Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/955287.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Major_Character
      Death
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Jahar_Tsarnaev
  Character:
      Dzhokhar_"Jahar"_Tsarnaev, Tamerlan_Tsarnaev, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Attempted_Rape/Non-Con, Bloody_Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit
      Sexual_Content, Strong_Language
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-05 Words: 11501
****** Blood on my sword ******
by MsMxyzptlk
Notes
     I almost hesitate to post this – this is a dark story, and some
     sections are pitch-black. I aimed to be extremely careful with the
     sensitive subjects explored within. The events that are horrible are
     written that way, and not for prurient purposes.
It was a Saturday morning, on the late side.
What better time to hook up with my friends Paul and Lilly at the local indie
coffeehouse?
Paul and Lilly were friends more special than most. We had something in common
– something that we could talk about in depth with no other people.
We all cared about Jahar –but for different reasons.
Paul thought that he and his brother Tamerlan were unequivocally guilty of
planting the bombs at the Boston Marathon, and that Jahar deserved the death
penalty – after a fair trial. He wasn’t the type to write comments like “let’s
fry Joker’s nuts in bacon grease” at the Boston Herald website.
Lilly thought that Jahar and Tamerlan didn’t do it, because there was no visual
evidence (that was made public) of them planting the bombs. She wasn’t the type
to babble about Craft International or “crisis actors” or any other batshit
theory.
I thought that Jahar and Tamerlan did plant the bombs. The U.S. government had
its flaws, as all governments did, but no way would it create a 74-page
indictment out of thin air. Or smear this horrible crime on two immigrants just
minding their own business.
But...would Jahar have participated without the influence of Tamerlan? Nearly
everyone who claimed to know him said that he was mellow, gentle, kind, and
helpful. How could a young man like this kill...unless he was under duress?
Here was another secret I shared only with Paul and Lilly: I wrote fiction
about Jahar and posted it online under a pseudonym. Most of these pieces were
love stories – for let’s face it, Jahar looked just like a romantic hero.
After writing and posting my last story, an exquisite tale of a romantic
evening called “The way I feel tonight,” another idea rolled into the station.
It had some romantic parts, but boy-girl love was not the main point.
It was a story about pain. Shame. Secrets that could push a young man to deadly
acts.
Less than ten minutes after I put up “The way I feel tonight,” I started
writing the new story. For the next week, I gave up going to the gym, watching
Netflix movies, and posting on Facebook so I could write the story during my
evenings and nights.
Thousands of words later, I had a work I was proud of. It was like nothing else
I had written – I addressed subjects I had never dared touch before. I did my
best to write with sensitivity and care; only the most debased pervert could
get a thrill out of it...
Did I dare post it?
Just to be safe, I should read it to Paul and Lilly first.
* * *
“Not Jahar again.” Paul shook his head. “Really, Kim, you should find yourself
a new boyfriend. Someone you can, you know, actually date.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s someone I can’t help writing about.” I handed
photocopies of the new story to him and Lilly. “This one is called ‘Blood on my
sword.’”
“Oooh. Sounds scary,” said Lilly.
“It is.”
“Does Jahar get...hurt?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
Lilly shook her head. “I don’t know if I want to read this.”
“But he does not die. And there’s hope and healing at the end. “
“Two things the real Jahar won’t get.”
“We shall see, Paul. Now let’s start reading.”
* * *
BLOOD ON MY SWORD
I straddled Jahar, admiring how the tentative light of dawn glowing though the
bare window turned his skin an almost-alien blue. Still, I could see the sheen
of sweat on his skin, on both our skins.
He was panting. I was panting. Our hearts beat hard under our chests...yet our
bodies hummed with energy.
“Hot damn.” Jahar smiled, showing off his lovely teeth. “You should get on top
more often, baby.”
“But you still did most of the work.”
“Yeah, but I can see much more of you this way.” His hand slid up my waist to
cup one of my breasts, his thumb stroking the nipple.
This way. That way. Any way we made love, it always turned out right.
What did I do in my life to deserve him? I should spend time on my knees every
day, thanking the universe.
“You don’t know how beautiful you are, my love.” His gentle, slightly accented
voice stroked my ears. “So soft. So giving...so open. You let me pour myself
into you, and you take it all.”
“That’s because you are so scrumptious, my yummy Jahar.” I leaned down and
kissed his forehead, running my hands through his silky bush of dark brown
hair.
He grasped my hands and rolled us over until we lay side-by-side.
“It’s funny. Usually when I’m awake at this time of day, I’m pissed. Probably
because the alarm went off and I have to go to some godawful thing, like some
shit job. I don’t look out the window and see how beautiful the dawn is.” He
laughed. “It helps that you’re here sharing it with me.”
“I get you on the waking up early thing. I don’t often wake up happy before
seven a.m. ‘Course, it may have something to do with my alarm music, too.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. I went to the alarm section
and played the tone for Jahar. It was the fight music from the original Star
Trek episode, “Amok Time.”
“Shit, that’s some angry music. No matter you don’t like waking up early. I
think your alarm oughta sound like this.” He placed his lips on my ear. “Wake
up, baby...” he purred. “Wake up. Jahar’s here, and he’s got a little something
something for your cute self...”
While he created his seductive wake-up call, he rubbed his hips against mine.
“Hmmm...will that new alarm come with that something something I feel right
now?”
“When phones can send 3D messages, I guess. But now...” He rolled over onto me.
“How much time you got, baby?”
“I don’t have to be in class until nine.”
“I have a class at eight. If we don’t shower, that gives us...another hour?”
“Let’s use that whole hour.” I opened my legs wide and arched my back. “I want
to walk into that class smelling like you.”
“You’ll make all the girls jealous, now.”
“I don’t fucking care.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Now put that big
boy in me and ride, Mr. Jahar.”
Jahar gave me a mock salute.
“Aye, Captain.”
Like a good sailor, he obeyed his orders....and the mission got accomplished.
All the way.
* * *
As he usually did on a Saturday morning, Jahar drove up to Cambridge to visit
his older brother, Tamerlan. He would spend Saturday night there and return on
Sunday, usually at six p.m.
Many girls would resent not having their guys around on Saturday night, but I
didn’t. I understood how important family was to Jahar, and the weekends were
the only time he could get up there when school was in session. Besides, we had
a hell of a lot more fun on our Sunday nights than most people had on their
Saturday ones. (It helped that we tried not to have classes on Monday morning
that started before ten a.m.)
I found things to do on Saturday nights – hang out with my other friends, watch
a movie on television, or simply curl up in bed and read a book. Sometimes, a
sexy book. Then I’d turn off the light and think of Jahar...and my hand would
slide down and do its best to substitute for his tongue and penis...poor hand,
it did its best, but it could not match the real deal.
Before he got home, I had a few rituals. I’d go to Trader Joe’s and buy him a
bouquet of flowers. (Ladies, try it – he will appreciate it.) I’d buy some of
his favorite candy (usually Kit Kat bars or Reese’s cups). I’d make sure the
bed looked nice, and me as well (shower, shave, style). Sometimes when he got
home, he’d appreciate my gifts before we went out to eat. (And sometimes we
stayed in to eat, if you know what I mean.)
