Love's Slave (manxman)

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

(Jean Dujardin as my idea of Kamal's Father)

Kamal...

It was only by the sheer force of will and the fact that my father had sent Hamid to summon me to his in home office that I left Jameel's side after he fell into an exhausted slumber. I unclenched my jaw and tried to relax my tense muscles, but coming to terms with this level of violence against another human being made it seem like it was a lost cause. Nothing could have ever prepared me to deal with what was done to Jameel. My rage at the man knew no bounds, the same sadistic bastard that had spent the greater part of my young life cursing me for being gay only to turn around and abuse and serially rape an innocent young man locked up in his home like a personal pet.

I had to stop right there in the middle of the hallway as my anger flared into a burning inferno, my skin prickled and hot burning, resentful tears poured out of my eyes. Hamid realized that I was no longer following him and he turned and took one look at my face and immediately his face softened and he tried to approach me, but I held up a shaking hand and shook my head at him. My emotions were way out of my control and I just needed a minute to gather myself, but fuck, how am I supposed to do that. That fucking hypocrite, if I never before believed that there was a God, I believed it now, because the good Lord saw fit to take that son of a bitch from this mortal plane. Otherwise, had I found out about Jameel and that fucktard was still alive, I would have murdered the man.

That thought scared the shit out of me, because I know that I am completely serious on the matter. I would have had no qualms, no regret, and absolutely no guilt whatsoever about taking the old tyrant's life as punishment for his crimes against that beautiful man.

"Kamal, little brother. I understand...You...."

"No, Hamid, no...Don't you dare say that you understand my anger and that you understand what I am feeling. You don't, Farooq certainly can't, and neither does any other heterosexual man in this family." I interrupted Hamid's attempt of trying to calm my raging temper.

"You didn't have to sit there and listen to that man tell you that you are nothing, that you are a reject and a disgrace. You have no clue what it was like to live in fear of leaving your own house on a daily basis and wonder if this is the day that an angry mob of your own grandfather's associates are going to beat you to death for being an abomination to Allah. God Dammit!" I screamed on top of my lungs. The growing need to hit something intensified and the overwhelming desire to vent this poisonous haze of unadulterated fury momentarily over pyowered me. My hand curled into a tight fist and I lashed out at the first thing that I saw.

Sorry to say it was my mother's Daum Crystal Kumara Vase that fell victim to my angst. The sound of the heavy crystal shattering and raining it's jagged shards across the marble floor like a million twinkling tear drops echoed throughout the house like a gunshot. I stood there shaking like a leaf as the last pieces of glass skittered across the floor. It took a minute for the unrelenting haze that had prompted my irrational actions cleared from my brain enough for me draw in a ragged breath. I shamefully looked up into the shocked face of my brother, and what made my behavior feel even more deplorable was that just beyond his shoulder, our mother was standing further down hallway with a hand over her heart and a haunted expression on her face.

I went to open my mouth to say something, but she gave me a wobbly smile and turned away to return to whatever room she had come out of.
Damn, and double damn, this is the second time I have managed to literally rip my mother's ideals of her father to shreds, and again, I wasn't too sure if I truly cared because there was a severely abused young man almost comatose from exhaustion, malnutrition, mental, and physical injustices of the worst kind in another room at the opposite end of the hallway.