“I love you.“

The tingle deep in my body when I look into her eyes has never stopped over the past few months. Pure happiness floods over everything I should be worried about. At least for a tiny moment, because the worries always come back to the surface. They have to, otherwise it would be dangerous.

I look at the clock. We probably have another hour, so we should get moving in thirty minutes, maybe twenty to be safe. That’s a lot of time. And it’s almost nothing.

She strokes my hair with her hands and I put mine on her waist in return, gently rubbing the area around her bellybutton. The blanket on our bodies forms a safe and warm cocoon around us. Still, the outside world manages to sneak up on us in the form of my thoughts.

“It will be settled after today. I will marry your brother.”

“Shhhh.”

She never wants to talk about it, pretending to live in a perfect world where our little moments together are all that matters. I envy her for that. And it drives me crazy.

It must have shown on my face, because she gives in with a sigh, still smiling, unwilling to give up her happiness.

“At least he’s my brother. That’s a good thing. We won’t lose each other. Ever.”

She comes closer and whispers with a grin: “It’s our free pass.”

It’s not, and she knows it.

“Doesn’t it bother you that you have to share me with him?”

“Maybe I care a little about sharing your body.” She brushes her fingers teasingly over my breastbone. “But I know I’ll never have to share your passion.”

That last sentence is so sweet, and she is so sure that everything will be fine, that I almost tear up. Maybe she’s right. The important thing is that I’ll never lose her. And with this marriage, she will be in my life forever.

My body is shaken by my love for her and I whisper it to her and she whispers it back.

Then someone opens the door. Our heads shoot into the air and all I can think is: It’s too soon.

I love you.

The words still linger in the air when the shouting starts. As people flood into the room, I lose her touch. They push themselves between us, all familiar faces but none of them look me in the eye. There is my father, flailing his arms. Her father, screaming louder than anyone else. Her brother who is supposed to become my fiancé today. Mothers, siblings, other relatives, more than should fit into this tiny bedroom.

The tears of joy I almost cried in her arms suddenly come to light as tears of dismay. They flow all over my face, blinding me. I can’t see the room or the people, and I can only imagine her amidst the chaos.

Someone hands me a blanket and wraps me in it when I don’t do anything with it. It’s only then that I realise how naked I am. I didn’t feel naked before. Not with her.

I can’t care that my breasts brush against the coarse fibres of the blanket. The other blanket, the cuddly, soft one, is wrapped around her body. I still feel its touch on my back and thighs, even more than the memory of her hands on my body. Suddenly she’s infinitely far away.

Will I ever touch her again?

That’s the last thought I can form before a whirlwind of fear hits me. Mortal fear. It clenches my waist and squeezes my organs so tightly that I am sure to throw up. But my gastric juice stays where it is, boiling in my stomach. Everything is spinning around me, faster and faster, and my chest gets beaten with what feels like thousands of tiny fists. I try to protect myself by wrapping my arms around my body, almost losing the blanket again. It doesn’t work. The whirlwind is coming from within; its centre is right at my core.

I hear voices, but I can’t understand them. Her voice is there too, almost louder than all the others. Some of her words reach my brain. They sound agitated, desperate, and they don’t make any sense. They still don’t when my fear finally lets through entire sentences.

“She forced me. She’s a pervert. I never wanted this.”

Everything goes dark and all I feel is astonishment as my legs collapse under me.

The darkness is still there when I open my eyes. My hands grab something soft that I am lying on and a scratchy blanket covering my body. I’m not naked anymore, which fills me with both relief and shame, because it means someone else has dressed me.

I almost smile as I realise how surreal this feeling is, when I should be thinking about how I can’t see anything. The surreality helps me to stay calm.

My hand brushes over the soft, slightly mouldy smelling thing and then reaches a cold, rough wall. I have to get up on wobbly knees in the process, but finally I find a switch. Nothing happens for a long breath, then there’s light and I stay blind until my eyes get used to it and I can take in my surroundings. There is a mattress on a dusty floor, and a pile of boxes next to it. It is a basement room, no doubt, but it’s not one of my family’s. Am I in a relative’s basement? Or even hers?