This Sunday night, after I performed the rituals, I waited for the click of the
key in the door. What I got instead was this text. Not from Jahar, but from his
Cambridge friend Bundy.
hey jahar and tam decided to go fishing in salem he’ll be back later in the
week
What the hell?
Why would Jahar make such an impromptu change of plans? And why didn’t he let
me know himself?
I called Bundy to talk to him directly. No answer.
Dammit...
Bundy, what’s up? Why did Jahar go fishing with Tamerlan without calling me
directly? I have no problem with it, but it looks weird
dunno. bros will be bros?
Well, keep me posted
* * *
“Gone fishing?” My friend Patricia shook her head. On this Sunday night, she
was my dinner companion. “Guys in their teens and twenties don’t fish. Not in
America. They just get their fish from McDonald’s.”
“Jahar and Tamerlan aren’t ‘typical’ Americans. They still have some old school
in them. Maybe they like working for their dinner.”
“Bullshit. You may not see it, but Jahar is a lazy-ass. Why does he sell weed
instead of getting a real job?”
“Selling weed is a real job, Patty. He always says, ‘dealin’ ain’t easy.’ I
believe him.”
“Really?” Patricia’s eyebrows arched until they looked like the McDonald’s
logo. “You know what comes from believing every word a man says? A broken
heart...and a burning hoochie.”
“Jahar isn’t like most men. He’s not like any man, in fact.” I proudly defended
Jahar.
But later that night, all by myself, my mind started running wild.
He wouldn’t.
No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t!
You let me pour myself into you, and you take it all.
Oh, Jahar. I will take your all – you don’t need anyone else!
I threw myself down on the bed and reached for one of the pillows. This pillow,
I could hold and kiss and rub against tonight.
But it couldn’t do anything back. It couldn’t hold me in arms of muscle wrapped
in silky skin. It couldn’t kiss me, nibble on my lower lip, run its tongue
across my teeth. It didn’t have fingers ready, willing, and able to explore all
of my secret caverns. It couldn’t feel the rush of blood that stiffened
erectile tissues, couldn’t push open the gate of my labia, couldn’t pitch and
plunge in and out of me until I didn’t know where I was, couldn’t let go and
release its seed into me – the one proof of sheer want that could never be
faked.
You have no proof of wrongdoing.
Patricia had not one, but two guys cheat on her. Of course she’s going to see
cheating everywhere. She doesn’t know Jahar like you do.
Here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to chill until Jahar gets back
from his fishing trip. When he comes home, you’re just going to ask him how the
trip went. You’ll put the ball in his court, and take it from there.
Okay?
Okay.
* * *
Jahar didn’t come home until early Wednesday afternoon. I hadn’t done the
Sunday night rituals because I didn’t know when he would be home...but I made
up for it with a luscious welcome-home kiss.
Or so I thought. He didn’t respond by kissing back; he only murmured “thanks”
and walked straight to the bedroom. I followed.
He had his duffel bag on the bed, unzipping it and taking clothes out.
“How was your fishing trip?” I asked.
Jahar lowered his head and continued unpacking.
“Fine.” The word shot out of his mouth.
“Did you catch anything?”
“No. If I did, I would’ve brought something.”
“Well, better luck next time. I hope you guys had fun, at least.”
Jahar threw the empty duffel bag into the closet so hard it made a slapping
sound when it hit the wall.
“Jahar!” I stepped toward him, but he gave me such a furious look that it
stopped me cold. I had never seen that face before – eyebrows scrunched
together, cheeks flushed, mouth scowling. I had never seen him this angry.
But why?
He scooped up his dirty clothes and stormed past me to the hamper. He dropped
them inside haphazardly and went into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator
door open.
“Goddammit, is there any fucking beer in this place?”
He slammed the door shut and said something unintelligible...but not nice. He
came out of the kitchen and yanked open the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“Rodney’s. I know he has beer. I’m going to get good and drunk this afternoon.”
“But, Jahar – “
“Don’t ‘but’ me!” He all but screamed it. “I don’t need your chickenshit
concern right now. I’m a man, and I’m gonna get shitfaced like a man. Got a
problem with that?”
I did, but how could I say so now?
* * *
The sky had turned black before I heard the knock on the door.
Rodney was there, holding up a red-eyed, mumbling Jahar.
“Here’s your Jahar back.” Rodney marched him into the bedroom and let him fall
clumsily to the bed. “Motherfucker drank a 12-pack of PBR all by himself. He
owes me eight dollars.”
I reached into my purse and gave him a ten-dollar bill.
“Keep the change. Thank you for bringing him home, Rodney."
“No probs, but keep an eye on him. I’ve never seen him drink that much so fast
before.”
When Rodney left, I took a good look at Jahar. His eyes were closed, but he
still mumbled words I didn’t understand. I also saw a dark yellowish tint in
the skin around his eyes.
All I could do now was make him as comfortable as possible. I took off his
shoes and socks, and lifted his legs to the bed. I unbuttoned his jeans and
pulled them down his legs. They smelled of spilled beer and urine.
As a precaution, I took his underpants off too, and then undressed him on top.
His white T-shirt was splattered with pale, crusty orange drops.
These needed to go into the hamper, too. I carried his dirty clothes to the
hamper, and saw a pair of his underpants on the floor. It had come out of his
duffel bag.
I picked it up, and it felt heavier than usual. Something was clinging to the
inside. I turned the underpants inside out.
Whoops. Looks like Jahar had a little accident.
My first impulse was to find a tissue to remove the bit of semi-dried
waste...but then I looked closer.
I saw a streak of red inside the brown.
How could he be bleeding down there? That is never a good sign.
I checked out the underwear I’d just taken off of him. This pair was navy blue,
so a stain would be harder to see...but I did find a dark red streak.
I placed both pairs of underwear back into the hamper and returned to the
bedroom. Jahar had rolled over on his side and curled up in the fetal position.
He was shivering, so I pulled the sheet over his naked body. Then, I got the
flashlight from the nightstand and looked under the sheet. I turned on the
light and pointed it at his buttocks.
When I looked closely, I saw that his anal area looked darker than usual. I
brought the flashlight closer, and used my fingers to spread his buttocks
slightly.
Jahar screamed. Not shouted, not yelped, not brayed – he screamed a scream that
demanded I get my hand away from there.
I leaped back and turned off the flashlight. His shaking intensified, and he
curled up even tighter into himself.
“No,” he murmured. “Please...stop.”
“I’m sorry, Jahar, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Please!” His voice keened in agony. “Stop! Stop doing that to me!”
He wasn’t talking to me. He started kicking and flailing his arms and legs, as
if fighting off an intruder.
“Why do you have to keep doing that? What’s wrong with you? Haven’t you taken
enough already?” He grabbed a pillow and bit it, then threw it aside. “No!
Noooooo! NOOOOOO!!! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME! GET IT AWAY! STOP IT,
TAMERLAN, STOP! PLEASE!!!”
Tamerlan?
