LOST II

Chapter 23: "Kiss N Cry"

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First draft: March, 2018

The moment the professor paused to switch the slides and find the correct reference in one of the other lectures she had prepared, Salma’s mind promptly switched back to the conversation she had had with Spogmae earlier that morning. Salma settled back in her chair, tapping her pen against the desk, thinking her words through.

“No, it’s still not your fault,” Spogmae had argued.

“I agree,” Burak Kaka, who still looked displeased on Salma’s intervention on behalf of Zayn, said. He had his hands resting on his sides, his height making him look even more foreboding.

Salma had managed to stop the two Green Coats from chasing Zayn down, or telling her father about the unpredictable rainy season of her eyes, but the whole thing took another frustrating turn when they started lecturing her about being firm and sure of her treatment of Zayn.

“He is being a classless jackass and he has absolutely no reason to behave like that!” Burak continued.

“But –“

“Let me put it this way,” Spogmae began. “If I grab this pot and ram it into my partner’s leg, fracturing their shin, I’m the aggressor, right?”

Salma said nothing

“Bachey?” Burak urged her to answer.

“Yes,” Salma mumbled, not sure why they wanted her to actually reply.

“Right,” Spogmae began. “So after that I realize we have a bunch of killers on our tail, and I can’t afford to lose my head, or my partner’s, but they can’t run because I broke their leg. Therefore, I have to not only give them a hand but also, let them dictate the pace. It’s frustrating and dangerous and mental, but who’s to blame for us being slowed by the injury? My partner or me?”

Salma turned to her fiddling fingers, feeling conflicted.

“Mental wounds can’t be seen doesn’t mean they’re any less painful or fake,” Spogmae said gently. “Like a limb that’s broken, an emotional wound takes time to heal. If he doesn’t have the patience for you to mend before pacing up, he might as well withdraw his help and walk away. It’s not on you.”

Salma took a gulp of breath and chewed on her bottom lip.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Burak Kaka began. “Respond to him only when you feel like it. Leave when you can’t. You don’t owe him anything.”

“The world is harsh on a woman, as is,” Spogmae added. “A man declaring love for a woman somehow has all the sympathy and support just because. People will belittle your pain, tell you to forgive him and just move on. That he’s reformed his ways, become better and is full of regret. They’re quick to judge, call you cold and heartless, but remember, you don’t owe him, or any man, your love. Except for the one who earns it.”

As the professor started talking again, Salma forced her attention back to class. Although Spogmae’s analogy and her words had made sense, Salma still felt pressured to run on a broken leg. She felt responsible for slowing the partner who was lending her a hand despite the fact that he was the dimwit that knocked her down in the first place. Salma realized she’d rather he just dropped her weight and walked away. She would prefer that over being a burden over someone she could not repay in kind.