Delving Deeper

[FOUR]

"That home of the Hereafter We assign to those who do not desire exaltedness upon the Earth or corruption. And the [best] outcome is for the righteous."

-Surah al-Qasas, verse 83.

•~•

Present day

NUR

My head gyrates and I feel like I've been caught up in a tsunami.

Groaning, I ploddingly lift my heavy eyelids. The world seems to still whirl in circles, so I squint my eyes to adjust my vision.

The first thing I see is blue.

I shriek as I realise that they are someone's eyes, scrutinizing me.

I try to get up. And . . . yeah, not a wise move.

I touch my fingertips to my head, confused as to what is wrong with me. And they graze across a rugged cloth that seems to be wrapped around my head.

My eyes manoeuvre to the person who has now backed off to the other side of the bed.

Panic starts to engulf me. I'm in some random male's room. In his BED!

But there is this weird sixth sense that keeps telling me that I know him.

Still, I'm in HIS BED.

Now, I actually scream. I've never screamed openly without restriction in my life. And honestly, it feels so good.

The stranger seems disconcerted, caught off-guard. His eyes travel to the door, then to me.

Fleet-footed, he moves his large frame as I continue screaming. Then, he places his hand on my mouth. I struggle, whining.

"Stop the drama, princess."

That voice. God, it was as familiar as a recurring dream. Rough, raw and the right amount of throaty.

I enclose my hand onto his wrist, in hopes of getting rid of it. Instead, all I feel is muscle.

Nope, I'm so not impressed.

My screams are muffled by his huge elephant hand and after a minute, I just give up. Feeling too tired to battle my way up to success.

"Good girl." he drawls, like I'm a crying babe that needs swinging to calm her down.

Let go. I try to say but his hand stops the sound of my voice.

Well, okay then.

Having five older brothers does have its benefits, believe it or not. At least I've been taught self-defense.

I size the stranger up, felling a tug of recognition but irked that I can't remember him.

It was clear that he could end my life with just a flick of his ginormous hand, but what can I say?

I'm stupid so I try anyway.

He gazes at me with a frown etched across that flawless face and a strange light shining in his electrically charged irises.

What do I do?

I bite down on his hand.

Yes, folks. I did it.

He freezes for a few seconds but doesn't immediately pull his hand away.

I can't clearly describe what happens next.

A murderous glint shines in his eyes and from the firm set of his jaw, I can tell that he's planning my very slow and painful demise.

Then, he snarls.

He. Snarls.

I kid you not, I've always wondered how people can snarl.

Here's how it goes.

His lips part and pull back till his canines gleam in the bright light filtered from the curtains.

Those are some seriously good-looking teeth.

Oh my God! Panic once again seizes me, sending nervous chills down my spine. There's only one explanation of why this stranger has taken me.

"You're a mafia!" I squawk, making exaggerating hand gestures.

I bolt upright, remove the comforter and jump out of bed.

He looks at me like I might have lost my mind.

Then, he turns his attention back to his hand where I sunk my teeth.

Yikes.

"You bit me." he accuses, like that's some strange, out-of-the-blue thing.

I mean, of course, people don't go around biting other people like they're tender meat but neither do you find yourself in a someone's bed that you can't even remem-

My head whips in his direction and I carefully study his face.

"You're . . ." I trail off as I search my mind for his name but as I find none, I continue. "that guy from the Food lab."

He gives me a look that might or might not mean something like, are you for real?

"Look, I don't have time to deal with this right now." he pauses, seeing my puzzled expression no doubt, then ignoring me, he continues. "We need to immediately let your family know about what happened. They must be worried sick."

Wait wait . . . WHAT!

"What are you talking about?" I ask, exasperated.

He breathes in heavily through flared nostrils.

"Quickly call them. Or . . . should we go over to your place?"

Oh God, what is wrong with him!?

"Listen, I have no idea what you're talking─”

"Our marriage, dammit!"