She frowned and paced away from the door, chewing nervously on her finger as she peered out the small window. She looked across the olive trees to the distant desert. If she could get word to her father about Marid’s death, then perhaps he would offer to repay the bridal price so that she could return home. The voices in the hall grew louder and she turned nervously toward the door. Her trembling fingers reached for her veil. She heard the lock scrap and her fingers fumbled in an effort to. He did not yet release her hand, but continued to pull her closer to him, intensifyingthe terrible suffocation of her fragile wrist bone. She did not want to resist,but could not help herself because of the agonizing tension on her hand. Still,he pulled her stronger than she could hold back, and soon, her face was a merefinger tips length away from his swelling sex. It grew harder and angrier,the closer she got to it. Finally, it was at full force, thick, veiny and wantingto hurt her. She was. I’m not sure exactly what it could have been. It was like I was dreaming of hearing people talking. I looked over at the alarm clock on the dresser. It was after four in the morning. I could hear the voices again only this time I knew what the sounds were. I sat up in the bed, pulled myself up and walked to the bathroom doorway. The light was now off but I could hear the mattress getting a workout and my wife’s voice. She was begging her lover to screw her deeper. I carefully looked through the. She was about to turn into the laundry room when she heard a strange noise. It sounded faintly like chanting. She inched closer to her father’s study, straining to make out the deep, smooth hum of words. Stopping at the frame, she put her ear up close to the door. It was definitely her father’s voice, speaking what was definitely a different language. Sara placed her small hand on the handle and slowly inched the door open. In the center of the room kneeled her father. All the furniture had.
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