Wounded

Baby? I am not a baby.”
“No, I know. It’s…a term of endearment. It’s like ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’. It just means I love you.”
“If you say so, but it is strange, to call the woman you love as a baby. But then, Americans are strange.

Hands are the medium of expression, as eyes are the windows to the soul.

He does not just fill my body, my womanhood. He fills me. My heart, my soul. He fills the horrible emptiness that has gaped inside me all my life.

Her beauty has captured me, imprisoned my capacity for language. All I can do is pay homage to the temple of her body.

Hunter touches my cheek, kisses my chin. "I will always love you. You saved me, Rania."
I shake my head. "No, you have saved me,"
"We have saved each other then," he says.

I am not a woman, I am a thing. An object, a servant for their needs. Sex is a tool.

I am not Sabah. I am Rania. And I feel.”
“Good. No more Sabah. Only Rania.

I cry, because I know what I felt from him, even if I cannot and dare not allow it be named.

I do not know how he even managed to do what he did. He should not have been able to, but he did. He defended my home. Me. Himself. Us.

I feel like everyone who sees me knows what I am. As if it is written on my forehead in bold black ink. Perhaps it is written on my soul, now, and they can see it in my eyes, those windows to my soul.

I'm in battle mode. Shut down. Hard. I'm not Hunter anymore. I'm Lance Corporal Lee, USMC. Semper Fi, bitches.

I need your kisses to make the memories disappear.

I will always love you. You saved me, Rania.”
“No, you saved me.”
“We saved each other, then,

Nothing. It is nothing. Stop worrying about me."
"I can't stop worrying about you.

Some things are free, Rania. My love for you is free. All you have to do is take it. Accept it.

Such awful timing. There’s a dead man in the bathroom, and I’m trying not to kiss Rania. What the fuck is wrong with you, Hunter?

Then her eyes are fluttering open and she's looking into me. Not at me, but into me.

There is so much. I had no fucking clue I could feel this way, this much. It's like some deep well opened up inside me, and now all the love in all the world is being poured through me into her.

They took him, although he loved me, and would have made me his. I wanted to be his.
Someone's.
Anyone's.

What is the word for this kind of underwear? Boxings? Something like that? I cannot think of it.”
“Boxings? Oh, god, Rania. That’s funny. Boxers. They’re called boxers, sweetheart.

When he died, I think she did, too, it just took longer time for her body to realize her heart and mind were already dead.

You are not merely finding a physical release, you are coming into a new realm, coming into heaven, coming into him, becoming him.

You are so beautiful. Do you know that?”
“I know that men think – “
“Man. One man. Me. I’m all that matters. No one else can have you. You’re mine.