A Family Of Sluts 8211 Part II
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ASMTD Ch. 09 free porn video
June 26
‘We missed it.’ Majorly. Entirely. The train is gone, and has been for an hour.
‘I tried to wake you,’ Leo says, throwing my clothes and other knickknacks into my duffel. My head’s pounding, the light of the sun might as well be laser beans, and I’m tasting guava. Why am I tasting guava?
‘Come on, Rai. We might be able to catch another one if we hurry.’
Stumbling out of the room, we hand in our key cards and leave the building. I slip my sunglasses on and clutch Leo like a lifeline. The man is a saint, carrying my duffle and half-carrying me to the Termini station.
‘You act like you’ve never had a hangover before.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘Really?’
I nod and quickly regret it as bile crawls up my throat and I swallow it down. ‘Whenever I drink, I make sure to have water. I know my limit, and if I want to go over that I make it up by eating.’
‘But we ran out of money—’
‘And Signe and Valter kept buying us drinks.’ I groan, ‘Fell to shit then and there.’
Ten minutes later we make it to the train station and get in line for Customer Service. It takes half an hour before we speak to someone and manage to get a ticket for the next train. We leave the line and hit up a restaurant that has wifi. While I eat, Leo checks over his work email in between bites of a breakfast sandwich. Eventually a waiter comes and clears our table and I grab my phone to call my mother.
She picks up on the fourth ring. ‘Hello?’ her voice is sleep filled and raspy.
‘Mama?’
‘Raiqah?’ In an instant she goes from half-asleep to fully awake. ‘Hey, habibti. Where have you been?’
‘Well…’
She snorts and I hear rustling in the background along with a male groan and my mother’s hushed words, ‘Go back to sleep, it’s my daughter.’ A door creaks, and then my mother’s addressing me again, ‘I still have your bank account information, so I know you’re in Italy. Might have told me you decided to go backpacking. You’re father is furious by the way. I’d call him after you finish with me.’
‘Sorry, Mama.’
‘You know I don’t mind, Raiqah. Next time just try to remember I spent nineteen hours pushing you out of my vagina when you don’t want to tell me something.’
‘Guilt tripping me? Really?’
I smile as she laughs and I can almost see her shrug. ‘How’s the trip so far? You were in Switzerland, right?’
‘You know I’m changing my bank when I get back.’
‘Oh, come on.’ My mother dismisses my threat, ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to. I want to hear everything.’
I give her the highlights, locations and amazing food, but leave out Leo. Not because my mother wouldn’t be happy for me, but because like dessert, I want to save the best for last. ‘And I met someone.’
‘Who?’
‘First,’ I say, remembering the male voice from the start of our conversation, ‘Who was that guy? In your bed?’
‘Damien. You’d like him. Hopefully when you get back you two can meet.’
I frown at her nonchalant tone. My mom doesn’t date, not since she divorced my father. The fact that she has a man in the house is huge and I don’t understand why her tone doesn’t express that. ‘How long have you been going out?’
She waits so long I think the phone call might have dropped. ‘Six months.’
‘What?’ I yell, freaking out Leo and the other patrons in the restaurant.
The man across from me smiles indulgently before returning to his work. ‘Try not to yell, Rai. I’m sure whatever Em is telling you is Earth shattering, but we reserve that kind of scream for when the Earth is actually shattering.’
‘Who’s that?’ my mom asks suspiciously, hearing as sharp as ever.
‘That is Leo, Mama,’ I say pointedly, casting him a look.
He raises a brow and mouths Your mother?
I nod.
‘And he is?’
‘The guy I’ve been—’ Dating? Fucking? Falling in deep like with? ‘—backpacking with. We met in Ireland.’
‘Why am I only hearing about this now?’
‘Really, Ms. Pot?’
‘Let me remind you, Ms. Kettle, that I’m 45 years old while you are 22. So answer the question.’
A motion out of the corner of my eye catches my attention and I see Leo tapping his watch. 15 minutes left. ‘Mama, my train’s in 15 and I still need to call baba.’
‘Alright. But we’re not done with this conversation.’ There’s a smile in her voice as she says, ‘Love you, Raiqah. Have fun with your . . . backpacking friend.’
‘Say hi to Damien for me,’ I return. ‘Love you.’
Leo’s computer is already in his bag as I quickly dial my father. ‘Hey, Dad.’ We speak in Arabic, not because he doesn’t know English, but to make sure I know Arabic. It’s one of many tactics my father uses to drive home the point that he is an Arab man. But like everything he does, I take it with a grain of salt.