Jahar was now so wild with fear that I had to pull him back home. I went to the
other side of the bed to face him.
“Jahar?”
His eyes were squeezed tightly shut...but not tight enough to stop tears.
I knew now that the lie about the fishing trip wasn’t to cover up
cheating...but an unspeakable horror.
Get that thing away from me!
Tamerlan had used an unnamed “thing” to hurt Jahar.
But what?
* * *
“No. No. No.” Lilly shook her head. “I don’t like where this story is going.”
“You’re not supposed to ‘like’ it. Bad news is coming ahead.”
“I think I know what that ‘thing’ is.”
“Keep it to yourself for now, Paul.”
* * *
I reached out and delicately touched my fingers to his forearms.
“Aaah!” Jahar reacted as if my fingers were afire. His eyelids leapt open as if
he were a marionette out of control.
“Jahar, it’s me. Only me.”
His dark eyes stopped jerking back and forth, and focused on me. He gripped my
hand so tight I feared he’d break my fingers.
“Baby.” He slowly released me. “Baby, I’m here.”
“Yes, you’re here.”
“Here...not there.”
He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.
“Thank God.”
He lowered his head...as if he were ashamed.
“Jahar...I know there was no fishing trip.”
“No, there wasn’t,” he whispered.
“But it wasn’t because of what you did...it was because of what was done to
you.”
Jahar lifted his head and looked into my eyes searchingly.
“What did I say?”
“You said...’Get that thing away from me. Stop it, Tamerlan. Stop, please.’”
Jahar looked as if the world was about to end. His mouth trembled and his lower
lip stuck out.
He let out a keening cry, the cry of a young child unable to express himself
any other way...the cry of a young man subjected to a “thing” of unspeakable
horror.
All I could do for him was hold him in my arms. Rock him gently. And not
pressure him.
“It’s okay, Jahar. You don’t have to speak right now. This can wait until
later.”
He lifted his wet face from my chest, eyes shining in gratitude.
“Thank you, baby,” he whispered. “I will tell you tomorrow. I promise.”
* * *
The skin around Jahar’s eyes remained puffy and discolored as he sat next to me
on the couch. We brought the conversation out here because he “didn’t want this
talk to pollute our bed.”
If he thought it would “pollute our bed”...how awful was it?
We each had a cup of instant espresso flavored with Torani hazelnut syrup. We
were too anxious to eat a “normal” breakfast. Jahar held the white cup in his
pale, long-fingered hands...where the nails were recently bitten to the pink.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come home on time.” His voice came out misty; he kept his
eyes on the coffee table. “But I couldn’t let you see me the...the way I was.”
“Why not?”
“Because Tamerlan gave me two black eyes.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. Everything Jahar had told me about Tamerlan was
infused with hero-worship. He taught me everything I know about being a man.
About standing back up when you get knocked down. About honor, and homeland,
and heroism. He is my main man, baby.
“I had to wait until the bruises faded...so I called Bundy and asked if I could
hide out with him for a few days. Thank God, he could let me do that.”
“But...why the fuck would Tamerlan do such a thing to you?” I was so upset now
that tears formed in my eyes.
“Because I fought back...for the first time.”
Against the “thing”?
“For the first time in my life, I would refuse, yes refuse to let him – “
Jahar started shaking so violently that I grabbed him.
“Let him...what?”
The silence before the next words felt as wide as the Grand Canyon.
“...rape me...”
* * *
“No. Nononono.” Lilly put down her pages. “I can’t deal with this, Kim. I
can’t!”
“But you read that trilogy with all that rough, dubiously consensual sex.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t rape. And it wasn’t incest. And it wasn’t about real people
who might read this online someday!”
“Tamerlan’s dead, Lilly,” reminded Paul. “He’s not going to be reading anything
six feet under. And Jahar doesn’t have internet access, not where he is now and
not where he’s going, which is ADX Florence. Unless they execute him, of
course.”
Lilly had touched a nerve. I sometimes wondered how Jahar would feel if he ever
had the opportunity to read my stories. He might get a kick out of the
romantic-hero ones... but not a story about him getting raped by his own
brother.
“I’ll tell you what. If the case goes to trial, and if Jahar is found not
guilty of all charges, I will pull my stories from the site. I’ll let readers
know, so they can contact me for their own personal copies, but I won’t have
them public anymore. Does that make you feel better, Lilly?”
“Fifty-fifty. I’m glad you are taking Jahar into consideration here...but this
storyline still makes my skin crawl.”
“Mine, too. I hurt for the Jahar in these pages, and I want to protect him. I’m
making sure that the rape/incest scenes are not too graphic, and not at all
arousing...unless you are a TruTV-ready über-pervert.”
* * *
“Rape you?” The very word made my ears burn. “Rape you?”
Not “molestation.” Not “sexual assault.”
That four-letter word, coming out of the mouth of a nineteen-year-old, had just
one meaning...a meaning that had the power to reduce his speech to sobbing and
howling again.
I held on to him through this new emotional storm. Did it last five minutes?
Ten minutes? Thirty?
It didn’t matter.
With a sniffle and a wipe of his face with his sleeve, Jahar slowly let me go
and leaned back on the couch.
“Okay.” He let out a long breath. “Here is the whole story.”
* * *
JAHAR
In my culture, your big brother is not just a guy who’s older than you. He is
the second head of the household, next to your father. If your big brother says
to do something – you do it.
But Tamerlan gave me reasons outside culture to look up to him. He was so
clutch, baby. He could box like nothing else. I almost wanted to follow in his
footsteps, but he set the bar so high that I got into wrestling instead.
He was our family’s Superman. He kept watch over our sisters and me. I believed
he could do no wrong. Literally.
So when he gave me a poke on the shoulder one night and said, “Hey, Dzho, I
wanna show you something,” how could I resist?
It was late at night on a Saturday. Our parents were asleep, and so were our
sisters. We’d finished watching SNL. I liked watching that show with Tamerlan –
it made me feel so grown up.
We went to the bedroom that we shared. Tamerlan opened the door.
“Okay.” He reached into our common dresser and pulled out a jar of Vaseline.
“Let’s take off all our clothes.”
Now you may think that sounds kind of weird. But I was thinking he was going to
teach me to jack off. Young guys have no problem jacking off together. Even
brothers. And he was eighteen at the time. To a twelve-year-old, that’s a real
man.
I took my clothes off. He did, too.
“Now get on your bed and lie down on your belly.”
I did, even though I didn’t know how I could jack off this way.
Suddenly, I felt a greasy hand slide down the crack of my ass.
“Whatcha doin’, Tam?”
“Keep your head down, Dzho. I wanna surprise you.”
“Okay.” I put my head on the pillow.
I heard the bed creak loudly. Tamerlan was kneeling above me now, his knees on
either side of me.
“Oh, you beautiful boy.” I felt his hand stroke me from the top of my neck to
the start of my butt. “I’ve waited for this for so long...waited for you to be
ready.”
Ready for what? And why is he talking to me in a slow, whispery voice...like
he’d talk to a girl?
Before I could think anymore, something hard poked me in the ass.
