Black Keys (The Colorblind Trilogy #1) (18 page)

When she fainted, the two of them had run to her, a panicked and a frightened ‘Janna’ were cried out loudly from both of them. The prince carried her after pushing Joseph away by the shoulder when he tried to carry her himself, then he placed her on one of the couches, fixing pillows under her legs then rubbing behind her ear to get the blood pumping to her head normally again.

I just sat there on the floor, right where I had been standing just five minutes ago. One hand was tangled in my hair that had gotten messy when I yanked the crown off of my head, and the other was drawing unrecognizable designs in the thick carpet beneath me with one finger.

My eyes were watching my hand as if I was curious to find out what I was drawing, not that I was trying to distract myself from looking at the scene playing out in front of me, the scene of two men. Two brothers.

One of them was a brother looking all concerned and troubled for his sister. A brother that was an Arab, a Muslim. A
terrorist
in my book.

When I looked at him, I wondered if he’d ever put a gun to the head of the unconscious girl lying in front of me. I believed in my heart that he would
never
do something like that, not because of the words he had told me yesterday about how he would’ve given up his whole life for hers–for he had said other hurtful ones to her not so long ago–but because of the look I was seeing in his eyes with my own: he was worried to death about his sister.

The man that was standing beside him with blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in a designer suit, all modern, all educated. He’d lived a life that was considered the best, he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted and more. He craved
nothing
, he had a great job, he had friends, and he had a best friend…he’d held a gun to said best friend’s head. His only family.

How was that even possible?

How was it possible that the terrorist was looking all compassionate and caring, while the one who was raised with the religion of love was able to shoot his sister those glares and dreadful looks he was sending her–me–right now?

How could the terrorist be okay with dying if it meant his sister’s life would be saved, while the other brother was okay with killing his own sister or scaring her to near death just to get to live happily ever after?

What is happening to the world?

Why?

How?

I was very confused. Shocked. Hurt. I was going insane.

“Janna,” the prince called her name again: still no response from her.

“Dear God!” Joseph said in frustration, his hand fisting his own mess of hair that was caused by the prince’s hand just a few minutes ago.

“Which one?” I found myself asking. I didn’t need an answer. I think I didn’t care anymore at that point. Because it seemed that my brother was long gone, and in his place was this man who looked a lot like him from the outside, but not on the inside, not even close.

His glare-reply was cut off when his wife finally responded to her brother’s pleas with a moan.

“Janna?” the prince tried one more time.

“Mazen?” she whispered with her eyes still closed, bringing her hand up to rub her forehead slowly.

“Janna!” came Joseph’s relieved voice. He was kneeling on the floor beside the couch she was lying on, love seeping out of him, making me wonder about his ability to love so much even with all of the hate he was able to send my way.

“Yoseph…” she whispered, then her eyes snapped wide open, staring at him with a strange expression, as if she didn’t know who he was. When her eyes got all teary a second later, she moved her head toward the other direction and away from him, saying something in Arabic that sounded like a plea.

My doubts were confirmed when the prince spoke. “She wants you out of here. Do it. Now,” he snarled.

“Janna, please, Angel Girl,” Joseph begged. “I can explain.”

I internally snorted as I slightly shook my head at the sound of his words. What could he do to explain his actions and what he’d done to me? To her? To the prince? To all of us? He’d fooled everyone. What was there to explain?

“I don’t want to hear your voice–get out of here, please!” she cried, still looking away from him.

“Janna, I’m begging you, hear me ou-” Joseph tried again, but before he could finish his words, the prince was grabbing him by the back of his collar, pulling him hard and forcing him to stand on his feet, then dragging him all the way to the door, and shoving his stumbling form out of the room.

“Mona!
This
is not allowed in here under any circumstances until
I
say otherwise, understood?” he said with a firm voice that was even firmer than his grip was on my brother’s throat minutes ago.

It didn’t escape my notice that he referred to him as ‘this’ and not ‘he’. I kind of, sort of...
liked
it.

“Yes, Prince Mazen,” Mona replied.

When the door was closed, Janna started with the ugly crying, wailing and sobbing; it was kind of sad. I felt sympathy for her. I knew the feeling. To be lied to. To be betrayed. It was hard. But I wasn’t going to be the one to soothe her. I couldn’t. I
wouldn’t
.

She had a caring brother to do so.

I didn’t.

Envying her was something I could do, though.

So, I did.

When the prince smoothed her hair and patted her head, I envied her some more.