Suddenly, her face fills my mind and slowly, what has happened sinks in. 

We are over.

I won’t marry her brother.

There is no happy ending.

If I’m lucky, they send me far away to marry someone who couldn’t get a normal wife, or they even let me work in the countryside under the strict guard of a distant relative. If I’m not so lucky, they turn me in.  I can’t think further of what might happen then.

Do I regret what I have done? Wasn’t the passion, the feeling of freedom and the honest, pure love between her and me worth all the consequences?

Only I’m not sure about the honesty and purity anymore.

I love you.

She said it too. I know she did.

She said all the other things too. The things that could save her and condemn me even more. I can still sense the joy those three words used to fill me with, but now they taste bitter. A little film is running in my head, again and again starting with the door of her bedroom bursting open. I keep seeing her grab the blanket that covered our nest of love and cover herself with it, leaving me naked in the middle of our screaming families. The tears come back and also the whirlwind in my stomach. There’s fear, shame, grief. I fall back onto the mattress and imagine her lying next to me; in a world where she hasn’t made herself the victim and me the pervert.

A key turns in the door. Someone is coming to tell me what will happen to me. They probably won’t tell me, what’s going to happen to her.

I love you.

Did she really say it? Did I ever mean it? Does it matter anymore?

---

It has been a long time since my last story post. Now I’m determined to finish this project in my own time. I  have finished this story that I started months ago – definitely the most difficult yet – and I want to keep going. Not on a every week, I can’t keep up with that, but every second week. Let’s see how this turns out! I’m very excited for Letter E which will be more hopeful again and probably one of my favourite stories.

ALPHABET SUPERSET WEEK 3

A storm rages through my life. It’s coming from within, swirling around my organs, catapulting fire through my veins. And it follows me everywhere I go, even now as I enter the hall next to my parents and sit down in the same row as every week.

We are greeted by the other people already sitting there. Mum does most of the talking, but there are always some questions directed at me.

“You look so pale. Are you eating enough?”

“Would you like to help with the cake buffet next week?”

“Are they really hosting a drag show at your school?”

I try not to show anything of the storm while I answer.

“Mum makes sure of that.”

“Sorry, I can’t. The day after I have this big maths test.”

“What? No, not at all. The drama club is doing a variation of As You Like It, so they are playing with gender roles.”

Of course, the last question is the most interesting for everyone. It is for me too. I stood in front of the announcement poster for ages. But while I was intrigued, everyone around me stops and stares at me in shock.

“How awful!”

“Those poor children!”

“Why can’t they choose something more traditional?”

My heart begins to beat faster. I feel the need to react, but I don’t know how.

“It’s Shakespeare,” I say mechanically. No one seems to hear me.

“It’s so obvious that they are targeting children.”

“Those teachers should get fired immediately.”

“You are right. How can our children grow up to be healthy adults if they are surrounded by this … chaos?”

That’s Dad. His words sting in my chest, but I would never admit that. I’m not even sure why they’re bothering me.

Before I can think about it, a new person joins the group. Every other voice except His falls silent in an instant. I try to avoid His gaze and the same time don’t dare to look past Him.

“There’s no need to panic,” He says. “We can fight this if you are strong. But these fragile children are depending on you, so each one of you” – He glares into every face that surrounds Him – “must step up and fight for them. The enemies are growing by the minute.”

Then He leaves us alone again. They all look after Him in awe before settling down on their seats. My heart pounds, shaken by the storm. I hope it will survive the next hour.

There’s singing and praying, which is mostly okay and sometimes nice, and then there’s the sermon. He takes the microphone and speaks. They always talk about how calming His voice is. Maybe I would agree if I felt differently.

“I have just heard how frightened some of you are because of what is happening in our own neighbourhood. Let me give you hope.”

Mum lets out a sigh, as if this little statement had lifted a huge weight from her chest. I don’t really want to listen, but of course I do.