It didn’t stop. It pressed down, down, harder...until it opened my ass and it
hurt, goddammit, it HURT more than anything I’d ever felt in my life!
I let out a scream, but Tamerlan put his hand over my mouth.
“Shhh, shhh, my little man.” He pushed my thighs open with his free hand and
pressed down on my ass until he could go no further. “This is happening, and
there’s nothing you can do about it.”
You know what happened next. Tamerlan fucked me. He fucked me in the ass, and
it was torture. I’m not exaggerating. His dick was just too fucking big. The
Vaseline didn’t do shit to make it better for me. It hurt so bad that I felt
like throwing up.
I whimpered and cried, but he just wouldn’t stop. He made all these weird
noises that made it even more scary –grunting and snorting and growling like a
starving pig chowing down on scraps. He got all sweaty, and started to stink.
We didn’t talk about sex in our family. We had internet access, but I had never
seen porn. I didn’t even know what porn was – and I sure as fuck didn’t know
that guys stuck their cocks in the asses of other guys.
Baby, I just didn’t know!
Then he started going so hard and fast, it felt like his dick had turned into a
knife ripping me up inside. He cussed in Russian and smacked me on my head and
back.
And then, he just – stopped.
He just lay on me. He was so heavy that I couldn’t breathe.
Before I blacked out, he got off of me. His dick made a gross, wet sound as it
came out.
I kept my face down. I didn’t want to look at him, nor have him look at me. All
I could think was, Why, Tamerlan? Why did you do this to me?
It was quiet in the room for a long time. I couldn’t stay still any longer, and
I lifted my head.
Tamerlan had his hand over his mouth. His face was red...as if he was
embarrassed.
As if he knew he’d done wrong.
He noticed me looking at him. He dropped his hand and gave me a stern look.
“Sit up, Dzho.”
I did...very slowly, because my ass was sore as fuck.
“Look at this.”
He pointed to his dick. It was soft now, but still big, and it was moist with
Vaseline and...fresh red blood.
“I got blood on my sword.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes looked dead. “Yes, I
did.”
I put my feet on the floor. I didn’t even want to be in the same room with him,
even if I had to run out naked.
He grabbed me by the arm.
“Now listen, Dzho, and listen good. You can’t let anyone know about this. We
committed a sin. Boys aren’t supposed to touch boys this way. You share my
shame now...you aroused me, and I acted on that.
“If you tell our papa, he will hate you forever. If you tell our mama, it will
break her heart. If you tell our sisters, they will be disgusted with you. If
you tell anyone else – your friends, your teachers, the police – it will get
back home, I guarantee it. This has to stay between us. No one else.
Understood?”
“Understood.” I nodded my head. I felt ashamed already.
* * *
“Hold it, hold it, hold it. I remember being a twelve-year-old boy. If anyone,
even my own brother, started smearing Vaseline in my buttcrack, I’d be out of
there faster than Usain Bolt. Who doesn’t know what that means?”
“The young Jahar in my story doesn’t. He wasn’t born in this country. And he
worships his brother.”
“I did, too, but I wouldn’t let him rape me!”
“Kids don’t ‘let’ it happen. That’s what too many people have trouble with: the
difference between rape and sex. Rape is such a boogeyman, for both men and
women, that they will look for anything that shifts the burden to the victim.
They don’t want to think that it can happen to them, too, no matter how
‘careful’ they are.”
* * *
JAHAR
When I woke up the next morning, I still felt awful...like a witch had put a
dark spell on me, and taken my childhood away forever. No matter how young you
are, once someone rapes you, that’s the end of being a kid.
All I could hope for now was that he wouldn’t do it again.
But it was just the beginning.
For weeks, Tamerlan would be the cool big brother I’d always known and looked
up to...and then, out of left field, this devil would come after me.
I started to dread the night. I didn’t know when I’d be allowed to sleep
peacefully...and when he’d come into my bed bringing the Vaseline and his hot
breath. I learned to get nauseated at the smell of Vaseline.
Sometimes, he’d make excuses.
“This is part of warrior culture, Dzho. Don’t believe me? Read a book about the
Spartans.”
“I’ve got high testosterone. I need to fuck, not just jerk off, and I don’t
have a girl.”
But always, when he was done, he reminded me it was a sin and not to tell
anyone else, ever.
When I started puberty, I hoped it would discourage him because I wasn’t smooth
like a boy anymore. It only got him interested in my front.
I’ll never forget what he said when he saw my new body. “What a beautiful big
cock you have now. It’s big enough for me to taste...”
That was the worst thing Tamerlan did: making me feel good. I knew that ass-
fucking hurt. When he put his mouth on my dick...baby, I liked it. No, I loved
it. I loved it...and I hated myself for loving it. I hated that he could
control how I felt.
He’d take advantage, too. “You want this. Your mouth says ‘no,’ but your
cock...oh, it tells the truth.” The first time I spilled, it was in his
mouth...damn his soul to hell.
If I couldn’t get him off me by growing up, I’d do it by getting gross. I’d do
things like throw up in his face...which wasn’t hard in this situation. I’d
also piss and/or shit once he took off my underwear. That didn’t stop him. He’d
just rub my face in the mess and do what he was going to do anyway.
Is it any wonder I felt despair? I felt lower than the tiniest insect. I
believed his propaganda – something inside of me made him do these things, so
it must be my fault.
* * *
“Jahar...no, please, never blame yourself! You didn’t make Tamerlan do what he
did. He was either a pervert...or mentally ill. Either way, he was too big and
strong for you to defend against.”
I cuddled him close, the way I wished I could do with that scared twelve-year-
old boy.
“I thought my life sucked at twelve...but the worst thing that happened to me
was being named in a slam book. You went through a real nightmare...but you
were strong enough to grow up to be the good man I love now. Don’t ever forget
that.”
Jahar stroked my hand, and continued with his story.
* * *
JAHAR
By the age of sixteen, I was so full of anger I didn’t know what to do with it.
Being on the wrestling team helped a little. So did playing soccer and running.
But I had tits and pussy on the brain like nothing else.
I wanted to fuck a girl. Really, really wanted to fuck a girl. I thought if I
could get on top of a girl and fuck her, I would become a man. Then, Tamerlan
would have to respect me, and stop doing what he was doing.
I had a plan. I wouldn’t go for the hottest chicks in school, girls who might
turn me down. I chose a girl who was plain, but just cute enough to get hard
for. A girl who would be so grateful for a guy’s attention that she would do
anything for him.
I’ll call her Dana. She had brown hair parted in the middle, she came up only
to my shoulder, and she had nice, big boobs that she covered up with her books
because guys kept staring at them.
I started my campaign the smart way. I smiled at Dana at first, and of course
she smiled back. When I spoke to her, I talked about classes and stuff like
that and pretended I didn’t see her boobs at all. She fell for me like a pebble
dropped from the John Hancock building.
Patiently, I sat with her at lunchtime, then invited her for afterschool coffee
and fast food. My goal was to ask her out on a Saturday night date, take her to
dinner, and then drive her out to the Riv and nail her in the back seat.
