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Thailand is a dream. Maybe Lu will want to visit. Maybe, she’ll be part of my dreams. To make that a reality, I have to take the online classes I’ve been slacking on.
Hours later, it’s past midnight. I should go to bed, but as usual, I can’t sleep.
Besides Lu being a constant in my life and in this apartment, it’s the past that often snaps me back into the dark like a slingshot.
Occasionally, when I wake up, I still think I’m back in Yemen. I feel the heat against my skin. Hear the crunching of the rubble under my boots. Hear the hollow gunshots in the distance. Smell the smoke and sweat.
It’s too quiet and dark in my room at night. Even with the open door, I can’t hear any sounds from Lu’s room. And when she’s not tangible, I feel even more lost.
Restless, I grab my cigarette pack and walk out into the living room.
There’s a sliver of light coming from under Lu’s door, music trickling from behind it. I have the urge to go in there and watch her paint.
Instead, I walk out onto the terrace, lean on the railing, and stare at the night skyline while I twist a cigarette between my fingers.
During moments like this, I want a cigarette badly. Not the actual nicotine—I cut that out quickly. I want to feel the sharp smoke scorching my lungs, close my eyes, and remember the dusty silence pierced with occasional gunshots. Weirdly, no matter how much you run from your past and the horrible memories, they are part of who you are and the thread that connects to your present.
My memories are tame, only occasionally showing claws, hitting a bit too hard on certain nights.
It’s always the same scene. A shot punches the air, echoing with the thud of my heart. The target in the scope falls silently. That’s the perk of a long-distance shot—your weapon has a sound, but death is quiet, like a silent movie. Those two sounds are forever etched into my mind—the shot and the thud of my heart.
I stare at the East River drowning in darkness, sprinkled with the shiny reflections of the Manhattan lights.
I listen to the city noise, the distant sirens and the honking.
I look at the lit-up windows and try to figure out what kind of lives people live in them, what they do, what makes them happy, if theyarehappy.
I like crowds and traffic, bright signs and flashy displays. Also, the ocean, fairs, and concerts. They help drown out the memories of loneliness.
I bring the cigarette to my nose and inhale.
A very distant memory flashes in my mind. One guy in boot camp holding me down to the ground, another fisting my hair, yanking my head up, the third one shoving a cigarette in my mouth and making me chew it as he hisses, “Show us how tough you are, orphan pussy.”
That was before I learned how to fight back.
I stick the cigarette back in the pack. This used to be a painkiller, but recently, I don’t need it. Lu laces every minute of my life with her voice and laughter and blue eyes. Just thinking about her brings a smile to my lips. It’s Pavlov’s reflex. Just like Pushkin, I’d let her do anything she wants to me, as long as I get to be by her side.
I finally step back into the living room and hear a noise coming from Lu’s room. She’s talking to someone, and I tiptoe in the dark toward her door.
“You have beautiful eyes,” she says in a low seductive voice.
I turn around, searching in the dark for Pushkin, who lies by the window. No, she’s not talking to him.
“Do you like what you see?” Her voice behind the door is even lower this time, and my heart tightens with jealousy.
Who is he, Lu?
No way. She doesn’t have a guy. Not that I know of.
I press my forehead to her door and close my eyes, trying to suppress the slight ache in my heart. I want to go back to the terrace to have that damn cigarette.
“This is all for you. All of me,” she says barely audibly.
Lu, baby, there can’t be anyone else but me.
I can’t handle the thought, and I feel bad for eavesdropping, so I’m about to step back when—
I hear my name.
