Dare You To Love Me

«34» a gentle touch

Leaning against the doorframe of Yaseerah’s bathroom, Fou’ad observed her as she slowly removed her makeup, his mind still reeling from the events of the past couple of hours.

She hadn’t spoken much on the drive back to their house, nor had she said anything when he stopped at a mosque so they could pray Zuhr, or when he followed her up here into her bathroom–because she had left both her bedroom and bathroom’s door open, and he had taken it as an open invitation to step into her sanctuary.

His chest squeezed painfully as he watched the play of lights across her skin, which illuminated her entire face, revealing the fading bruises that marred her skin, along with the new angry handprint reddening her left cheek.

A mix of sorrow and anger swirled inside him, at the remainder of what he had been too slow to prevent, and not for the first time, he despised himself for not knowing what his father-in-law was capable of, before he had accepted the brunch invitation.

His brows deepened into a frown as he continued to observe her in silence, noticing the way she avoided her reflection, her movements gentle–almost hesitant as if she were afraid to touch her own skin–and deliberate, her fingers moving with well-practiced ease as the makeup came off in patches, revealing the raw, bruised skin underneath.

His hands clenched into a fist at his sides, his jaw tightening with barely restrained anger, wanting nothing in that moment more than to march back to her father’s house and give him a piece of his mind, but home training, and the thought that he couldn’t leave Yaseerah alone kept him rooted to his spot.

Unable to stand it any longer, he stepped forward, standing behind her, as he reached out to touch her cheek–where a particularly nasty bruise was fading to an ugly shade of yellow, a storm brewing behind his eyes–making her flinch.

“Yaseerah.” Her name was a low rasp against his lips, and it made her heart ache painfully, because as much as she had unconsciously invited him along, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him there.

Didn’t want him to continue to witness every inch of secrets she had managed to keep hidden for the past six years.

The need to just let go, and fall into him was strong but for the first time in her life, she was willing to admit that she had no idea how to just let go, and she loathed it, with all of her being.

“Yaseerah.” His voice was low once again, barely more than a whisper, but it carried such an intensity that made Yaseerah look up slightly, yet shame made her unable to meet his gaze. “Look at me.”

“No,” she shook her head.

The desire for the ground to open up and swallow her whole intensified, the longer the heat from his body seeped into hers.

“I’m so sorry.” There was both regret and distress in his voice, and Yaseerah had no idea which turned her stomach the most.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she responded, her voice barely audible, as she finally lifted her head, their gazes finally meeting through the mirror.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she finally stared at her reflection, trying her best to will her tears away, despite the sting in her eyes and the huge knot that lodged itself in her throat.

Deep purple bruises marked the curve of her eyes, the imprint of her father’s fingers stark against her cheek, more vivid than she imagined them to be, and it made her want to curl in on herself, and disappear.

She could feel the weight of his gaze so heavy on her reflection, she could almost swear she could feel it even through the glass.

“You’re beautiful.”