When the night came, everything went smooth...until I took Dana to the Riv.
When I parked the car, she asked me what we were here for. The fact she was
that naïve should have been a warning sign. But I was so into my plan that I
didn’t pay attention.
I started to kiss her...at first soft, but then harder and rougher. I slid my
hands up her shirt.
“Jahar...what are you doing?” she asked in a scared voice.
“Kissing you. C’mon, don’t you like kissing?”
“Yes, but...”
“What’s there to ‘but’ about? I like you. You like me. People who like each
other kiss. So...”
Long story short, we ended up in the back seat, where I really started to get
aggressive. I pulled off her shirt and unhooked her bra. Once again, Dana asked
me what I was doing.
“I’m showing how much I like you. How much do you like me?”
“I’m...I’m crazy about you, Jahar.”
That was just about an admission of love. I jumped right on it.
“Then show me how crazy you are about me, Dana. Let me have my way with you.
Let me kiss you...touch you...feel you...everywhere...”
That did it. Dana gave herself completely to me...and I treated her with all of
the sensitivity I’d give a scrap of toilet paper. I went too fast and too hard
and too deep for her first time. She whimpered in pain...but all I could see
were her boobs bouncing as I thrust and all I could feel was her virgin
tightness gripping my dick.
And I didn’t use a condom, either. I wanted blood on my sword, just like
Tamerlan got.
When it was over, I felt real proud of myself. I’m a fucking man now, I
thought. I didn’t give much of a thought to Dana, except making sure she was
dressed and looking decent before I dropped her back home. I was already losing
interest in her, but I said I’d see her in school on Monday.
I burst through the front door, strutting like a cock on the walk. Our parents
were asleep, but Tamerlan was sitting at the computer, watching something on
YouTube.
“Hey, Tam.”
He turned his head. I just gave him the biggest fuck-you grin ever, and then
went to the bedroom.
I took off all my clothes and checked out my dick. Yup – I saw a tiny bit of
Dana’s blood on it. I was the man tonight.
I crawled into bed and put my hands behind my head. Some time later, the door
creaked open.
“How was your date tonight, Dzho?”
“Perfect.”
“Whatcha do?”
“Well...”
I didn’t have to say it. It may have been one of the biggest mistakes of my
life.
“I got laid, man.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Got all up in her like a boss. Didn’t even wear a helmet.” I pointed to
my chest. “I’m a man now. You better recognize.”
Tamerlan grabbed my blanket and pulled it down.
“Hmmm. If you got laid, how come you’re still hard?”
“I dunno. Maybe I’m still excited thinking about it.”
I tried to pull the blanket back up, but he ripped it out of my hands.
“Or maybe you’re excited thinking about me.”
He got down on his knees beside the bed and bent down. Before I knew it, he had
my cock in his mouth.
I tried to push myself away from him, but he pinned me down with a hand on my
mouth.
“Be quiet. You want to wake up Mama and Papa?”
That was the last thing I wanted. So I let him do it. I let him suck away my
triumph, including the blood on my sword. Before, it smelled like girl down
there. Now, it smelled like Tamerlan and his foul pollution.
“C’mon, Dzho, give me your come. Give it to me. Give it to me, my pretty little
bitch...”
And I did. Like fucking always, I did.
When I let go into his mouth, I didn’t feel like a man anymore. I felt like a
pretty little bitch.
Tamerlan got into bed with me.
“You think you can get a girl and forget about me, Dzho? You can’t.” He shoved
his finger into my ass. “You didn’t lose your virginity tonight. I took your
virginity four years ago. Don’t even think about forgetting that. Ever.
Ever!”
He took me ten times harder than I did Dana. He didn’t even bother with
Vaseline this time. He tore my ass up...and when he was done, he pulled out and
shoved his dick in my face.
“See? Your blood on my sword. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s the
way it always will be. I’m the man. You’re the boy.” He smacked me with his
dick. “Little fuck.”
In the morning, I went outside and crawled under the stairwell to our
apartment. I had my pocket knife with me... I cut my wrists. I didn’t know that
I should have cut vertically and not horizontally...the cuts hurt, but didn’t
bleed much at all.
I was a failure as a man...I couldn’t even kill myself right.
No surprise, I couldn’t even look Dana in the eye when I got back to school on
Monday. The poor girl...she probably felt it was her fault I didn’t want
anything to do with her now. All I could do was listen to her cry as she walked
away. She transferred out of school for our senior year...I wish I could tell
her the truth. I wish I could let her know that it was me who was the fuck-up.
Tamerlan had used me...and then I turned around and used her. I hope she knows
now what a good girl she is.
* * *
“I hope so, too.” I held on close to Jahar. What he needed from me was
listening without judgment. If I had been hearing Dana’s side of the story
alone, without having met Jahar, I would have deemed him a cad. At this moment,
the young man in my arms needed unconditional love and support while the
agonizing words fell from his mouth.
* * *
JAHAR
Then, Tamerlan got married to a girl who was carrying his baby. And the raping
stopped. Just stopped cold, as if it was just a nightmare. He acted as if he’d
done nothing wrong at all, that we’d had a normal relationship all along.
I was so grateful it was over that I promised myself I wouldn’t bring it up to
anyone. Why rock the boat? Why break up the family over this? When his little
girl was born, I knew I had to shut up for life. How could I risk her knowing
what her father had done? I just looked straight ahead, focused on my studies,
graduated from high school and moved on to college.
I can’t tell you how glad I was that I could live near campus. It was like a
reboot of my life. Meeting new people who didn’t know me back then...building
an identity of my own...looking across the classroom in Statistics and
discovering the sweetest face ever...promising to learn from my mistakes with
Dana so I wouldn’t lose you.
I felt that I had everything now. A promising future, a collection of buddies,
a brother who acted right, a girl who loved me...then I went back home last
Saturday and got knocked all the way back...
It started when Tamerlan opened the door.
“Heyyy, little bro.” He gave me a fist dap. “What’s happening?”
What was happening in the apartment was quiet. Tamerlan was all alone this
weekend.
“Good time for you to be here. Wife and kid visiting the in-laws...”
I walked through the door. The place was quiet, but it was even more messy than
usual. Papers and empty food boxes and plastic bags on the furniture and the
floor. On his own, Tamerlan sure could wreck shit.
“It’s going to be a bromantic weekend!”
That made me think of stuff that I shouldn’t.
It’s in the past, I kept telling myself. That was then...this is now.
Tamerlan took some old newspapers off the couch so I could sit down.
“Want a drink?”
I knew he had only soda, water, and juice, but I said sure and took a Coke.
“So...” he said as we both sat down on the couch, “how’s my college Dzho?”
“Aight.” I told him a lot about my classes, not so much about my grades and the
parties. Then, he asked me this:
“What about girls?”
I thought about you, and grinned like the Mad magazine guy.
“I don’t have girls in my life...I have a girl.”
“Really? Tell me more.”
I told him everything I’d tell anyone else about you, from the funny way you
laugh to you giving me flowers every Sunday when I got home. Tamerlan nodded
his head, like he was digging it, and then he asked:
“Have you had sex yet?”