His voice is cold, repressed anger, ‘Raiqah Muhammad Hussein. So nice of you to call your father after a month.’
So it’s going to be one of those conversations. I settle in for the inevitable fight, guards up. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I was—’
‘Using the money I gave you for your education to frolic around Europe,’ he interrupts harshly, ‘Yes, I know what you’re doing, girl.’
I don’t say that the money he gave me went to last semester’s tuition and that I worked my ass off to raise all the money for this trip. There’s no point. ‘Mama thought it would be a good idea to explore—’
‘Your mother,’ he spits the words.’Yes, I’ve spoken to Kris already. But, Raiqah, you are my daughter. Your mother is a white American, I am not. Maybe you forgot that and I should send you back to Morocco so you can live with your grandmother.’
His words sear me. The memory of when I was seventeen and living with my über religious grandmother in Fez hits me hard. I worked as a slave for her and her extended family. At 17, living in a foreign country I wasn’t used to, I had no autonomy and no voice. The last weekend, my father came to get me and we went out to the desert where we picked seashells so my grandmother could make a lamp. I could still feel the grit on my fingers, the sting from a scorpion who’d hidden in the sand. How calm I reacted to it all, tying my finger and waiting until I returned to my grandmother’s house to take an aspirin and put ice on the wound. That cool, empty place of utter numbness, where I didn’t care if I lived or died. In that desert, I realized I never wanted to feel that way again.
‘Dad—’
‘And if,’ he surges on, voice rising, ‘I discover you’ve been with a man, you will never set foot in my house. Whores are not welcome.’
The line cuts before I can get another word in. Fifteen. I don’t know when I started, but in every conversation I have with my father I count the words he allows me to speak. Allows. Permits.
‘Rai!’ Leo is in front of me, hands on my arms shaking me. He’s wearing a new expression: terror. ‘Are you okay? Who was that? What did they say?’
He did it again. I swore I’d never feel that numbness again, but my father always draws it out of me. Curling my fingers and toes, I try to come back to myself, hear the world around me, smell the food wafting through the cafe, feel Leo’s hands on me. I realize I’m crying. Not sobbing or shaking, but my cheeks are wet, eyes open.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, sliding from my chair and moving to grab my bags. ‘What time is it? Don’t we have a train to catch?’
Leo’s hand returns to my arm, squeezing warningly. ‘Don’t try to change the subject, Rai. You can’t just cry like that and then act like nothing happened. Who was it?’
Shrugging his hand off, I check my phone for the time. ‘Shit. We need to run.’
‘We’ll catch the next one.’
‘Leo, you’re being ridiculous.’ He’s not, but I don’t want to talk about my daddy issues. Not now, maybe not ever. ‘I’m not waiting another three hours for a tr
ain when it’s right here.’
Whatever he reads from my face tells him not to push me. With angry movements, he grabs his bags and we hurry to our gate. It’s a mad dash for the train before we sit down and settle in our seats. I sigh as Leo hefts our luggage into the overhead compartment and sits beside me.
I’m terrified he’s going to ask me what just happened at the restaurant. But he doesn’t. Only laces our fingers and holds my hand, murmuring that he has to make a few calls. My eyes turn to Rome as the train leaves the station and gives way to Italian countryside. Leo’s work voice washes over me and the painful memories of my father ebb away.
***
An hour later, Leo excuses himself to go to the bathroom and the lack of warmth from his hand leaves me cold. I decide to see if the train has wifi in lieu of thinking about how much Leo’s affecting me. It does, and notifications ping across my screen. A few from Em, some from Kate, a lot from Ji-hoon, and one from my mother. I read the one from my mom.
Mama: Call me. Just spoke to your dad 12:44PM
No point in waiting. I call my mother and she picks up on the second ring. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
‘So you talked to baba?’ I ask, settling into the seat while keeping a lookout for Leo, no reason he needs to hear my family drama.
‘Yes,’ she answers slowly. ‘I’m guessing you’re alone.’
‘Uh-huh.’
She sighs before plunging in, ‘First, tell me exactly what you said to him and what he said to you.’
‘Didn’t he already give you all the juicy details? About how I’m the worst daughter to ever walk the earth and also a whore.’
‘Raiqah…’
‘This is exactly why I didn’t tell him to begin with,’ I seethe, ‘Or you. Love you mom, but you always tell him shit that you know he’ll hate.’
