I ran away from friends, activists, and reporters who were surrounding me, and headed for the room where they kept Raana in the hospital. As the first lesbian couple to get a legal marriage in our small town, we have been on the news even before today's incident, and I was already fed up with the annoying reporters or the activists who wanted to turn our planned wedding into a big LGBT testimonial.
The doctors assured me that Raana was fine, and said that they had given her some sedatives to help her get past the initial shock. On my way to the room, people congratulated me and called me a hero. I couldn't see what was so heroic about what I did today, though. From my perspective, defending Raana was the same as defending my own life, because if anything happened to her, I simply would have killed myself.
Throughout my childhood and adolescent years, I was an angry and frustrated soul. My father, who had quit the Marine Corps to raise me by himself, always had to deal with the parents of other children who had a fight with me, the teachers who were fed up with my troublesome behavior, and even his police friends one time when I broke a boy's jaw for catcalling after me. Dad remained patient and understanding, and even taught me himself how to fight better. But he was not enough.
When it was time to go to college, dad advised that I was too crazy and rebellious for anything but art. It turned out that I was also too crazy for art and I would have dropped out of college to pursue my tattooing business, if I did not meet Raana there.
When I first met her in a workshop, she looked so boring in her conservative outfit, and I dismissed her as a Plain Jane. We were supposed to do nudes, and our model was late. Since I was not in the mood for drawing that day, I volunteered to model for the rest of the class. I slipped out of my jean and T-shirt, and throw my underwear on the pile of my clothes. I sat on a stool, yawned, and waited for the others to start the work.
When the session was finished, the students were invited to demonstrate their works all around the studio and give feedback to each other. I got dressed and after skipping mediocre portrays of myself by most of the students, I finally was frozen in front of a piece of art, laid humbly on the floor.
With a bunch of confident and free lines, the artist had managed to capture all the important shadows and the mood. The technique was extraordinary, but what really amazed me was the way I was depicted. While in all other works the students had tried to express their prejudiced views about my tattooed body and unruly red hair through grotesque and exaggerated shapes and lines, this artist had managed to find a very deep and personal sense of beauty in the my pile of bone and skin. Through the eyes of this artist, I was beautiful, calm, and alright. When I asked about the artist, they pointed to a slender girl whose black curls reached her back, and who was clad in a conservative outfit.
After a long conversation in a cafeteria, I invited her to my studio, where she did some more sketches of me, and with my erotic poses and her focus on my lips, erect nipples, firm ass, and long thighs, there was no need for any verbal seduction. We just got entangled on the floor, and the magic started happening.
When she held me down, looked me in the eyes, and panted with excitement and need, I could hear my heart pounding like crazy. Her breasts kept going up and down with her fast breathing and I wanted her to devour me already. But she liked it slow and started eating me inch by inch, and when her tongue neared my crotch, I was out of my mind, begging her to allow me the release that I craved with all my existence.
Before Raana, sex was just like scratching an itch. Whenever I got horny, I would pick up someone for the night and forget about it for weeks. But from my first sex with Raana, I realized that this won't be a one night thing. I saw what I have been missing all my life, and I could not wait for our next time together.
It did not take us long to realize that we had found the love of our life, and after a few months, we eventually decided to move in together. It was not so easy for Raana, though. While all I had to do was just telling my dad about my new address, Raana had to go through hell with her traditional mother, Fuzia.
Raana, who was just too honest and proud to try to come up with a lie, decided to tell Fuzia the truth, and face the consequences. Raana had to face anger, threat, insult, and eventually expulsion from her family.
It was hard for Raana, but at least, we had each other, enjoyed our heavenly peace, and planned for the future. About a month ago, we told our families about our intention to get married and start a family, indicating that we had reached the point of no return. And that, again, had consequences for Raana.
This morning, when I returned home to grab something, I saw two stranger men standing in the living room, surrounding Raana. She was naked, kneeling on the floor, her hands pulled wide open by the ropes. Her head was hanging and her back was covered with welt marks. One man was holding a whip, and the other was holding a book.
Now that I look back, I am amazed by the cold determination that took over my dread. Equipped with my fighter instincts and the trainings from my father, I immediately scanned the room and spotted a gun resting on a table. The man holding the whip followed my gaze and we both jumped for the gun. I was faster. I hit my opponent with the pistol grip, but not strong enough to make him unconscious. He shook his head, yelled, and made another jump at me. I shot him between the eyes.
The man holding the book, apparently had strong feelings for the whip holder, because he wailed and ignoring the gun, he ran toward me. He got a bullet in his heart.
I remember clearly the smell of gunpowder, because I took a deep breath after holding it for long. When I made sure that there was no one else in the apartment, I dropped the gun and ran to Raana to check her vitals. The feel of her irregular pulse under my fingers was the most relieving experience of my entire life.
I untied Raana's hands and carried her to our bed, called nine-one-one, and returned to the living room to check on the two strangers. No pulse there. Good.
No one lashes my baby.
As I entered Raana's room in the hospital, I was alerted to see a veiled figure standing by her bed. I tensed and moved to put myself between the woman and Raana, but from another corner of the room, I heard the calm voice of the police guard.
"It's OK, Miss Jenkins. It's her mother."
It was our first meeting, and I stared at her masked head for a few seconds, then turned to the guard.
"She is not so different from the attackers. I wonder if she regrets that they did not succeed."
Fuzia rushed to me and I gave me a hard slap, which made me lose balance. I steadied myself and closed my feasts, getting ready to respond, but the guard blocked my way and yelled at Fuzia to keep calm. He made us sit on the opposite sides of the bed. After a few moments of silence, Fuzia cleared her throat and spoke with a thick accent.
"I was told that you can speak our language. Is that right?"
"I love Raana's mother tongue, like every other thing about her." I replied in that language.
She considered that for some moments, then continued the conversation in the rhythmic and magic words of Raana's languages.
"I am terribly sorry for slapping you. I owe you for saving my daughter's life. But your words were just too hideous."