“Yeah.”
“How often do you do it?”
That question felt weird, so I hedged it.
“Often enough to make me feel lucky.”
Tamerlan leaned forward and asked more questions, each one getting more
personal.
“Do you wear rubbers, or do you come inside her?”
“Does she give you blowjobs?”
“Does she stick her fingers up your ass?”
I got really pissed, and told him to cut it out.
Tamerlan tried to put his hand on my crotch. I jumped back as if his hand was
burning.
“What the fuck – Tamerlan, what’s wrong with you, man?” I was starting to feel
sick already.
Not this shit, I thought. I am so done with this shit!
“You’re getting hard, aren’t you, Dzho?”
“Stop it.”
“Remembering all those good times we had?”
“They weren’t good for me, you...you brotherfucker.”
I got off the couch.
“If you don’t start acting right, I’m outta here. You will not do those things
to me. Ever. Again.”
Tamerlan stood up.
“Oh, really?”
“I’m not twelve years old anymore. I can tear your shit up.”
He laughed.
“No, really. Do it. Try to touch my dick one more time and see – “
He grabbed my dick through my jeans and squeezed.
I socked him right in the jaw. His head jerked back, and he let me go.
Man, that felt so good.
For a few seconds.
Then, I saw the whole galaxy flash before my eyes. I landed hard on my ass.
Whoa, fuck! I forgot – he was Golden Gloves!
I grabbed the edge of the coffee table and tried to push myself up.
Wham! Saw the galaxy again.
I was still conscious, but barely. I felt weak and dizzy. I couldn’t open my
eyes anymore – he gave me two shiners.
I felt him pick me up off the floor and carry me to the bedroom. All I could
think was, It’s happening again. It’s happening, and I’m as fucking helpless as
I was when I was twelve.
I felt him drop me on the bed and start taking off my clothes. I tried to fight
– really, I did! – but the fucker was just too strong, and those two blows to
the head messed me up, too.
I felt his hands and mouth on my dick. “Does your girl suck you off like this,
Dzho? Does she?” I saw your face in my mind, and I got hard. I’m sorry, baby.
I’m so sorry.
I smelled the fucking Vaseline, because he opened the jar and shoved it in my
face before he rubbed it on my ass.
I felt his dick shove into my ass. He put his hand on my mouth, the hand with
the Vaseline on it, so no one could hear me scream.
One more time.
It lasted long as fuck. He must have been taking Viagra or some shit like that.
And he kept on talking, saying I’d never get away from him. “When I am one
hundred, and you are ninety-three, I’ll still be fucking your pretty pussy,
brother. Count on it.”
He had one hand on my dick, too. Working it good. “C’mon, Dzho, squirt for me.
Let me know how much you like it.”
I thought about shit floating in the toilet. Cats squashed by tires.
Cockroaches running all over the kitchen floor. Dudes puking at a party.
“Think about your girl. Think about her soft skin...her hair brushing against
your face...her cushy tits...her hot, wet cunt. Think about how hard you’d
squirt for her.”
Tamerlan put you in my head again, and I couldn’t think about gross stuff
anymore. I thought about the last time we made love, in the light of dawn,
fucking up into you as I watched you rise and fall, touching yourself, moaning,
begging for my cock.
Damn his fucking hide, I did as he wanted. I came with his hand...and at the
same time he came into me, too.
“Ohhh, yes. Yesss. That’s my good boy...”
The next thing I remember was walking down the stairs. I couldn’t see because
of my swollen eyes. My whole body hurt like fuck. I got to the bottom of the
stairs and fell down hard on my ass – needless to say, I started bawling.
I reached into my pocket for my phone. It took all of my strength to keep my
eyes open long enough to find Bundy’s number. I called him and begged me to
pick me up.
The fishing story was Bundy’s idea. I didn’t know if you’d go for it. To tell
you the truth, it sounded kind of lame. Dudes our age going fishing? If I want
fish, I get it at McDonald’s.
Better a lame story than a horrible truth...
* * *
“Jahar...”
I felt as if a claw had ripped my guts out and had shoved them back in upside
down.
My lover had been raped – practically tortured – by his own brother for years.
Evil wasn’t just a concept in philosophy books; it crept on the surface on the
earth and called itself Tamerlan.
“My God...you have to call the police. You have to put this motherfucker’s ass
in jail!”
He looked at me helplessly.
“If you can’t, I’ll do it for you.”
I reached for my phone, but Jahar grabbed my wrist so tightly that I feared
he’d break it.
“NO!” he screamed. “Don’t do that! Please!”
“But, Jahar...” His face melted behind my tears. “He can’t get away with it...”
“If you call the cops, the rest of my family will know. I can’t have that.”
Now, I understood. Tamerlan had taken Jahar’s autonomy with the rapes. I almost
did the same by calling the police against his will.
The best thing I could do for him was to let him have control.
“Okay. No police. I promise, Jahar.”
He slowly let go of my wrist.
“Did I hurt you, baby?”
“No...” It was a little white lie, but he did not need guilt right now.
“Thank God.”
I looked down at my coffee cup and saw that the cup was still almost full. I
had only taken one sip, and that was before he started talking.
Jahar had drank all of his...but it wasn’t enough to counteract his draining
story. He spent most of the rest of the day curled up in bed. I stayed with
him, holding his hand, feeding him, answering his calls and telling his friends
that no, he was not down to party.
Nowhere near it.
He fell asleep early for him, and I did so, too. He did not cry out as he had
last night...but he did weep softly into his pillow.
As I wept softly into his back.
* * *
I had promised not to call the police.
I did not promise to do nothing.
I went to the sporting goods store and bought an eighteen-inch serrated
machete. The serration was to make it look more menacing.
Why?
To scare the piss out of Tamerlan.
I didn’t plan for the blade to meet flesh. To tell the truth, I had never even
touched a machete before.
However, if a certain creep saw a long knife aimed right at his johnson,
knowing that it would be cut off unless he stopped raping his brother...
I hoped that would be enough.
I got the directions to the apartment from Mapquest. The only person I told
about my plan was Patricia, and even then I just said I was “researching” the
fishing story.
Jahar, of course, did not know. I went at a time when he thought I was in
class. If all went well, I would be back home before he missed me.
When I parked on the narrow street and got out of the car, I tied a scarf
around my waist and tucked the machete behind me. From the front, I looked
unarmed.
I walked up the flight of stairs and knocked on the door. A few seconds later,
it opened wide.
“Who are you?”
Tamerlan was tall, taller than Jahar, much taller than me. And he was wide,
too. He was the biggest man I had ever seen up close – a human wall.
Oh. My. God.
Remember – you have the weapon. Remember – who you are here for.
I gave him my name and told him I was Jahar’s girl. Tamerlan grinned.
“He’s told me so much about you.” He tucked a thick, paper-filled binder under
his arm. “I was wondering when he’d bring you to see me.”
He invited me into the apartment, which was still as messy as Jahar had told
me. It smelled of pizza and Coke and sweat and farts. His wife and child,
evidently, were still away.