‘So I shouldn’t tell your father you’re backpacking through Europe? Alone?’ She mirrors my tone, ‘And don’t try to blame this on me, Raiqah. This is between you and Ali. The fact that you neglect to tell him the amazing stuff you’re doing isn’t my fault. He deserves to know.’
‘I can’t understand how you can take his side after you divorced the bastard!’
‘I’m not taking sides. This isn’t even a war. When you get back, you and your dad need to sit down and have a conversation because I’m sick of being the referee.’
‘Well fine. You suck at the job anyway.’
‘Raiqah,’ she reprimands sharpley, making me feel like a five year-old. Tears sting my eyes because I hate fighting with my mother. And every time we do it seems to be centered around my father. For whatever reason she won’t let me break off ties with the man, instead, I force a relationship that drives me crazy and makes me feel like shit. Why? All so I can fight with my mother an ocean away.
‘Look,’ she sighs, tired. ‘You’ve only got one dad and he’s only got one daughter. You’re 22 now and I’m not going to keep forcing you two to have a relationship. You want to burn this bridge? Fine by me. But think about what you’re giving up.’
Blonde hair catches my eye as Leo moves down the aisle toward me. ‘I will, Mama. I have to go.’
‘And don’t let your father ruin this amazing trip for you, Raiqah,’ she adds, a smile in her voice. ‘Have the time of your life and don’t let anything or anyone stop you.’
‘I won’t.’
‘I love you, habibti.’
‘I love you more, Mama.’
‘Impossible.’
***
We arrive in Venice with the Adriatic Sea and a flock of seagulls. The terminal is jampacked sweltering, leading straight into the city and its complicated waterways. Boats dock in front, while boys ride circles around tourists with their bikes. For a second, I regret not staying in the heart of the city with its narrow streets and canals. But then I remember how much a shitty hostel cost in comparison to the very nice hotel I booked and I shrug off my concern.
Leo and I follow signs to the bus depot where he uses his Italian to find out exactly where we need to go. After half an hour on a bus with no air conditioner and little breathing room, we get off in the middle of a residential neighborhood. I don’t even bother to look at the directions I screen shot, just wait for Leo to pull it up on his phone.
The streets are wide, but quiet. Thick grass sprouts out of small gardens and parks as heat rises in waves from the sidewalk. I take in everything through sleep heavy, still-slightly-hung over eyes.
Eventually we arrive at the hotel, dripping sweat with our clothes soaked. The t-shirt and jean shorts I’d thrown on this morning make me feel completely out of place in the stylish entryway. Their color scheme is black and chrome: European sophistication. Too bad I’m slumming it American student hostel style.
‘Hello, Miss,’ the poised, black dressed receptionist greets with a polite smile. ‘How can I help you today?’
My skin cools as the air conditioner blows and we check in. Leo takes the key cards and our luggage as the receptionists unfolds a map, takes a pen, and marks various places we should visit. I thank the woman as I run to catch the elevator Leo is holding and head up to our room.
‘Why a hotel again?’ Leo asks as the doors shut.
‘Because the hostels were more expensive.’
He smirks and looks down at me incredulously. ‘It’s because you wanted a hotel bed isn’t it?’
‘Yup.’
His laughter fades as the elevator stops and we shuffle to our room. A moment later we’re standing in the biggest room to date, staring at a king-sized bed. Nice.
‘Dibs on the shower!’ I squeal, shedding my clothes as I race to the bathroom.
I toss my panties around the shower curtain and flip on the hot water. It comes out icy cold and I jump, my sunglasses tumbling from my hair and onto the uneven rock tile of the shower floor. By the time I pick my glasses up, the water’s turned burning hot and I scramble to maneuver the temperature.
‘It’s like you’ve never showered,’ Leo laughs, stepping behind me and covering my hand with his. He turns the dial an inch to the right, and it’s perfect.
‘Thought I called dibs on the shower?’
‘What are dibs?’ he asks, snagging a small shampoo bottle and squirting some in his hand. I sigh when he massages it into my hair.
‘Dibs possess, meaning the shower was all mine the second I called them.’
‘If that’s the case, I call dibs on you. And since you’re in the shower, I’m in the shower.’
‘That’s not how dibs work.’
Of course, Leo doesn’t listen and I forget all about who called what when his hands reach between my legs. We don’t have sex though, the tiles too slippery to risk breaking our necks for a few moments in heaven. But there is heavy foreplay, and a lot more cleaning of certain parts than there needs to be.
