Muslimah Next Door { Editing }

{ 18 } The Lie

{ James }

"What?"

"Why did you tell me that you don't have a sister? Why would you lie about something like that?"

I look at her blankly, no emotion on my dull face.

"What?" I asked, probably too late, pretending to be oblivious to what's she's talking about

"You have a sister, don't you? Rosemary! Gosh, you lie about the stupidest stuff. !hat happened that night?" She says in an angry tone, forming a fist.

How does she know about Rosemary?

"How do you know her?" I say, calm, actually wanting to know the answer.

"I was her best friend for the sake of Allah! Did you guys kick her out of the house? Did she even get the chance to tell you about her choice? What happened? Where is she?" She starts crying after she has asked all the questions.

I raise my eyebrow at her, confused. I swear, she makes me so confused sometimes.

"What are you talking about? What choice? Kick her out of our house? Why would we? Everyone loved her," I say.

"She ran away. She must have. Oh, James, this is all my fault. We have to find her, we have to find Rosemary!" She cries.

"Rosemary is dead! You crazy Muslims killed her! It's all your fault," I yell at her, pointing my finger as I give her a glare. I stop when my father walks up to us.

"She can't be," she mumbled quietly to herself. Of course, I hear her anyway.

"What's going on? I hired you guys to work, not to fight like idiots! Get to work, now," he orders.

When it comes to business, he's strict.

I give my dad a glare. Before I walk back to my desk, I look at her face, examining it. Like a test.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks. At first, I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to wrap my arms around her tight and never let her go. I wanted to wipe the tears away.

But then, I quickly shake my head. My stubborn mind disagrees with my wants. I can't. She's a Muslim. The enemy. The one that caused all these problems. How can I even think about helping her? She's a traitor. Her people did this to us. She's probably faking all this.

I open my wallet and see the picture of her.

I smile, seeing her face. Oh, what I would do to be with her in person. Communicating, playing pranks on each other, just like the old times. We'd watch those scary movies when mom and dad went on dates. I smile, thinking about all the times we yelled at the jump scares together.

I realize that tears have been streaming down my face for a while, now. Tears. I have been crying and didn't even notice.

I hear footsteps coming my way and look up and see her once again.

She puts the files on the desk, not even glancing my way. Not once.

I study her. Emotionless, but her eyes were red as if she was crying. She was crying. 

She walks away, not looking back.

I open the files and groan in frustration. More papers to sign.

Hours pass before I even begin to finish those stupid files.

After I've meticulously put the piles in perfect piles, my phone rings.

I pick up.

"Honey, James, I was wondering if you can help me pack? I was getting lonely in this house all by myself and I decided to move. Not far, but to an apartment close by," I hear my mothers voice for the first time in a long time.