He pushed some trash off the couch and put his binder down on the coffee table.
It had a letter-size sheet in the front pocket, on which were printed these
words in sixty-point Times New Roman bold: The REAL Facts of Life.
“So...wanna hear some secrets about Dzho you oughta know?” He cackled. “I’m a
poet and I don’t know it.”
I did not sit down. I looked straight into his dark eyes.
“I’m not going to make nice, Tamerlan. I know what you did to Jahar.”
He lifted his shoulders in the universal “I don’t know” sign.
“What?”
Stay calm. “You raped him.”
Tamerlan snorted.
“Who told you that dirty fucking lie?” He pointed to his chest. “I never raped
anyone in my life. I don’t have to. And I would never, ever rape a boy – my own
little brother! Tell me who said that, girl, and I will kick his ass into the
middle of next week.”
I stood still and silent.
“Ah. I see. That’s what he told you.”
He laughed, as if we were performers in a high satire.
“You think you know Dzho, girl. But I’ve known him for longer. Much longer. He
told you I raped him? Well, the reverse is closer to the truth. He’s been
crawling on top of me and trying to stick his cock in my ass since he was six.”
My cheeks flushed at that bald-faced lie.
“Oh yes, our Dzho is quite the little slut. He tried to fuck anything that
moved – cats, dogs, his sisters, me...hell, even the crack of dawn wasn’t safe
from his eager wiener.
“When he found a circle of friends who were as horny as he was...they went to
town on each other. If I had a nickel for every time I caught them in three-,
four-, and even five-ways...I wouldn’t need Section 8.
“The older he got, the more he craved it. In high school, he fucked both girls
and boys...and it wasn’t enough. He stole money from our mother’s purse to pay
for hookers. Mostly guys. He was thirsty for the cock.”
* * *
“Oh, God, this is awful.” Lilly shuddered.
“It’s supposed to be. Rapists, especially inside the family, tend to blame the
victim to deflect the spotlight off themselves.”
“But Kim, you don’t really think that Tamerlan actually raped Jahar!”
“I don’t know. I certainly hope not! The rape in this story, though, is meant
to be a metaphor. It is possible, and likely, that the real-life Tamerlan
forced some bad ideas into Jahar.”
“Not with his dick, though.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
* * *
“If you think he can be faithful to you, think again. He is addicted to
fucking, and he so much wants to hide it that he’d tell a vicious lie about his
own brother.” He stared directly at my crotch. “You should go to the clinic and
get yourself tested for all the sexual diseases. Dzho is guaranteed to have at
least one.”
The tears rolling down his cheeks.
The horror choking him so hard he could barely speak.
The anguished plea not to call the police.
The blood in his underwear.
“Vicious lie,” Tamerlan?
I had seen the effects of vicious.
You will not do those things to him. Ever. Again.
I reached behind me and pulled the machete out of the scarf. Just like in the
movies, it shone in the sunlight.
Tamerlan didn’t notice – until the point of the blade rested on his chest.
Cutting off your dick would be too merciful, Tamerlan.
He gave me the look that a father would when his child did something unusually
cute.
“What have we here? Did poor little Dzho send his girl to tear shit up?”
“No. He doesn’t know I’m here. He would not have let me go. But I couldn’t stop
myself. I would never have forgiven myself if I didn’t do something.” I stepped
forward. “It’s up to you, Tamerlan. You promise me that you’ll stop raping and
hurting Jahar...or I will cut your heart out and feed it to the crows.”
“I see. Tell me this, though: are you strong enough to break my breastbone with
that? You have to break it to get to my heart.”
I stiffened my back, trying to stay cool. Was I strong enough?
I could go for the belly.
But was I brave enough to make a fatal cut?
Remember, I’d never killed anyone before.
So what? If Jahar needs you to do it, you would cut Tamerlan into fillets.
Yes. I would.
“I’ll do what I have to.”
Tamerlan laughed...and then pushed down my blade as if it were a light switch.
“What a pussy. Needs a girl to fight his battles.”
He stood up and stepped towards me. I moved back as if his skin was leaking
acid.
“Perhaps you need a real man to take care of you.”
I didn’t notice we were backing into the bedroom until it was too late.
“I’ve got something that can take care of you...real good.”
He reached for the drawstring of his pants.
No...HELL, no!
I swung the blade of the machete. It got him on both forearms...barely, but
enough to draw blood.
“Ow!” Tamerlan jumped back and clutched his wounds. “Bitch!”
I saw a flash of light...then darkness.
* * *
Still in darkness, I heard a voice. It sounded distant, but I could hear every
word.
“Ohhh, you have nice titties.”
A mouth came down and sucked on my nipples...sucked hard enough to make them
hurt.
“Nice and soft...”
The voice...too deep to be Jahar.
Not Jahar!
No!
I tried to lift my arms to push this intruder away, but couldn’t. My head hurt
so much.
The hot mouth that violated my breasts moved over my belly and breathed on my
crotch. I knew now I was naked. Naked in front of another man who wasn’t my
lover.
“I smell my brother all over your pussy. Oh, yes, he thinks you belong to him
alone. Once I’m done here, you’re going to smell only like me. And Dzho’s going
to know that I can take anything of his I want. Including his woman.”
* * *
“Ahem.” Paul cleared his throat. “I think a certain Jahar girl has a secret
wish for a little Tamerlan action, too.”
“Nooooooooo.” I shook my head vigorously. “This is a non-con scene. Didn’t you
read the ‘no’ part?”
“I’ve read ‘My Secret Garden.’ In the fantasy world of women, ‘no’ sometimes
means ‘go ahead and take me.’ If you don’t believe me, read it yourself.”
“Thanks for your opinion, Paul. Now let’s find out what happens next.”
* * *
I forced my eyelids to open as much as they could.
I saw a man kneeling between my legs. A naked man. I kept my eyes on his face
and avoided his crotch. I knew he was Tamerlan, but I couldn’t make out his
features. My vision field was so narrow that I could barely see colors.
He put his hands on the bed...
...and another figure appeared behind him.
I saw a gleam of light which crossed from right to left.
Then, color at last.
Red, lots of red, falling down the naked man’s chest.
He fell off the bed, away from my view.
The other figure stood tall, gripping the object which had given off light.
A cloud of dark hair around his head. No shirt. Fury knitting his thick
eyebrows together.
Jahar.
“No more, my brother. No fucking more.”
He fell down on his knees and raised the gleaming object high above his head.
The machete.
He brought it down fast and hard. A fountain of red splashed into his face and
chest. Jahar stabbed again. Again. Again...until he was as bloody as Carrie at
the prom.
I knew I should not look at this. He would not want me to look at this. But I
had to.
Jahar brought the blade down again. He jerked it back and forth rapidly.
Is he doing what I think he’s doing?
Some time ago, he had told me about a video he had seen on LiveLink, a video
showing six Russian soldiers being executed by Chechen rebels – with knives
cutting their throats. He only gave me the barest of descriptions, and made me
promise never, ever to look at the video myself – “It’s not for girls to look
at, especially sweet girls like you” – but he also said it was important for
him to look. “Russians did terrible things to Chechens as well. Sometimes, you
can’t help fighting brutality with brutality. It can be the only way to end a
fight.”
