ᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴀꜰᴀᴇʟ: ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ ✓

⭒63⭒

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation
{Khalil Gibran}
_______

Turmoil;
Noun : a state of great disturbance, confusion or uncertainty.

So this was the feeling inside me. A storm brewing and growing within myself. I thought these feelings were behind me, and I ahead of them. But life indeed worked in mysterious ways.

I still remember that day like the back of my hand. When I'd just finished my meeting with Juan regarding any ideas on whom broke omertà. Nothing in my life could have given me enough strength to face the reality bestowed upon me.

A doomed man from the get go.

It was the feeling I'd felt then, as I looked at my beloved wife on call with someone. I could tell she detected someone in the room and that's when our eyes connected. It seemed to be some type of foreshadow as we held eye contact, with her back towards me. There was no reason for me not to make my presence known.

I walked into the room with a disordered mind yet my face gave nothing away. I stared long and hard at Laila Bakhash, not missing the slight sheath of perspiration across her forehead, dazzling like diamonds under a bright light as it reflected against the mirror.

"Who was that?" I asked cutting straight to the point. Despite knowing the answer all too well, I couldn't help but linger onto the hope that whatever my mind was conjuring was all false. I'd thought about this for the past two weeks. Long and hard, I did. My mind at that point was like a maze where I knew there was an answer to all my problems, yet it was me, unable to decipher the path that led me to my freedom.

"N-no one" came her stuttered response, and that foreboding sense of doom took residence in my blood. I raised my eyebrows at her, moving to put my hands somewhere she wouldn't be able to see them. In my pockets, where neither my fists nor the discolouration around them could be visible to her eyes.

This seemed to put her on edge though, as she retorted once more, this time trying to appear more confident. "Just the hospital. They wanted s-some papers before I left for h-home".

I nodded once, all the while the four lettered word replayed in my mind. "Is that so?" I asked lowly as my mind worked overtime. And where is home for you Laila? In the shielded embrace of Louisa may? Or next to your husband? If you even thought of me as that.

This cat and mouse game was getting pretty boring pretty quickly so I walked behind her, and held her body against my own for the last time. A bittersweet moment if you will.

"You're going to leave me hmm?" I found myself asking, and more surprising than that, I yearned for an answer. Like I was a kid once again, seeking the approval of my mother before I ventured off onto a path that only lead to my misery.

I traced the path along her hijab clad neck, taking my time as I did so to revise and fossilate her every dip, every curve, every fragrance into my mind. She squirmed against my hold, wanting to be free. Just this once, my dear Laila. Let me hold you in my arms. One. Last. Time.

"You're so close, my love, yet so far. I have you in my hands, but why does it feel like you're crumbling away?" She stilled against me, and that was all I needed to know to confirm my looming suspicion.

It's a well known saying that actions speak louder than words and fuck were they right. Anything Laila could have conjured in this moment would not ease the tension suffocating me. I had to let my words out this one time before all hell broke loose. Before she could utter anything else, the fierceness in my promise was enough to silence her.