He stared at me now with a strange terror, stared at me like I might be about to kill him. “What are you talking about?”
“Us,” I said. “You.” I shook my head, felt close to tears. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I need you to know I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was sorry the moment I said it. I’ve been sorry every day since.”
Ali got to his feet.
He became larger than life then, tall and stunning and real and he walked right up to me, was now standing right in front of me and I stepped back, felt my shoulders nudge open Zahra’s bathroom door.
Ali was breathing hard. “What does that mean?”
I looked up at him, felt my world collapse.
We were now standing in Zahra’s bathroom—we were standing in Zahra’s bathroom—and there wasn’t enough space between our bodies to lift a finger. My head was filling with steam, my thoughts evaporating.
“Ali, I don’t— You’re too close. I can’t talk to you when you’re this close to me. I can’t even breathe when y—”
I gasped when he leaned in, pressed his forehead to mine. His hands were at my waist now, reeling me in, and I sank against his body with a sound, a kind of surrender.
He said nothing for what seemed like an eternity.
I listened to our hearts race, felt my skin heat. I felt desperate for something I could not articulate, for a need I could not fathom. We were standing this close and still light-years from where I wanted to be.
Ali closed his eyes.
My hands were on his chest. They’d landed there and I’d left them there and I loved the feel of him, his heat, this racing heartbeat under my hands that proved he was real, that this moment was real. Slowly, I dragged my hands down his chest, down the hard lines of his torso. I heard his sharp intake of breath, felt a tremor move through him, through me.
We both went suddenly still.
I was staring at his throat, the soft line of his neck, the hint of his collarbone. I watched him swallow. His hands tightened around my waist.
I looked up.
He said nothing but my name before he kissed me.
It was heat, a blistering sun, a pleasure so potent it felt closer to pain. I didn’t know how but my back was suddenly against a wall, my bones trembling under the weight of him, his body pressed so hard against mine I thought it might leave an impression. He touched me desperately, dragged his hands up my body, braced my face as he broke me open. His lips were so soft against mine, against my cheeks, the tender skin beneath my jaw. I tried to hold on—pushing myself up on tiptoe, twining my arms around his neck—but he froze, suddenly, when my body moved against his, our jagged edges catching, tectonic plates striking. He stilled and seemed to stop breathing, our bodies fusing together.
Tentatively, I pushed my fingers through his hair. He thawed by degrees, his eyes closing, his breathing ragged as I drew my hands away from his head, trailed my fingers down his neck, pressed closer. Gently, I kissed the column of his throat, tasting salt and heat over and over until he made a sound, something desperate, something that shot pleasure through my body even as he tore away, took a step back. He dropped his face into trembling hands, let them fall to his sides. He looked into my eyes with a depth of emotion that nearly split me in half.
I felt like I might sink into the ground.
Two sharp knocks at Zahra’s door and I straightened, we both stiffened. The real world came hurtling back into focus with stunning, sobering speed and I didn’t even think, I just ran past him, closed the bathroom door behind me, locked him inside.
I had to lean against the wall to catch my breath, steady my head. My heart was pounding dangerously in my chest and I closed my eyes, gave myself two more seconds to pull myself together before I headed for the door, glancing in the mirror as I went.
I froze.
Horror, horror at the state of my face, my appearance in general. I was flushed beyond reason, my eyes dilated with pleasure. Desire.
I was losing control. Losing my head.
I was certain now that I was probably going straight to hell for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which was my virulent desire for my father’s death, and now this—this—
I spun around, took it all in.
Zahra’s bedroom. I’d kissed Ali in her own bedroom. Any ancient sense of honor I’d once had compelled me now to recoil with shame. I was not proud of myself. I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. This, here, today, just now—I’d crossed a line, turned my back on the ghost of my best friend. Even after all this time, after all her cruelty, I felt punctured by sorrow. I’d wanted so much more for us.
But then—even as I felt the cold lash of guilt cool my feverish skin, I grew tired. Tired of this feeling, tired of owing Zahra a tithe of my happiness. My guilt was tempered by a realization, an awareness that nothing I’d ever done had been enough for her. I knew that for certain now. So many times I felt like I’d been strapped to the tracks of our friendship, Zahra the train that repeatedly ran me over, only to later complain that my body had broken her axles.
I was tired of it.
I’d been ashamed of myself for a number of things lately, but Zahra’s unfair judgments were no longer among them. I would never again let her hold my feelings hostage. I would never again let her dictate the terms of my life.
Another sharp knock at the door and I startled.
Steadied.
It was time, I realized, to close the book of our friendship.
Twenty
I nearly gasped when I saw