A phone was handed to me, and it was Omar, “Anna, are you okay? I am so sorry, my love. I will be back soon, I must deal with this incursion this second. You are safe. Stay put. I will return to you shortly.”
I didn’t get a chance to say anything before he hung up. I went to our room and sat on the bed. I was exhausted from the whirlwind week of wedding and honeymoon and then all the emotions from the news that the infidels were once again destroying the city. And now this. Yet another near miss and either my or Omar’s potential death. It was just too much for me, and I sagged and cupped my face in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
When I went to the chair that overlooked all of the city below us, I could see small fires and random explosions coming from the poverty-stricken section on the far outskirts. From my vantage point in the clouds, it all seemed very far away and not nearly as dramatic as I suppose it must have been in person. It was the side of Dubai that was never spoken of, and if possible never mentioned or shown even in the news. I watched on in horror as more and more of that area burst into flames, and I worried that Omar might be in danger.
I had nothing to do, so I called my mom. She was surprised to hear from me, and I tried to keep it as light as possible and simply told her we had to come back early because of government issues. I tried to distract my anxiety-ridden mind by discussing the plans for her arrival in a month—she was coming over sooner than the rest of the family to help me get ready. Part of me was wondering if any of it was going to happen, and as hard as I tried to remain steadfast, the other part of me was already thinking about heading back to the States.
Dad had gone back to New York, so she was once again alone, but I
knew she was doing so much better than before just from her voice and upbeat attitude. She’d also started going out more and was taking a Zumba class two times a week. So I decided I wouldn’t worry her with this current rash of violence—hopeful that Omar would bring it under control before the celebration. We talked for over an hour, and by the time I hung up, I’d distracted my thoughts enough to not worry so much about my husband.
Omar arrived back in the penthouse within that next hour, looking weary. I tried to talk to him, “Omar, why won’t you let me talk this out with you?”
He simply barked, “Anna, how many times have I told you, this is not the female’s place!”
“Where I come from, a married couple shares in the stresses and talks about issues–the woman helps as much as the man, they are supposed to support the other,” I persisted. “How can I offer you support if you won’t talk to me? Did you ever consider that I might have some ideas or strategies? I’m not stupid, Omar! I did just graduate from Harvard Law! Or did you forget that? Did it also slip your mind that I was held by, and had discussions with one of the leaders of this group of persistent rebels?”
He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t have time for this, Anna. You are a woman, and like I’ve told you on numerous occasions, women have nothing to do with the rule of an Arab nation. Period!”
I crumpled my chin as I thought. I was angry that once again the rebels had interfered with our plans, and I wanted back the carefree man I’d just spent the previous week with. I finally said in a low voice, and with resignation, “Maybe I should go back to the States? You said it was safe, and apparently you were wrong.”
Omar bolted upright so fast his chair flew backwards and crashed into a table, sending the contents crashing against the wall. His hands were balled into fists as he strode to me. I squared my shoulders and stood, facing him.
“You are not leaving!” he hissed.
I met his eyes, “Taking out your frustrations on me will solve nothing.” He pulsed his jaw and tightened his grip. I bit out, “Well, it will solve one thing.”
“What is that?”
“I will leave, and you’ll never see me again. I will never tolerate you abusing me.”
He cocked his head in thought, and tightened his grip one more notch, “I abuse you all the time.”
“No, Omar, you don’t. What we do in the throes of passion and with my consent is a far cry from what you wish to do to me in this moment. You do understand the difference, right?”
I was surprised at how calm I felt and how sure my voice was. I think Omar was equally surprised. He released my neck and went back to his desk, righting his chair and resuming his seated place behind the massive mahogany desk. “Just leave, Anna,” he said in a defeated tone. I debated ignoring his last command, but I was also out of words so I turned to leave and he called after me, “You should sleep in the guest suite tonight.”
I began crying as I headed down the hall and away from my husband of only a week.
How we could go from insatiable lovers to this so quickly was beyond me, but I also knew that Omar was an intricate and complicated man, and I was yet to know all of his complexities. I went to our room and gathered a few items and made my way to the second story and the large guest suite there. I took a shower and was just about to crawl into bed when a knock sounded at the door. I called out that it was open, and Omar came in. He said nothing as he walked to me and took me in his arms. He kissed the top of my head and then muttered. “I’m frustrated. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me?”
I burrowed my face in his chest and replied, “Only if you start including me and talking to me. I won’t be your whipping boy, Omar.”
He held me even tighter and no other words were said. He took me by the hand and led me back up to our room. Without more than a kiss to my forehead, he crawled into bed next to me, and we slept.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning when I woke up, he was in his chair, looking out at the city, and I asked him, “Is it calmer?”
He gritted his teeth and shook his head, “No. They are tearing apart my city.”
“It’s their city, too.” I said without thinking and Omar furrowed his brows together. “I’m sorry, I only mean maybe if we listened to them? Tried to help instead of summarily dismissing or killing them?”
“They will only want more.”
“Omar, I talked to the leader of the group that took me, and what I gathered was they just wanted slightly better living accommodations and fair wages. Was he right that most of them still lived in dirt floor huts?”
Omar shrugged as if that were not uncommon, “Most get paid what they are worth.”