need to wear the hijab . Unfortunately, you can't just wear a khimar , but will have to don a niqab , the cover with the eye slits.” He pulled out the black head scarf with the face veil, laying it on the bed. It was followed by a black abaya .
"Where am I going?” I whispered.
"To another location in the building.” As if he knew what my next question was going to be, he pasted a smile and continued. “It's for your protection. In all honesty, I wish I could have you wear the chadri instead, to better conceal your amazing body and those big, beautiful, expressive eyes. But I fear you'd have a problem doing what you need to do with it on."
The compliment was lost in the translation. A chadri ? The burqa with the thin net that covers the eyes?
"Why do I need to hide myself so ... thoroughly?"
"So you can't be identified."
Such a simple, matter-of-fact response. I guess I should have known that, or at least expected it. Everything around here was done for protection , to remain unidentifiable .
"What am I doing again?"
He headed for the exit. “Why don't you wash up and get ready. I'll wait for you in the living room."
As annoying as it was, I was starting to get used to being left out on the details. “Okay."
He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
* * * *
After I had dressed as requested, I stared into the mirror, wondering what I had gotten myself into. Well, for one, I was definitely unidentifiable, that was for sure.
A soft knock sounded at my door. “Come in."
My captor entered and upon seeing me, seemed relieved.
"What?"
"Do you want me to be honest?"
I turned around to face him. “Go ahead."
"I thought you'd fight me on this."
"Why?"
"Most American women would object to being forced to wear the hijab ."
"I didn't know I had a choice,” I remarked.
"You didn't. I just expected more of a fuss. I appreciate that you're being so accommodating."
I shrugged. “Whatever, it's just clothing. Are you ready?"
Honestly, I was just sick of fighting with him about petty shit. I had decided to pick my battles. Plus, the more relaxed he was around me, the better my chances for escape.
"One last thing.” He went to my wardrobe and pulled out yet another black scarf.
"I need another layer?"
"Not quite,” he said as approached me.
When he brought the fabric near my face, I leaned back, not sure of his intention.
"Do you trust me?"
Trust. It was always about trust with him. Images from my erotic dreams came to mind, and I realized that somewhere, somehow, I did come to trust him on a certain level.
Eyeing the scarf warily, I slowly nodded.
He placed the cloth over my eyes and tied it behind my head. The whole time that I had been here, they, for the most part, had treated me like a guest, but things like this reminded me that I was still simply a prisoner.
"Do you plan on executing me?” I asked lightly.
Though I couldn't see his expression, I felt him tense up. “No."
I guess he didn't appreciate the joke.
His hand clasped over mine and he led me out. It was disorienting to not see where I was going, and I faltered with hesitant steps.
"I won't let you run into anything, Brenna."
"I know, I know, just trust you."
"You seem kind of cold today. Is something wrong?"
Among the things I had learned since my capture, and there were many lessons I'd learned, the big one was that there was little use lying to him. He always managed to get the truth from me in one way or another.
Pick my battles.
"I guess I'm just very confused, and that confusion has made me moody."
I heard the font door close behind us. “How so?"
"Because I want to believe in you. Desperately. Against all that is right, honorable, and just plain good common sense, I trust you. I find you sincere. I feel for you in ways that I should not be feeling for you. And then you ruin it all by doing some fucked-up shit like blindfolding me. You want me to trust you, but it's obvious you don't trust me."
The beep of an
"Where am I going?” I whispered.
"To another location in the building.” As if he knew what my next question was going to be, he pasted a smile and continued. “It's for your protection. In all honesty, I wish I could have you wear the chadri instead, to better conceal your amazing body and those big, beautiful, expressive eyes. But I fear you'd have a problem doing what you need to do with it on."
The compliment was lost in the translation. A chadri ? The burqa with the thin net that covers the eyes?
"Why do I need to hide myself so ... thoroughly?"
"So you can't be identified."
Such a simple, matter-of-fact response. I guess I should have known that, or at least expected it. Everything around here was done for protection , to remain unidentifiable .
"What am I doing again?"
He headed for the exit. “Why don't you wash up and get ready. I'll wait for you in the living room."
As annoying as it was, I was starting to get used to being left out on the details. “Okay."
He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
* * * *
After I had dressed as requested, I stared into the mirror, wondering what I had gotten myself into. Well, for one, I was definitely unidentifiable, that was for sure.
A soft knock sounded at my door. “Come in."
My captor entered and upon seeing me, seemed relieved.
"What?"
"Do you want me to be honest?"
I turned around to face him. “Go ahead."
"I thought you'd fight me on this."
"Why?"
"Most American women would object to being forced to wear the hijab ."
"I didn't know I had a choice,” I remarked.
"You didn't. I just expected more of a fuss. I appreciate that you're being so accommodating."
I shrugged. “Whatever, it's just clothing. Are you ready?"
Honestly, I was just sick of fighting with him about petty shit. I had decided to pick my battles. Plus, the more relaxed he was around me, the better my chances for escape.
"One last thing.” He went to my wardrobe and pulled out yet another black scarf.
"I need another layer?"
"Not quite,” he said as approached me.
When he brought the fabric near my face, I leaned back, not sure of his intention.
"Do you trust me?"
Trust. It was always about trust with him. Images from my erotic dreams came to mind, and I realized that somewhere, somehow, I did come to trust him on a certain level.
Eyeing the scarf warily, I slowly nodded.
He placed the cloth over my eyes and tied it behind my head. The whole time that I had been here, they, for the most part, had treated me like a guest, but things like this reminded me that I was still simply a prisoner.
"Do you plan on executing me?” I asked lightly.
Though I couldn't see his expression, I felt him tense up. “No."
I guess he didn't appreciate the joke.
His hand clasped over mine and he led me out. It was disorienting to not see where I was going, and I faltered with hesitant steps.
"I won't let you run into anything, Brenna."
"I know, I know, just trust you."
"You seem kind of cold today. Is something wrong?"
Among the things I had learned since my capture, and there were many lessons I'd learned, the big one was that there was little use lying to him. He always managed to get the truth from me in one way or another.
Pick my battles.
"I guess I'm just very confused, and that confusion has made me moody."
I heard the font door close behind us. “How so?"
"Because I want to believe in you. Desperately. Against all that is right, honorable, and just plain good common sense, I trust you. I find you sincere. I feel for you in ways that I should not be feeling for you. And then you ruin it all by doing some fucked-up shit like blindfolding me. You want me to trust you, but it's obvious you don't trust me."
The beep of an
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