Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 255(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 255(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
That was the night Nasrin became more valuable than my mother, and the Barans became the family I would lay my life down for. It started with my falling in love with Azadeh and ended with Nasrin showing me what it was like to have the love of a true mother.
I killed my father after I got out of the hospital. Poetic justice, if you ask me. Took out the man’s eyes with my mother’s chef knife while I tied her to her mahogany dining room chair. That act got me two years in a psych ward, where I met Cyrus and Lev.
My mother’s shrill screams during my first kill are still my soundtrack when violence is all I can see.
Chapter 12
Zeke—Age 17
Azadeh’s Modest Childhood Home
“God should never be forced, Ze-ek,” Mrs. Baran said as she put ointment on my bruises and cuts. Her voice broke as she attempted to push back tears.
I should’ve bitten my tongue, but I was so full of emotional and physical pain that I wasn’t willing to keep my thoughts in check. “The only feelings the mention of God conjures in me are dread, violence, and manipulation.”
Mrs. Baran nodded.
It couldn’t be easy to see the same marks on my body that scared her child. I didn’t want to come here. All I wanted was Azadeh. After my father passed out, I climbed out my window and wobbled my way to her house. Usually, I would climb up to Azadeh’s window to avoid her mother, but my dad had mangled my leg a bit, so that wasn’t a possibility. Instead, I threw rocks until Azadeh’s head poked out. I guessed I should’ve checked out how messed up my face was before I headed over because she took one look at me and screamed, waking up everybody.
Now, she offered a dry laugh at my thoughts about God. “That I can understand. When you force someone to eat, they’re bound to get sick and throw up. With indoctrination, religious people sometimes have a gluttony problem.”
Even through the pain, a smile formed on my lips when I heard Azadeh’s voice. “So basically, my dad forced me into being bulimic?” Azadeh scanned my body as if searching for something that might not have been visible. “What are you hoping to find?”
She quickly averted her eyes like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar after her mother told her she couldn’t have any more sweets. In those moments, I convinced myself Azadeh saw me as more than her best friend. Maybe she had deeper feelings for me.
I waited patiently for her answer. Even though Azadeh spoke English fluently now, sometimes she paused to search for the right word, so conversations needed my patience. But it didn’t seem like a language barrier impeding her speech now. It was something more painful, something she’d rather forget.
I experienced a resounding need to push Azadeh for an answer. I despised seeing her sad. All I wanted was her smiles, and by coming to her to seek comfort, I’d opened a wound she yearned to keep sealed. Fuck. I’d kick my ass if my body wasn’t pretty much useless.
“I’m sorry, Az. We don’t need to talk about it.”
Azadeh tilted her head and smiled. I loved how she had all these different smiles, and I knew every single one of them. This smile was one of reassurance. She had a sad smile, a happy one, a nervous one, a friendly one, a sweet one.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I was just thinking about the irony.”
“Irony?” I asked.
Azadeh was so cryptic. She used language in such a peculiar way. It was as if the conversation was in her mind, and she didn’t see the need to articulate it with whoever was in her presence. She once joked about how Persian would sound like Yoda talking if translated word for word to English. I wondered if her mind was complex and intricate like that of the Master Jedi.
“I always thought the West would be this paradise where everyone was free to think, act, and say whatever they wanted. And to an extent, I suppose that’s true. You don’t have government officials arresting you because you said something about Jesus. No one will torture you if you don’t follow the dress code. But I’ve come to realize that even here, some people are so desperate to get you to paradise that they force you to live in hell.”
“Do you ever wonder if the world would be a better place if Abraham's mother had swallowed?” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. Not the statement itself or that I might have insulted someone who so many believed was a prophet, but because they were so crass.
Everything about Azadeh was gentle. She wasn’t a pushover or naïve, but she was gentle toward those she held close to her heart. She rarely swore, and she had a way of making you feel welcome. She would share her last morsel of food with a stranger because it was rude not to. I’d even seen her give away her sweater to a girl because she said it was lovely.