Janna started mumbling in Arabic, choking and sobbing strangled words through her tears as she sat up on the couch. The prince listened to all of it, not looking at her, but still not interrupting her. He let her say all of what she had to say. He looked disgusted, mad even. But he said nothing for a few moments, until he spoke the words, “What did you expect from someone who didn’t respect you enough to marry you before doing what he did to you?” Janna cried even harder, putting her hand over her chest and the other over her stomach, agony written all over her shaking form.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” his once again concerned voice asked.

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face, eyes locked on the floor where she’d had them focused since she sat up.

“You need to calm down. All of this stress will go straight to the baby inside of you. Even if the father was a jerk, the baby doesn’t deserve to suffer,” he advised his sister.

She nodded, but didn’t stop crying. It was getting on my nerves. I stood up, used the hidden door we’d come from, and left.

In front of the window, I couldn’t find more tears to shed. I was choking up with all of the emotions inside of me. I’d just learned so much more about my brother’s betrayal, his change, and his failure.

He’d failed in so many things, in so many ways. He’d failed me as a brother, failed his wife as a husband. Failed his God as a Christian. He’d failed himself as a human being.

He’d become a monster.

Evil.

He’d become someone I didn’t want to know.

My heart was heavy, and my shoulders even heavier. I felt like I was carrying the whole world on them. A world that was crueler than cruelness, and uglier than ugliness.

I wanted to go back to my own country.

This was not my place, this was not my comfort, this was
not
my home.

Maybe some of the people here were really nice to me, but those were not my people.

I wanted safety.

I wanted comfort.

I wanted protection.

I wanted my people.

I wanted out.

I wanted
home.

My chest tightened, as did my grip on my cross. I closed my eyes and prayed with everything in me for God to give me
any
of those, anything at all until I could find a way out.

I prayed, and my heart pleaded.

I prayed, and my heart bled.

I prayed, and my heart swelled.

I prayed, and my heart begged.

I was drained.

I wanted to cry.

But my tears were too stubborn.

I wanted to scream.

But my voice was betraying me.

I wanted to wake up.

But my eyes wouldn’t obey. They whispered to me that I wasn’t dreaming and there was nothing they could do. I didn’t want to believe them.

I wanted out.

Safety?

Comfort?

Protection?

Out?

Please, please, please!

When my eyes opened again, the prince was close by. I hadn’t even heard him enter the room: I was too caught up with my prayers. He, too, was gazing out the window. His face looked a lot like I was feeling. I saw the pain, I saw the sorrow, and I saw the weight of miserableness shadowing his eyes.

I didn’t like the sight.

My heart told me so.

My heart
hated
to see the prince like that. And for a moment, I forgot my own pain and wanted to ease his.

No idea why.

My hand left my cross and rested limply by my side. The motion must’ve caught the prince’s attention because he then looked at me.

Our eyes, though different in color, matched in feelings.

He had been played, too.

It was not an easy sensation. I could tell. Oh boy, could I tell!

A moment passed of eyes speaking in their own language. Words were exchanged. I knew them in my heart. But my mind refused to acknowledge them. I wouldn’t acknowledge them. They weren’t right.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice.

I smiled sadly at him, shrugging one shoulder in response, not able to speak: my emotions suffocating me.

His smile, just like his eyes, matched mine.

It was sad. Both of them. Smile and eyes. And our situation. All were sad.

“Janna is resting in the living room. She requested some time alone and I couldn’t deny her,” he told me. “She’s not ready to deal with h-…
things
, yet.”

I nodded. Not really caring where she was or what she was doing.

“It’s killing her.”

I
didn’t
care.

“That all of this happened to you because of her…it’s killing her.”

Her regret wouldn’t do me any good. I was stuck here because of her. I couldn’t go home because of her. I lost my brother because of her.

I nodded stiffly. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear any of it. I didn’t care. I wanted out. I wanted home.

Minutes passed. I was still gazing out the window, and my heart was still bleeding. I was still choking up, my throat still closing even tighter, and my eyes were still dry. Stinging, burning, hurting. But, still dry.

“Princess,” the prince whispered. My eyes left the window and rested on his. They were still the same. Just like mine. “I’m
so
terribly sorry for what he has done to you,” he said. “I knew it was horrible, but I couldn’t imagine for the life of me that it was
that
ugly, that he would do something that horrifying.” His apology for what he didn’t do was so sincere, honest and genuine, it made my heart ache, my eyes burn and my lips tremble.

“You must’ve been really scared,” he whispered, his voice pained and his eyes sorrowful.

Without a second thought, I found myself running the one-and-a-half steps that separated us before launching myself into his arms, hugging him tight, almost as if I couldn’t get close enough.

For a brief moment, he just stood there, completely frozen, not even breathing. Shocked, I could tell. Heck,
I
was shocked myself, but it was another thing I didn’t care about. I just wanted this. I wanted it bad.