The ugly duckling

- I am back!

Her aunt did not reply. Not right way. She was sitting in the living room wondering how many times she told Damar to mind her tone and lower her voice over the years…all to no avail!

Damar was now in her thirties. This meant that she had practically spent two decades telling that unruly niece of hers that her voice was too gravely and lacking the usual feminine lightness and that she had to use it sparingly and wisely. And all for nothing.

If you conjugate this fact with Damar's favorite topic of discussions- i.e politics- her sarcastic tone and her defiance, you get…well, you get a confirmed spinsterhood unlikely to have a happy ending.

She sighed, waiting for her niece to show up before asking:

- How many times did we say that you have to lower your voice when talking… the walls are way too thin . Are you interested in sharing your private life with the neighbours !

-" What private life ?", Damar mumbled trying not to feel hurt by the aspersions her aunt continued to cast her way or the fact that she still spoke to her like she was an child!

" khalto ( maternal mother in arabic) if I had a private life, I would be all too happy to share it with the neighbours".

- " Unbelievable! You will never change. Did you get the groceries? …Good, let Lamita know you brought oil. She wants to fry the minced meat."

Stuffed pastries at dinner yuuumm! Damar's stomach was drumming in joy. At least she did not have to listen to her aunts' acerbic comments for nothing.

-Kahlto I have to go back to my apartment this week end … I need to pay the janitor. Will you be ok alone with Lamita?

She had moved in temporarily with her aunt who had broke her hip recently. The situation in the country was difficult even for the young and healthy, let alone for an older woman living with her maid fresh out of hip replacement surgery. Her aunt received a hefty monthly allowance from her daughters and sons living abroad, but there was still a lot to manage in a collapsing country with almost no electricity and serious shortages in medicine. She needed all the physical and logistics support she could get. Not that she admitted it. Damar, however, knew what her responsibilities were and she was not one to run away from them.

- I told you to just sublet that hole you live in and come live with me. The apartment is big and I have Lamita. You can pay me some rent if you prefer or buy groceries from time to time… stop wasting your money. You are single,… how will you survive?

Damar smiled. Submit to this level of toxicity on a daily basis ? Why not let myself be stung by a hundred bees while at it? Support her aunt, yes of course, submit to her attacks? No way in frigging hell!

" khalto my house is not that small, it just needs some repairs but I am not sure I want to invest in it given the situation…. No, no let's not start a debate please. I have already decided I am going to keep the apartment. Let me go pack a small bag now … I am leaving early tomorrow and I still have a lot of work to do".

In the bedroom her aunt designated for her, Damar sat on the bed putting her laptop on the nightstand to her right waiting for it to charge. Electricity stopped running at midnight and she had a lot to finalize.

Indeed, she had not lied earlier. Her manager, Imad, sent her a few hours ago a new book to translate- a comparative legal study on marriage contracts! She knew she was going to be up all night translating legal terminologies on a topic she hated. she dared not complain however, not even to herself. This was good money and good money in foreign currencies was life saving in the current crisis.

"Life saving", she pondered the terminology. She had been brought down to this reality . Down from her high hopes of becoming a world famous poet. Her reality became that of a tired genderless mind, struggling to survive.

She heard the siren-like creatures of Depression call her name, recognized their beguiling tunes but she was not going to give into them. Even though she ached for the sweet numbness of letting it all go, of living in her aunt's room until nothingness engulfed her… she had to resist.

She said no to pills, no to alcohol, no to newspapers and no to ruminating on previous failures!

Both "O"s were forbidden now. Obsession and Oblivion . Too much stress can kill you but too much comfort does that too.

And this is what the corrupt group of thugs in power wanted, Damar thought. They wanted to destroy her and all those who like her still had the will to dream and think for themselves in the country.

She reached for a cup of water, trying to ground herself, to think about her work and whether or not she was going to be able to finish it without pulling an all nighter when she felt a now familiar dizziness engulf her…

- Oh no… not twice in a week! She heard herself mutter before slumber took over.

- Oh no, not twice in a week! Hadi, cursed As he kicked his bedsheets angrily and jumped out of his bed to grab a cold glass of water and then stood facing blindly the bay window of the living room.

That damned dream again! The woman's face had become as familiar to him now as that of his parents or of any member of The Unit! He put the empty glass down with a loud thud and let out a deep breath as he thought of his team- Men who meant the world to him, the whole wide world, and who today were not in his life anymore.

He had promised to keep in touch but reneged. It was still too early for him. He was still unwell, water was not under the bridge, not yet. And that was part of the reason why he did not seek their support nor ask for the team's profiler to help him identify the woman of his nightmares. He wanted to go solo and under the radar. Keep to himself.

He figured that he might be missing the field, his sleeplessness and dreams could after all just be unspent repressed energy. In which cases, Beirut would not disappoint. Would it?

He wanted to activate all of his senses… unencumbered by the responsibility for other people's lives and he was determined to get to the heart of this matter.

Grabbing his phone, he booked a flight to Beirut and let himself feel the undeniable and familiar buzz of excitement. He had missed the uknown. His life as a writer had some exciting opportunities and occupied at least his brain but he was craving the danger, the relevance, the physical challenges. At least, this could explain his sleeplessness and help him deal with it.

The large window showcased the city with its twinkling lights. Not too close to be present, not to far to be inaccessible… the way he liked it. Right between these lights he saw his own reflection on the cold glass surface. Was it really him? that gloomy shadow that fades into the night?

Maybe he was just lonely? Should he start dating again?

His agent had hinted that she was interested, more than hinted she practically purred her interest. he liked her well enough but the idea of a female, breathing next to him on his sweat drenched bedsheets made his skin crawl.

- Great… he said loudly to the empty room. I might as well become a monk.

Then he thought of that woman's face. He had not lied. She really was not his type. He felt zero attraction towards her. These were not " that " kind of dreams! All he saw was her tearful face and bloody arms.

For some reason, her tears escaped the dream world and settled on his own cheeks , burning them… burning him. Every night she cried, he cried for her too.

That woman has robbed him of both sleep and peace. He had to find her. He simply had to.

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