I didn’t respond to so caught up as I was with the turmoil I was seeing on television and the revelation about her knew situation with Fariq. She mentioned working with Prosper to get us out of here. She was conflicted because of the new relationship she was in.
Fuck my life.
Impossibly, his face hardens more a split second before a sinister smile spreads across his face. “I was going to kill that little busybody for meddling in my fucking business, but it seems she’s already ran afoul of The Takeda and got snatched up for her efforts. Your little friend won’t be able to help you leave me. She’ll be busy with her own training with the new head of the Tatsumoto Yakuza Clan.”
His hand shoots out, clasping my throat. Slowly he draws me up to my tiptoes, his hand steadily tightening as he forces me to face his tiger jade gaze.
“You will humble yourself. You will be the mother of my children. You will be the consort I require or I will break your fucking neck. The only reason I haven’t at this point is because you could be with child.”
He squeezes, letting me know just how serious he is. My eyes sting. My heart starts to race. My feet kick as my hand scrabble for purchase. Pinpricks dance behind my eyes as I reach for and fail to find purchase on the sleeves of his tunic. I can hear my heart in my ears. A heavy thud pounds in my head like a sluggish drum. Tears run in heavy streams down my face.
Just as I’m about to black out, he tosses me back onto the sofa. I bounce, roll, heaving huge gasps of air. I’m about the fall on the floor when powerful hands pull me back.
Dark spots dance in front of my blurry gaze before his face comes into focus. His mouth is a grim line.
“Don’t make me punish you, Lyric. I will make your life a living hell.” He promises.
“You already have.” I say, curling away from him, burying my face into the cushions, allowing the devastation to fully cover me as sobs wrack through me in vicious waves.