Emphemeral

Jordan’s fingers fumbled with the clasp. A hiss of pain escaped her lips as the last of the bandages came free. Her fists held in the anger and other feelings that filled Kulsum.

His brows furrowed as he carefully, painstakingly, wrapped the bandages, avoiding her skin as if it was fire. Not once did his gaze waver from his work. Jordan leaned closer, tying off the bandage. Warm breath fanned the crook of her neck. Her teeth clenched. Her pulse echoed in her ears. It’s because of the pain.

He straightened, still resolutely staring at her injured arm. “Better?”

Kulsum shook her hair back and lifted her arm, gingerly testing her motion. “Yeah, thank you.” She scrutinized him. Silky, dark bangs framed his rigid face. “Why won’t you look at me?”

His throat bobbed, mouth opened as if about to speak, but he just shook his head.

“Jordie, listen. You know I don’t blame you. I-”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted. Jordan met her gaze and she could see the restraint he was straining to keep—another heavy swallow. “If I look at you, I won’t look away. If I look at you-”

Her heart was plummeting. Was she dying? Is that why she couldn’t breathe? “Jordan.” Strangled whisper.

“I’ll want to hold you. I’ll want to love you, to keep you.”

“Stop.” Kulsum pushed herself off the counter, ducking under his arms.

“Kulsum!” he called. There was something in his voice, something she didn’t allow herself to think about. Kuslum grabbed her hoodie off the barstool in the kitchen and pulled it over her head. The framed marriage certificate tugged at her attention. Breathe. She tucked her hair under the hood, slipped into her shoes, and ran out the front door.

Oh, why couldn’t she breathe? Why was her heart racing? Why were her cheeks searing? Why? Why? Why?

She knew he wouldn’t follow her out. A cold, apathetic part of her rejoiced at Jordan’s inability to be free. The halls were full of people going about their evening business. Kulsum’s gaze was caught in the many couples’ most random actions: an arm slung around a partner, the loose hold on the other’s hand, flashing teeth as laughter overcame one, the silent conversations enabled by the powerful bonds.

Oh Mama, where are you, Kulsum thought miserably. She weaved in between groups of people, making her way to her comfort zone, the library.

Jordan cursed the heavy lump nestled in his throat. He cursed the stupid burn in his eyes. Most of all, he cursed himself for being such a damn idiot. She doesn’t like me. That was already clear. They were forced together, forced to become friends. Oh, how he wished they had killed him when they recaptured him.

He paced near the front door, tugging his fingers through his hair. Something was stabbing at his heart, straight and true. She doesn’t like me. The worst thing about it was the fact that it all made perfect sense. Why would she like anyone who had anything to do with her imprisonment? As soon as they escaped, they would split up, and go their separate ways.

The gleaming frame of their marriage certificate caught his eye. Breathe. God, oh God, what was he supposed to do? They still had two weeks until they could escape. The Commander would practically kill Kulsum by that time. She had already been injured far beyond any of the other intakes. Now it would be worse. For the first time in a long time, his tight hold on his emotions slipped. He flung out a hand and smacked the certificate to the floor. Glass shattered. Jordan put his headphones on, turned up his music to a deafening volume, and went to his training room. His trembling fingers fumbled with the hand wraps. If I could go back in time, I would never let this happen.

First punch. This is the Commander’s face I’m hitting, he told himself. Suddenly, it was easier than ever to punch over and over again, to give his mind to his task entirely. I. Hate. You. I. Hate. You. I. HATE. YOU.

Kulsum should’ve known better than to leave without a weapon. She should’ve known better than to let her emotions carry her beyond reason. She should’ve known better than to get captured in the first place.

Two floors down and her mind was still spinning, whirling as if it was a top. So fast that she couldn’t catch any of the individual thoughts.

A clammy hand grabbed her arm.

All her senses came flooding back.

They pushed her against the wall.

God, she screamed and fought and pleaded.

Laughs.

Stop. Please, stop.

Hands invading her body.

I beg you.

Her mind shut down. Waves crashed in her ears. Almost like home. She was above it all. A mere spectator.

“Dinner is ready,” the AI voice said pleasantly, tearing Jordan out of his punishing exercise. His music stopped. All his feelings came flooding back. The punching bag was slippery with the blood dripping down his arms. Red stained his hand wraps.

Jordan untangled them and threw them aside, welcoming the pain. He scrubbed his raw knuckles clean in the bathroom and bandaged them. Was Kulsum home yet? Shut up. Don’t think about her. His gaze caught on her Converse neatly lined by the door. Strange. Kulsum wasn’t… neat.

He plucked the two packages from the inbox and set them on the counter. Why was he looking at the stairs expecting her to come down? Jordan tore the aluminum foil open, dropping into his seat.

Fragrant noodles steamed in the container. Where is she? He devoured his food, chugging down glasses of water in between bites. Five minutes, then I’m going up, Jordan told himself.

His foot tapped restlessly on the floor. Four minutes. Three minutes. He gave up. Balancing her food in one hand and a glass of water in the other, he climbed up the stairs.

Kulsum’s room was open. She wasn’t there. Jordan frowned, knocking on the door frame awkwardly. No response. He placed the food and water on her dresser. The bathroom light was on. Something made him stay frozen. Everything was orderly placed, incredibly clean. What happened to her?

His body moved without his permission. Rap rap against the bathroom door

“Kulsum, you good?”

The door popped open, a horrible, forced smile on her face. Her drying hair was tied up in a messy bun, a spray bottle and rag in her hand. Her pajama pants dragged on the floor. “I’m just cleaning.”

His heart was dripping blood. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ Jordan cursed the stumbling in his sentence.

That terrible smile widened. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Thanks for bringing up my food.”

“Are you alright?”

Blink. For a second, Jordan saw past her mask. The pain killed him.

“I already told you I’m fine.”

He looked beyond her. A spot of dirt speckled the sink. She followed his gaze, wiping it with a fierce swipe. Kulsum’s chest heaved.

“Forget what happened earlier,” Jordan forced himself to say. “As your friend, I want to make you feel better.”

She let out a brittle laugh. “I told you I am fine.”

Jordan gently pulled the cleaning supplies out of her tight hold and set them on the counter. He pulled her into a hug. Kulsum stiffened. Then slowly, as if giving in, she pressed her face into his shoulder, her body trembling. He held her tight, a strange fury filling him. Whoever had caused her pain needed a punishment.

“I hate being weak,” Kulsum murmured, muffled by Jordan’s shoulder. Her voice halting, choked by unshed tears. She pulled away, redoing her bun, and avoiding his eyes. His breath caught in his throat.

“Who did this to you?” he whispered, restraint tightening his tone. A deep reddish-blue bruise marked her shoulder. Anger balled his fists.