Jahar is sawing Tamerlan’s head off.
Brutality ending brutality for good.
A nineteen-year-old with two black eyes and blood in his underpants was
avenged.
So was a sixteen-year-old who wasn’t allowed to celebrate the loss of his
virginity.
And a twelve-year-old who didn’t know what was going to happen to him.
Jahar stopped sawing and let the blade drop. It didn’t make a sound, probably
because it landed in a thick pool of blood.
He stood up, coated in his brother’s blood. The places where his skin was
naked, his face and his chest and his arms, gleamed an angry red. He looked
down, and wiped his face with his hand. The instinctive gesture did nothing to
get him clean.
He slowly turned his head towards me. Now I could open my eyes all the way.
“Jahar...?” My voice came out brittle, as if filtered through a plastic bag.
“Baby.” He quickly knelt by my side.
My arms reached for him. He leaned down and embraced me. Blood dripped down
from him, from his hair and his throat and his chest, falling onto my own naked
skin. A dank, salty smell overwhelmed the air we breathed. But I didn’t care.
My lover is alive, and his rapist is dead.
Jahar lifted me up from the bed.
“I’m taking you away from here,” he whispered.
He scooped me up into his arms, and stood to his full height. He had never
carried me like this before, and I didn’t think he could (I was only ten to
fifteen pounds lighter than him). Perhaps it was a rush of testosterone which
gave him the strength.
“Don’t look down,” he warned as he stepped over Tamerlan’s body. I buried my
head into his chest as we moved down the hallway and turned right into the
bathroom. He carefully placed me down on the rug and pulled a white terrycloth
robe from a hook on the door.
“Here.” He wrapped the robe around me. “Don’t worry – it’s mine. Not his.”
“Jahar...” I lifted my head to kiss his lips. “Thank you for rescuing me. And
yourself.”
He placed his hand on my cheek.
“You don’t have to thank me for doing what I needed to do.”
“What...what about the body? We’ll have to clean things up before –“
“We can’t ‘clean things up.’ Not with a million cans of Comet.” He glanced
toward the living room. “I’m going to have to call the cops.”
“No!” I gripped his hands. “What will they think of you when they see
you...like this?”
“I will tell them the truth. I protected my woman from rape. Any man will
understand.”
“But...all this blood...”
Jahar’s eyes widened. His mouth straightened. His chin rose up. He seemed to
age a decade in seconds.
“Blood on the sword of justice is not a crime.”
* * *
“Cutting off the head. Nice Chechen touch, Kim.”
“It’s not a Chechen thing, Paul. Well, notjust a Chechen thing...the LiveLeak
video does exist.”
Paul and Lilly looked at me as if my skin had turned plaid.
“I didn’t watch it, I only looked at the description. I’m as thorough with my
research as I need to be.”
“I don’t like this Jahar,” said Lilly. “I understand why he killed, but did he
have to be so...vicious?”
“Yes. Metaphorically, was it any more vicious than what Tamerlan did to him?”
* * *
EPILOGUE
The ocean’s eternal rhythm of rushing and ebbing was our soundtrack. The black
of the nighttime sky, adorned with glittering stars and spun-silver clouds, was
our canopy. The blue-and-green plaid flannel sleeping bag, soft as velvet after
years of washing, was the shelter of our passion.
The moon, full and bright white, gave Jahar’s untamed curls a shining halo as
he threw back his head and let out a passionate scream. Inside of me, his penis
burst with desire, releasing his river of sperm.
I melted into the ground, dreamy with satisfaction. My hands slipped into the
refreshingly cool sand.
That gave me an idea. I carefully scooped up a handful of sand and slowly let
it go on Jahar’s bare back.
He giggled and brushed his lips against mine...then scooped up another handful
of sand and poured it over my naked breasts.
It was mid-August, and we had just fulfilled a long-time fantasy by making love
on the beach at night. We did have a bedroom in the beach house we had rented
with six other friends, but no one could deny it was more beautiful out here.
Jahar and I had made a pact to enjoy beauty as often as we could this summer.
We needed it to counteract the horror of the late spring.
He did not face charges for the death of Tamerlan. Protecting his woman
outweighed nearly anything, even a death by –
No. I won’t think about that out here.
Jahar met with a therapist for an hour every week, not only because of his
brother’s death but for all that led up to it. We came to understand that
healing was a journey, not a destination – and that it could take years, even
decades.
That didn’t mean we would think about trauma all the time. We consciously made
a time and place for it (therapy, certain evenings at home). On vacation, on
dates, making love to each other – that was when we kept that door closed and
locked.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll let him destroy what we have, baby. I’ll be damned if
I’ll let him stop me from making love to you – from getting excited about you,
from feeling your heat around me, from coming so hard that I forget
myself...from loving you and knowing you love me...”
His determination – our determination – came into play a week before we came to
the beach house. Jahar finally told his parents and sisters what Tamerlan had
done to him. They didn’t believe him – and had stopped communicating with him
altogether.
He refused to feel guilty about that.
If I could believe in a God, I would thank him/her/it that he had enough
friends who stood up for him. And his therapist.
And me.
I fell in love with Jahar in part because of his lighthearted side. His silly
tweets and playful texts and wicked wit pulled me out of my tendency to take
myself (and life) too seriously.
When he showed me the dark secret behind his smile, it only made me love him
more. It took an unshakable moral core not to become a black hole of rage...or
spit it back out into the world.
He was stronger in the places where he had been broken...just as I was stronger
in the places where I had supported him.
We sat up, shaking the sand off our skin. He pulled up his boxers (which were
nearly indistinguishable from swimwear). I put on a short orange cotton dress.
We shook out the sleeping bag, rolled it up, and put on our flip-flops.
“I feel like a nice, warm shower. Wanna join me, baby?”
“Sure...but we might get hot and sweaty again in bed, you know.”
“Who said anything about ‘might’?”
The sounds of our laughter sweetened the air as Jahar walked back to the beach
rental, one arm wrapped around the sleeping bag, the other wrapped around me.
* * *
“That was a satisfying conclusion,” said Paul. “Justice is done, love conquers
all...and nobody blows up a marathon.”
“I can’t say I like a story with incest, rape, and beheading in it. But its
heart was in the right place...and that is what matters.”
“Thank you, Lilly. And Paul.” I made a small bow across the table. “As always,
you’ve been a wonderful audience, which every writer needs.”
On the drive home, I pondered “Blood on my sword.” I knew I would risk the rage
of the Jahar-is-innocent-period fandom if I published it – especially the
faction who widened that halo of innocence over Tamerlan as well. This was the
same fandom who ate up my romantic stories like candy.
Did I want to take that chance?
Well...
Publishing always came with risks. Not everyone would love what I wrote – and
some people would despise it.
Oh, well. Even Dickens gets one-star reviews on Amazon.
And if just one person reads this and understands that the rape was not his/her
fault...well, that is worth the wrath of a thousand fangirls.
So I posted it.
And here it is.
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