bothering to look around at the house or the grounds, she leaned close to Anaya, and nodded, but didn't seem to answer. Unusual. Every one of the others he'd observed showed some sort of excitement at the sight of the house and grounds. She followed Waseem inside.
Disappointment engulfed him. He'd wanted this one to look around. He'd wanted to see her face, even for just a fraction of a second. But she didn't seem to care about how beautiful the gardens were or how opulent the house. His breathy sigh fogged a section of the window.
He walked away, ignoring the sound of another car releasing yet another of the chosen ones.
****
Cahri sat in a room with forty-nine talking women. Most had arrived before her and the rest within fifteen minutes. Dinner had been served, a simple affair with Greek salad and lamb kebabs.
The noise grew louder and more overwhelming even though she had moved to the corner farthest away. She glanced from person to person. Their mouths moved, but she couldnât make out any of the conversations. Once in a while, a lone voice would be louder than the others, struggling to be heard. It was a nightmare. One from which she couldnât awaken.
Cookie cutter women, and she was a part of them, and yet not. Dark hair and eyes, olive skin, most looked to be in their twenties.
Everyone, except her.
Her porcelain skin stood out like a white cloud on a stormy afternoon. At least her hair was hidden beneath her hat.
It was Friday night, and she wanted to be home in her apartment, with her cat, some pizza and ice cream, and a movie. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Depression, maybe anger at the unfairness of it all, filled her.
Another instance which proved God had forsaken her.
Lonely, but not alone. She wanted to be alone, just as she had been for the last three years. At least then she wouldn't feel so isolated. She didn't belong here, and the obviousness of it hurt. She had seen some of these women on the streets, yet not one ventured near her to start a conversation tonight. Even Stormy left her alone to scope out his new surroundings. She stared at her hands resting in her empty lap and fought back tears.
The noise echoed off the uncarpeted floor, bouncing around the stylish room. Windows dominated two of the walls, so it must be considered a solarium, but the furnishings one would expect to grace the room were absent. Instead, folding tables and chairs skirted the walls, and a few smaller sofas and upholstered chairs made cozy sections in the corners of the large room.
She couldnât stand the noise anymore. How could all of these women be happy about being chosen? She didn't want to be here. Cahri stood and trudged to the room sheâd been assigned.
God, why did you do this to me?
As soon as she entered the dormitory-like environment, Cahri yanked off her hat, increasing the pain in her head and scattering the pins on the tile floor. She plopped on the bed and closed her eyes for a moment before taking the time to study the room which would be hers for months.
If five cots, one for her and each of the roommates she had yet to meet, hadnât filled the room, it would be quite large, about the size of a spacious bedroom. Creamy walls were accented with hand-woven tapestries of various red and blue geometric designs. Small Persian rugs graced the floor by each bed, and a long runner ran down the middle of the room.
Cahri rose and closed the deep red drapes on the windows at the far end of the room. The large windows would allow for plenty of light during the day, but at night made her feel vulnerable and on display. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, much like one sheâd seen in a museum in the United States once. Another door tucked in the corner must lead to the bathroom.
She pulled out one of her boxes and grabbed her brush. After undoing the braid, she pulled the brush through her hair. The process and the quiet soothed her headache. Tension from
Disappointment engulfed him. He'd wanted this one to look around. He'd wanted to see her face, even for just a fraction of a second. But she didn't seem to care about how beautiful the gardens were or how opulent the house. His breathy sigh fogged a section of the window.
He walked away, ignoring the sound of another car releasing yet another of the chosen ones.
****
Cahri sat in a room with forty-nine talking women. Most had arrived before her and the rest within fifteen minutes. Dinner had been served, a simple affair with Greek salad and lamb kebabs.
The noise grew louder and more overwhelming even though she had moved to the corner farthest away. She glanced from person to person. Their mouths moved, but she couldnât make out any of the conversations. Once in a while, a lone voice would be louder than the others, struggling to be heard. It was a nightmare. One from which she couldnât awaken.
Cookie cutter women, and she was a part of them, and yet not. Dark hair and eyes, olive skin, most looked to be in their twenties.
Everyone, except her.
Her porcelain skin stood out like a white cloud on a stormy afternoon. At least her hair was hidden beneath her hat.
It was Friday night, and she wanted to be home in her apartment, with her cat, some pizza and ice cream, and a movie. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Depression, maybe anger at the unfairness of it all, filled her.
Another instance which proved God had forsaken her.
Lonely, but not alone. She wanted to be alone, just as she had been for the last three years. At least then she wouldn't feel so isolated. She didn't belong here, and the obviousness of it hurt. She had seen some of these women on the streets, yet not one ventured near her to start a conversation tonight. Even Stormy left her alone to scope out his new surroundings. She stared at her hands resting in her empty lap and fought back tears.
The noise echoed off the uncarpeted floor, bouncing around the stylish room. Windows dominated two of the walls, so it must be considered a solarium, but the furnishings one would expect to grace the room were absent. Instead, folding tables and chairs skirted the walls, and a few smaller sofas and upholstered chairs made cozy sections in the corners of the large room.
She couldnât stand the noise anymore. How could all of these women be happy about being chosen? She didn't want to be here. Cahri stood and trudged to the room sheâd been assigned.
God, why did you do this to me?
As soon as she entered the dormitory-like environment, Cahri yanked off her hat, increasing the pain in her head and scattering the pins on the tile floor. She plopped on the bed and closed her eyes for a moment before taking the time to study the room which would be hers for months.
If five cots, one for her and each of the roommates she had yet to meet, hadnât filled the room, it would be quite large, about the size of a spacious bedroom. Creamy walls were accented with hand-woven tapestries of various red and blue geometric designs. Small Persian rugs graced the floor by each bed, and a long runner ran down the middle of the room.
Cahri rose and closed the deep red drapes on the windows at the far end of the room. The large windows would allow for plenty of light during the day, but at night made her feel vulnerable and on display. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, much like one sheâd seen in a museum in the United States once. Another door tucked in the corner must lead to the bathroom.
She pulled out one of her boxes and grabbed her brush. After undoing the braid, she pulled the brush through her hair. The process and the quiet soothed her headache. Tension from
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