Within the Sins

٣ Disowned

بعشق احساسك.

Knocking on his apartment door, Yazid waits for his father or one of his three younger sisters to open it, but after several minutes, no one does. He recently lost the key. Minutes later, he gives up on ringing the doorbell and bangs his fists against the wooden door. Receiving no response, he pulls out his phone. He taps on the contact name to call his father then waits for the other line to pick up. After many rings, the phone goes to voicemail. Huffing out a breath, he grows a little angry at the fact that he does not know whether anyone is home or not. He twists his body around and slumps down to the ground, resting his back against the apartment door.

Changing clothes before he came here was pointless, given that no one is home and would suspect a smell. Since they are both scrawny, he borrowed a long sleeve navy shirt from Majed and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing a black-and-brown leather bracelet wrapped around his wrist—a gift he received from his mother before he moved out of Canada. His olive joggers are Nader's.

Suddenly, he hears the apartment door unlock and open. To avoid falling backward, Yazid scoots away from the door and turns around, only to see his youngest sister, Sadeen.

The seven-year-old keeps one hand on the door handle and the other by her side. "Yazid, Baba said you are not allowed here." He and his sisters communicate in English with each other so that they would not forget the language.

"What? Where is he? Why didn't you guys open the door?" He stands up.

"He went grocery shopping and told us not to open it because we're all alone."

"You could have asked who it is." He pushes the door open.

She places one of her small, delicate hands on his abdomen to stop him from entering. "No! Baba said you aren't allowed in!"

He pushes her hand away. "Walek zeihe 'anni," he demands in annoyance, telling her to move away.

He starts to walk in but stops in his tracks once he hears someone say, "Yazid," in a rough tone from outside the door. Yazid turns around and finds his father carrying grocery bags, staring straight back at him. The grocery bags slip from Hasan's hands, the food boxes tumbling out of them as the bags reach the ground. With his vision blurred a bit, Yazid rubs his eyes and stands silently.

"Sadeen," Hasan begins, "take these bags inside and close the door."

The child does as ordered, pushing Yazid out of the door frame, taking the bags from her father's hands, and then slamming the door shut.

Almost instantly, Hasan grabs his son by the shirt, pulling him forward. Speaking in a hushed tone, he utters in Arabic: "I don't want you to ever come here again, Yazid. You leave this very second and never return, do you understand? I will not have a drug addict come near my daughters, nor will I have a drug addict sleep under my roof. You're going to leave now and you won't ever return. I do not want to hear from you again, boy. From this point on, you do not exist to me—you never have, and you never will, so whatever you need—even if it is for university—do not come to me for it, and do not dare to ever contact one of your sisters ever again. They're not your sisters anymore and you are not their brother. Am I clear?"

Hasan pushes the young man away, causing Yazid to jerk backward. He walks passed him and opens the apartment door. Then, he turns around and looks Yazid in the eye. "I brought you to this damned country to keep you clean, but it has dirtied you instead." He spits at the ground in disgust. Without another word, he walks in and slams the door shut behind him.

He hears a click, indicating that Hasan locked the door. Yazid stares at the door for two complete minutes, shocked at what had just happened. His throat pleads to release a grunt, but he holds it back.

At a moment like this, he either inserts a needle into his arm or smokes a cigarette. Taking out a packet, he pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips. Flashing a lighter on, he brings it to the tip of the cigarette and burns it.

He walks backward until his back hits the wall opposite of the apartment door and slides down to the ground, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping an arm around them. With his other hand, he brings the cigarette between his lips.

When his father is a foe, cigarettes are his friends.