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Its wings bowed and shivered, no longer needed in the sky.
I jerked out of my depressing thoughts as the engines snarled in reverse, slowing our race down the runway.
Roger didn’t speak to me as we taxied to the gate.
He stayed quiet while he grabbed his backpack, raised an eyebrow, and waited for me to slip out of our row before following me into the busy terminal.
I didn’t wear handcuffs, but I was shackled to him in so many ways.
He was the only thing keeping me safe now I was home, and my instincts leaped into overdrive.
Waiting in line at border control, I watched him gather all the paperwork on me, preparing to insert me back into Turkey.
I felt like a wayward child. Like a pet being hand delivered to its abusive owner.
“I need some money,” I muttered as we shuffled forward, next in line.
“I have a care package to give you when we’ve left airside.” He nodded at the immigration officer as we were beckoned forward.
My heart pounded as I went with him, my gaze darting around the cavernous hall, searching, fearing, waiting.
Would Cem grab me the moment I stepped out of the airport?
Would he wait until I was in the city?
How would he do it?
Does he even know I’ve landed?
Stupid question.
Of course, he knew.
He knew my flight number.
He probably had the whole airport surrounded.
I didn’t watch as the border agent studied my temporary travel documents and stamped Roger’s crisp, envy-inducing Australian passport. The sounds of my mother tongue flowed from three agents chatting in a booth down the line.
All around me, English threaded with Turkish, and a part of me that’d missed the rhythm and flow of my own tongue found a smidgen of happiness.
English was now the language I dreamed in, counted in, lived in. It’d become the tongue I cursed and conversed in, but Turkish would always be the language of my heart.
I suddenly wished I’d taught Neri more.
I wished I’d shared every part of myself with her so she could whisper into the darkness, and I might hear her, feel her, and continue loving her even so far away.
“Come on,” Roger commanded as heavy stamps pounded on our documents, and we were cleared for entry. He nodded at the agent, scooped everything up, then guided me forward.
Each step, my hackles rose.
Pain from my injuries was muted beneath my fear.
Each distance we travelled, I grew tense and jumpy and more sensitive than I’d been in years. My skin buzzed. The hair on the back of my neck rose. My entire body hummed to a different frequency, just waiting to be shot.
Roger went to baggage reclaim. We stood silently side by side while he waited for a small silver suitcase to appear. Once he’d snagged it, he marched toward the final set of doors. The final frontier between me staying alive and dying.
I slammed on the brakes, pain in my hip and ribs flaring.
