Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 255(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 255(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
I trace the pillars with my fingertips, gazing at the bright blue horizon painted at the top close to the ceiling.
I’m startled by the knock at my door. Turning, I see Zeke poking his head in.
“I should’ve been content with you giving me my tattoo,” I say with a huff before bouncing my butt on the bed.
Zeke smiles as he sits beside me. We don’t say anything for a long while as we stare at the mural.
“That was a good birthday,” I say, finally breaking the silence.
“It sure was.” Zeke chuckles.
I glare at him, gently shoving his shoulder. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. It’s not every day you get to go down on your soulmate.”
My hand moves to the delicate emblem on the gold chain. “Why’d he have to use this?”
Zeke sighs. “Because he knew you wouldn’t take it off. As long as that necklace was moving, so were you.”
“That’s idiotic because someone could’ve stolen it. It could've been moving while I lay dismembered in a ditch somewhere.”
“He probably would’ve embedded it under your skin, but he knew you’d kick his ass.” Zeke laughs. “But in all seriousness, Az, you’re pretty hard to kill, and he knew that. Did you ever have a security object as a kid?”
I glare at him. “Yes, a doll named Parvaneh.”
“You named your doll butterfly?”
“It’s also a name in Iran.”
“Anyways. Do you remember how Parvaneh made you feel?”
I smiled sadly. “Yes, I loved that thing. I had that doll until my early teens. When we had to leave, I sobbed, knowing I’d have to leave it behind.”
“Why’d you leave it?”
I glare at him as if he’s asked the most moronic thing in the world. Then I realize that most people don’t understand what happens with immigration and how no one wants to leave their home. People leave because they have to, not because they want to. “We ran in the middle of the night and trekked through a desert to get into Pakistan. We only packed essentials, and unfortunately, a doll took up room that could be used for food and clothes.”
Zeke nods. “Remember how you felt when you couldn’t take her?”
“Yes, I was pretty devastated. But the marks on my back forced me to get over it quickly.”
“I could cover them up for you.” Zeke’s hand automatically moves to my back, and he places it over my scars. “You’re not betraying anyone by being happy,”
I’ve thought about getting a tattoo over my lash marks—something to hide the humiliation and pain. But over the years, I’ve come to regard them as a reminder of how lucky I was. “No. I need them. If I cover them up, I’m covering the others—the ones who got the seventy-two lashes and were raped or murdered for not bending. I won’t erase them by erasing those marks.” I place my hand on his cheek, and his eyes shutter closed. “Go on about your security blanket analogy.”
“Comfort object,” Zeke corrects. “The point is that you, Azadeh Baran, are Lev’s comfort object. He needs to know you’re safe and sound so he can sleep at night. So give him a little grace because I’m fairly confident he could take his madness to much greater depths.”
Chapter 18
Zeke—Age 20
The Guys first apartment together
“This look all right?” Cyrus asked for the hundredth time as he ran out of his room.
He was wearing the most un-Cyrus-like suit. Black, sleek, and professional. I was in the Twilight Zone because Cyrus wore ripped jeans and hoodies so much that it was a uniform.
I burst out laughing. “Did you raid Lev’s closet?”
“Maybe. Mothers like this shit. It makes me appear like I’m not a loser and can take care of her daughter.”
“Where did you hear that?” I asked between bouts of laughter.
“The Shahs of Sunset,” Cyrus said, tugging his tie. “They said presentation is everything. I thought my parents were high-maintenance, but Persian parents are no joke. The dad on that show got upset about his kid ending up with a man who only made six figures.”
“Azadeh hates that show. She says it’s a farce. If I remember correctly, she told me those people know nothing about Iran or the Persian identity other than eating koobideh, owning a Persian cat, and showing off some handmade silk carpets.”
I brought my focus back to the mirror and brushed my unruly mop to the side. “Mrs. Baran isn’t like that. She let Azadeh visit us in juvie, remember? Not just any juvie either, one for the criminally insane.”
I still couldn’t believe Azadeh had visited me every Sunday for two years. I was sure Nasrin would’ve put a stop to that, but to my surprise, Azadeh had shown up with food like clockwork.
“Yeah, I guess that's true. You can’t be that stuck up if you let your teen daughter hang out with murderers and nutjobs.”