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Every morning Allah makes, I inhale the first smells of the day, and before my eyes open up, my body screams to be grabbed and invaded. My skin burns at the thought. Then I turn my head and glance over to my partner in bed, and something in me dies. The shock of realization, every morning renewed, that I married the only man I do not desire. My mind races with these images as I hurry to work. I revisit my life, my decisions, all the whys and the hows. Maybe not the whys, as I cannot bear to think of why I took them, the simple thought feels like a physical offence against me and my family. Why? Because I was driven by the desire to please them, and to finally close the chapter of unending loves that unfailingly disappoint and hurt. Also because I needed to hide the scars of past loves, bury them deep under a layer of the daily routines of life A deux. Because it was time a man who had shared my bed shared his last name with me. This is the bargain, in an unforgiving society that pushes you to the limits of temptation just to watch you struggle and fail. Oh how they love it when you do! They relish the mere thought of sex outside the bonds of holy matrimony. It is as if they made this rule just to stalk those who will break it. They sniff this news and can actually smell sex off people. They hunger for the words to roll off their tongues, and can only do so when they talk about “others”. So they do. All the time.
