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I blink my eyes open with a groan; the sound makes me freeze as the memories of the last time I woke up bombard my mind. I try to sit up quickly, a cry falling from my lips as pain flares hotly at my left shoulder and radiates down my arm.
“Fuck!”
“Glad you’re awake,Azizam,” Tarl’s melodic voice sounds next to me, and I turn my head to see him sitting by my bedside, a single lamp illuminating his beautiful, yet tired and lined face. My entire body relaxes, my heartbeat slowing at seeing him there, his presence a soothing balm like it always is, regardless if he got us into this mess. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Where are we?” I ask croakily, looking around at the bare room. It’s mostly in darkness, so I can only make out the shapes of furniture; an ornate-looking cupboard and chest of drawers, but not much else seems to be here.
“At the house of an old friend of my family,” Tarl tells me, leaning forward in his chair, holding out a glass of clear water. “Drink this, then we need to get going. Aeron will be pissed if we keep him and the others waiting.”
My gaze snaps away from the water, glad I wasn’t holding the glass as I would have dropped it. “They’re here?” My voice is soft, my throat tight as my eyes burn with unshed tears.
“Not here,Koshgelam,” he sighs, pushing the glass up to my lips and not continuing until I’ve taken a sip. “But nearby.”
He makes me drink almost the whole glass, and as I shift, I wince at the pain in my shoulder, my arm in a sling, I assume, to help stop the jostling. I’m also no longer in Knox’s T-shirt, but some soft, flowing, high-waisted trousers, and a baggy, white shirt. Tarl helps me out of the bed, and we pause as I let the wave of agony wash over me. It’s then that my bladder makes its presence felt.
“I need a piss,” I state, my voice not as scratchy as it was before because of the water Tarl gave me. He chuckles, and I’m reminded of the time that feels like a lifetime ago now, when Jude held a jug in between my legs while I was tied to the St. Andrew’s cross. My cheeks heat, and I’m glad for the darkness which hides my blush.
“You say that so eloquently,Koshgelam,” he teases, leading me across the room and to the only door. We stop and he reaches out with his left hand, which has a large, white bandage wrapped around it.
“Shit, Tarl, your finger!” I exclaim, my eyes widening, stumbling into him as he uses the hand to open the door, not even wincing when his bandaged hand makes contact with the decorative knob.
“I’m okay,Aziz-e delam,” he whispers, looking down at me before he helps me out of the room.
My mind spins with all that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, at least, I think that it’s only been that long. It’s dark out, the hallway we’re in lit by lowlights. It’s unadorned, though there are arches over the doorways, and Tarl pauses before one, again using his injured hand to open it. We step inside, and I gasp at the beautiful bathroom before me. It’s covered in small, blue and white tiles and arched windows with screens, allowing a small amount of moonlight into the space adding to the soft lamps that dot the room.
“This is quite possibly the prettiest fucking bathroom I’ve ever seen,” I gush, taking in the low-sunken, hexagonal tub that takes up a large part of the floor. Tarl laughs softly again.
“I’ll make sure our future house has a traditional Persian bathroom,” he assures me with a grin, and my heart does a backflip at the thought of having a future house with these guys. “Here’s the toilet,Eshgham. I’ll help you.” We’ve come to where there’s a screened-off portion, and a gleaming white toilet awaits. He lets go of me, stepping in front of me and pulling my trousers down.
“I swear you boys are into golden showers,” I mumble, sitting down on the seat and letting go all while he stands there watching me. I giggle, and his smile is bright in the low light.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking that it takes some couples years to be able to pee in front of each other, and we seem to have gotten there real quick.”
He chuckles. “I think we’re into pretty much everything about you,Aziz-e delam,” he confesses softly, and sitting on the fucking toilet, my pants around my ankles, my heart melts a little more for this man.
He helps me up, although I try to tell him I’m more than capable of standing up as it’s my shoulder that’s fucked and not my legs. He just growls, so with a sigh, I let him help, and after I wash up, we leave the beautiful bathroom behind, traveling down the quiet hallway once more.
“Where is everyone?” I ask in a low whisper, looking into archways that lead to dark rooms, not a sign of life to be found. There’s a peaceful serenity about the place, something that has my body relaxing and a small part of me wishing that we could stay here for a little while longer.
“It’s not safe for you to know who they are, and this is more of a place that people can pass through anyway, no one lives here permanently, not anymore,” he tells me, and I look up to see his brows dipped, his jaw clenched so tightly that I pull us up short, just so I can reach out with my hand and stroke the frown away. He closes his eyes for a moment, his face wreathed in shadows, but rather than make him look scary like the shadowed monsters in my nightmares, he’s all the more beautiful for the soft darkness.
“Who used to live here, Tarl?” My heart gives a painful jolt as a suspicion forms in my mind, tickling the edges like an itch that won’t go away.
“My family used to own it.” My breath catches, the beauty of Tarl’s old home seeming so sad, covered in ghosts. “It wasn’t our chief residence, and the authorities never knew about it, which is why it’s still standing at all. But we used to spend some time here with family friends and what I now know were other members of the resistance.”
“The resistance?” I ask, wanting to know more about his past since I came face-to-face with it hours ago.
He heaves a great sigh. “I told you before about the people who were—are—unhappy with the way they ran Iran. Like most countries, there is an element of corruption in the government, however, here, no one holds them accountable, and there are rumors that the group that took us, for example, are a branch of the government with their full backing and support.” My mind spins with what he’s telling me. I mean, it makes sense in our case, otherwise, how the fuck would they have been able to smuggle two unconscious people out of America if it wasn’t a diplomatic plane? “My parents were part of a resistance group who were trying to fight for more equal rights for the citizens of Iran, not just between men and women, but with other groups who are marginalized. But anyone who is too outspoken is quickly squashed, especially if they are female.” His face looks haunted, and I know, even without all the details, that he’s talking about his mother and sisters. “The fight goes on today,Aziz-e delam, with Iranians of all genders protesting for equal rights, yet a woman can still be imprisoned by morality police for wearing the hijab that has been forced upon her incorrectly, and many have died in prison for that reason or less.”
“Tarl…” My voice is thick as I watch tears slide down his face, landing on my hand and sparkling in the low light from the lamps.
“I am proud of my parents,Eshgham, but sometimes it feels like their sacrifice was in vain because not much has changed since they passed into the next life.” His shoulders heave, and I can see the torture in his beautiful, mismatched eyes, the yearning for a better world. I know that desire all too well.
“There are monsters everywhere,JigarTalâ,” I say softly, not looking away from his anguish and showing him my own in this peaceful place. “And all we can do is keep fighting, getting rid of them one by one, until one day there won’t be any left.”
“I worry that day will never come,Azizam. That even our children’s children will have to fight for peace,” he breathes out, his words swirling around us in the dark.