Sometime later, we make it out, get dressed, and decide to try one of the restaurants the receptionist circled on our map. It’s a hole in the wall, surprisingly low key, with that Italian atmosphere I’ve come to covet from movies. We’re seated inside, but the floor to ceiling windows are pushed aside, letting the outdoors in. Leo begins to order a red wine, but I stop him.
‘Can we get white instead? Red gives me a migraine like you wouldn’t believe.’
He reverses the order, and when the waiter leaves, Leo turns to me, ‘I never asked what you might be allergic to.’
Shrugging, I watch him over the rim of my water glass. I like him with his hair down, pushed behind his ears, ends still damp. It makes him look younger, freer. The blue of his eyes is brighter, smile wider. I’m so focused on Leo, I don’t realize the look on my face until the mirror behind his head catches my attention.
Shit.
There it is. Clear as fucking day for the world to see and me to stop ignoring. I’m in love with Leo. Not in like or lust or any of the other bullshit excuses I’ve fed myself over the weeks. Weeks. I can’t even
remember when it started, when I didn’t just let my guards down but gave them up. When I stopped setting useless boundaries between us and tracking how many times we crossed a relationship line. There are no more lines, and I’m pretty sure there never were.
‘Rai?’
Why does he have to say my name like that? Ji-hoon playfully calls me his ‘Rai of sun’ but Leo makes me feel it. Single parent. Fourteen year-old daughter. Ex-wife. 30 years old. Backpacking trip. I try to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t fall in love, especially with a foreigner abroad. Did I learn nothing from my mother’s failed marriage? How must my father have looked to her? The way Leo looks to me?
His fingers brush the inside of my wrist. I start, only to feel his hand curve around my own, thumb rubbing circles over my pulse. ‘What is it, kultaseni?’
‘My father,’ I croak, the words coming out of nowhere. ‘I was talking to my father.’
‘When?’
‘A-At the restaurant.’ I can feel myself shaking, molting maybe. The only person who’s seen this side of me is my mother. Vulnerability. Fear. Emotions I loath the most because they all stem from my family bullshit—my father’s bullshit. My mother raised me fearless, my father raised me fearful of everything, most of all him. ‘You asked who I was talking to at the restaurant in Rome. Who made me . . . act the way I did. It was my father.’
Leo doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if that’s more for my sake than his. If I focus on the mirror I can see my face, but I don’t look.
He doesn’t press me further, and his quiet is what allows me to speak. I don’t count words with Leo. ‘He’s an abusive asshole who thinks women are gifts from God to serve men. I think my mother put up with it for as long as she did because she thought he really loved her. I think he must have, in his own way. But she left him, and all that bitterness and warped sense of a woman’s place in the world transfered to me. I was—am never good enough for him. And he was just reminding me of that.
‘He threatened to send me back to Morocco to work as basically a slave for his family. Then he called me a whore, and said if I sleep with someone abroad I’m not allowed back in his house.’ I give Leo a watery smile when he grimaces. ‘I fucking hate his house anyway.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Seriously,’ I wave my hands and a huge weight lifts off my chest. ‘Don’t be. If anything, you being sorry would make me feel worse. You are one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. So don’t be sorry for that.’
A man clears his throat and I look up to see our very uncomfortable waiter holding a bottle of white wine. I try to tug my hand out of Leo’s but he holds on. The waiter speaks in rapid fire Italian, pouring a splash of wine in both of our glasses. Leo translates his words, which are just explanations about the wine and their specials for the night. I nod my head, affirming that I like the drink, and the waiter pours a larger glass.
I order squid linguine and Leo settles for a cheese pizza. The mood is too heavy for me. ‘So I can’t drink red wine. I’m also allergic to coconut.’
He smiles, and lets the conversation flow. ‘But didn’t I see you eat coconut gelato?’
‘Mild allergy. I usually take a Benadryl afterwards.’
‘Safe.’
‘I think so.’ I pause for a heartbeat. ‘Is there anything you’re allergic to or don’t like eating?’
‘Pork. Kills my stomach. And I’m allergic to most berries.’
‘Really?’
He nods and opens his mouth to say something else, but our food arrives, steaming and fragrant. The conversation comes to a screeching halt as Leo carefully slices his pizza into sixteen pieces. I have no clue how he plans to eat the whole thing, but I’m sure they’ll be left overs. The linguine is cooked to perfection, but the squid is very . . . squidy. Since I’ve never had it, I’m not sure what to make of the chewy sea creature.
But the wine helps. And soon, I’m enjoying the hell out of my meal. We don’t talk again, but that’s fine. The air is warm, the atmosphere inviting, and every so often Leo’s knee brushes mine.
Jo
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