“There are people who try to scare you by telling you how complex the world is. How it has so many dimensions you’ll never be able to grasp. How it’s different from everything you’ve ever learned; and how you’re wrong to believe and act upon the values you’ve known all your life. These people want complexity in their lives so badly that they havestopped believing in the simplicity that God has given us.”

The world around me is peaceful, orderly. It’s cosily anxious instead of an unimaginable mess. Because they feel what He says. Because they know that what He says is true. I can’t say that for myself, and I’m ashamed of it.

“We all are created as either men or women. We are meant to mate with the opposite sex, and bring new children, boys and girls, into the world. Everything else is chaos.”

“Chaos,” Mum mutters beside me. “The chaos is spreading.”

I can feel it. It’s filling out my body and it’s even more chaotic than anyone could ever preach. Because I don’t know who I am. My fist clenches and only manages to relax when I let my mind wander away for a few precious seconds.

Until, to my utter horror, He looks me straight in the eye. 

“So I particularly want to speak to all the children, teenagers and young adults here in this room: Don’t be blinded by the false promise of adventure and excitement. What begins as fun turns into doubt and ends with a whole forest of sin taking root in your soul. Don’t let them plant that dangerous seed of doubt in you.”

Does He know? I struggle not to squirm under His gaze. There is doubt inside me, more than I ever thought would fit in my body. It feels awful, like it’s eating away at my insides. There is no sense of adventure or excitement or fun, not even in the slightest. All I percieve is pain. It lingers as His eyes continue their journey down the hall.

“Don’t let them frighten you. You are stronger because God is behind you. There are millions of people next to you. They can’t hurt you. You are not alone.”

All I hear is: You are alone. You deserve to suffer. God has abandoned you.

My eyes burn. A tear makes its way down my cheekbone to dry in the corner of my mouth. Then there’s another one and then many more. Still, my back is straight and my eyes look forward. Don’t move, don’t attract attention. Don’t attract His stare again.

But of course, that doesn’t work for everyone. Mum always notices. I can more feel than see her looks on my face. There’s surprise. Worry. Horror.

“What is it?” she exclaims far to loudly.

I just shake my head, still looking rigidly to the front, even though my eyes are so flooded I can barely see. She rummages through her handbag, then pushes a handkerchief into my hands. I use it clumsily. It only helps a little.

“What happened?”

There’s panic in her voice. The caring type of panic. I can’t tell her because then it’ll turn into a different kind of panic. The disgusted, hateful one.

She grabs my chin to make me look at her, then something hits her. Her fingers let go of my face and clutch my hand instead.

“You know someone, who’s been caught by the agenda,” she hisses, finally lowering her voice. “Is it one of your friends?”

I’m physically unable to answer.

“Is it Sarah? Is she a lesbian?”

Then she inhales sharply. “It’s Abraham, isn’t it? He always seemed a bit off. Don’t tell me that he wants to be a woman.”

Abraham’s uncle, sitting two rows in front of us, turns his head and I instinctively shush her.

“It’s not that”, I manage to say, my voice a complete mess.

Now she looks confused. “Then what is it?”

She has no idea. And I dread the day she finds out about the storm.

“It’s got nothing to do with that”, I lie. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Maybe I can lock myself in my room soon enough when we get home to have more time to think of a believable story. I hate the storm for making me lie. And that almost makes me dissolve into tears again, because hating the storms feels like hating myself much too much.

The rest of the sermon doesn’t reach my brain. It sounds like a distant murmur, the prayers that follow like a swarm of bees. An angry one, circling around me and waiting for the right moment to attack. And I can’t shake off the feeling that the most dangerous bee is sitting right next to me, still holding my hand and not in the least bit finished with our conversation.

We sing one last song and then we are done. Mum chats a little more and Dad brainstorms about how to intervene in my school play. I don’t care any more. I’m too deeply involved in the chaos left over from today’s outburst of my inner storm. So I let myself be guided out of the building, past the door that’s guarded by Him. The fear settles, the chaos remains.