She was frightened. He was obviously upset. Was he going to fly them in this condition? He had personally flown the both of them from Rima, in his helicopter. She knew she wasn’t going anywhere with him like this, least of all a helicopter. She was prepared to scream.
He stopped abruptly when they reached the side portico of the classic Northern house and turned to face her. He grabbed her face from the back of her head, pulling her close to him, and she shivered when she smelled his heavily liquored breath. Then, he kissed her without restraint. She struggled beneath him, but she had nowhere to go, he was all around her, all over her. He backed her up against a wall, and his right hand moved slowly from her head down to her neck, placing his fingers around it, grasping, squeezing softly, her necklace straining beneath his palm, making her feel more trapped, she could barely breathe.
He didn’t relent on the kiss that seemed more punishing than loving, as he forced his way into her mouth, ravishing her lips, her tongue. His second hand trailed down her back, over her spine, past her waist to her bottom. He kneaded her through the white silk of her gown as his lips left hers and trailed down her face, biting her chin softly, slurping her neck…she was becoming increasingly worried that someone would see them as she found her arms around him grasping onto his torso through his tailored kaftan. His mouth trailed down to just over her chest…
“Rahman…” She tried to get his attention, he was clearly not himself. “Rahm…”
He jerked up suddenly and took her mouth again, effectively shutting her up, pulling her lower body to his and holding it there, tilting over her swollen belly. Her lips were beginning to feel sore from this new ardent kiss, and she was beginning to feel a different kind of emotion, a different kind of reaction. She chided her body for being so weak. Then he moved his head back from hers a centimeter.
“Kai nawa ne!” He asserted, looking straight into Bichara’s eyes. She was convinced the man she was looking at wasn’t her husband. He was someone else. Some dark stranger. She bit her lower lip, shaken by her feelings. “Fahimta?!” He pressed, tightening his hand around her neck just a little more. She nodded her head quickly and he moved away from her, stepping back so suddenly, she almost fell. She quickly put her scarf back in order.
He shoved his two hands into his thick dark hair, then punched a pillar behind him with such force, he left a gaping hole, and Bichara was sure she saw it shake. He was ranting in swift, possibly meaningless Hausa. She was even surprised he could string words together, considering how drunk he probably was. How was his hand not hurt after that assault on hard concrete? Her heart beat hard.
“Bichara.” Two men approached them, and she found she couldn’t see clearly. She was faint, her vision blurry, but she recognized the voice that called her. She blinked until she could see clearly. Rahman’s brother reached their side, with Garba, Rahman’s assistant. She wasn’t aware he followed them to Minanata, but she wasn’t surprised to see him either. Somehow, Garba was always just close by.
“Oga,” Garba bowed slightly to his boss who laughed, walking straight toward him.
“Garba.” He patted the older man’s face with both hands, and Garba looked slightly embarrassed, not knowing exactly how to react. Rahman fell forward suddenly. Garba struggled to hold him up, Hassan jumping to assist.
Bichara remembered John and hoped he wasn’t too stunned by her husband’s behavior.
“Bichara, how did you come?” She stared at them, Hassan and Garba holding her husband up by his arms. He was struggling out of their grip, making it extra hard for them to support him, all the while cursing them in his mother tongue. She wondered why neither of them was surprised he was that way. They were already thinking of how to ship him away, most likely to keep any of the high-profile guests from seeing him like that. She sighed.
“Um. Helicopter…in Nana bakyad,” she said. She barely had enough energy to stand on her two feet, how would she walk the distance to where the vehicle was parked.
“Garba, where’s your car?” Hassan said, both men breathing heavier from Rahman’s weight and tussles. “Let’s get him in there. Bichara, wait here. I’ll come back to drive you to the field. I am sure you’re exhausted.”
She nodded, letting out a heavy breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. She was so grateful for Hassan’s presence. She had no idea how she would have handled him alone. She watched them drag Rahman, who thankfully for them, was calming down a bit, then she walked back into the house, and sat by the foyer. She thought briefly about going in search of John, but the thought of seeing him after everything that had just happened embarrassed her. And frankly, she did not want to go back in there. She wanted to find a corner somewhere and weep for a long time. Rahman’s behavior just now baffled her. Everything about him baffled her.
He slept, but Saoirse couldn’t sleep a wink, through the short trip back to Rima. As the craft landed over their landing strip, he stirred. She watched him closely. He looked panicked at first, then he calmed noticeably as soon as his eyes met hers, those dark eyes made darker by the darkness surrounding them…physically, emotionally. She wasn’t sure how to react to his intense stare. Had he sobered up already? She did not know anything about drinking or being drunk.
Garba jumped down from the cockpit and swiftly moved to open their door for them. She climbed down, walking straight toward the band of staff awaiting them on the tarmac. Isha held out a large coat for her and she pulled it on. “Trop merci.”
The night was a very breezy one, worsened by the helicopter’s rapidly spinning propellers. She couldn’t wait to get inside and soak in a hot bath. She walked ahead of Isha, toward the house, not looking back. At that moment, she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. She felt Isha follow close behind her. The remaining staff could probably sense something was amiss.
“Do you want foot rub, Madam?” Isha offered as they walked past the entrance into their bedroom suite. Bichara made a beeline for the biggest sofa; she was exhausted.
“Oui, Merci,” she murmured as she crashed on the poor furniture, immediately lifting her legs up. This part of being wealthy, she didn’t feel bad about, having personal staff available just for her comfort.
The door flew open just as Isha took her coat. Rahman stalked in without a word and came to a standstill a distance away from them by the large wall cabinet next to the door. She thought she could ignore him and he would go about his way, but he didn’t move for a long time and she was forced to lift her eyes to him, to find out why he was just standing there. She found him staring straight at her and she was transfixed.
“Leave it. Go.” His terse instructions were directed at Isha. She dropped the coat on the coffee table and scurried out of the room without comment. Bichara felt betrayed. What if she was in danger from Rahman, her loyal aide would leave her high and dry, of course. He who pays the piper. And it was clear who was paying the piper in this particular story.
She returned her gaze to him to find that he hadn’t shifted his from her. The door shut, her heart flew to her mouth. He walked toward her with a determined expression, and Bichara found that she was frozen to the spot, laying over the sofa. He stopped right in front of her, leaning forward just a little bit.
“Qui est-il?” She blinked at his words, feeling like she just woke up.
Ooo. What's going to happen?
See you next Saturday!
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