by: D.M.

She stood with her back towards me, as she slowly flipped through the yellowed pages of an extremely dated magazine on the kitchen table. The streaks of early morning light that managed to sneak through the still un-opened blinds cast a long, ominous shadow at her feet. Her shoulders were slightly hunched forward, an eyesore for someone who had been used to seeing her carry herself tall, proud and elegant.

I looked over by the cabinets. A medium sized box lay there, beautifully wrapped in paper whose golden hue sparkled from the same thieving beacon of light that had crept in. Her thoughtfulness never seized to amaze me. With a stifled chuckle, I wondered what she could have possibly gotten me.

Unaware of my presence, she stood there, her hand slowly brushing away thin dreadlocks away from her face and tucking them back into the Ethiopic hair band. The only sounds in the apartment were the occasional rustling of magazine pages turning, and the subdued tunes from the stereo that I had left on looping the night before. Miles Davis' Kind of Blue.

My footsteps light on the linoleum kitchen floor, I walked over to her, stopping only for a second, an inch or two behind her, to inhale that sweet aura of her presence that I had missed agonizingly over the last four, long weeks.

"Hey there," I said softly into her right ear, smiling, as my hands caressed and slid around her slender waist. God, if only she could feel my relief and bliss at having her back. I slowly kissed her on the neck, suddenly also aware of my own reeking morning breath.

She stood still.

Too still.

Stiff.

"What's wrong, yene Qonjo?" My hands slid away from her waist and I slowly turned her around to me by her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

I looked into her big brown eyes, watching her pupils dilate explosively as they seemed to stare deep into mine. Her bottom lip quivered. She seemed to be gazing away, past me. And still not a word from her slightly gaping mouth. I gently stroked her cheek, and I noticed her facial muscles cringe and shy away from my touch with a sudden twitch.

"You okay?" I said louder than before, not sure if she could even hear me. I tried look for some kind of response. Nothing. The only sign of life was her slight hyperventilation.

And just as suddenly as her disturbing reaction to my presence, she sighed loudly and rushed over to the closest chair. I stood there, worried. Shocked. Disturbed.

"Jesus, D, mnew!! You scared the hell out of me!" She said it so curtly, despite her short breaths and shaking hands and lips. She looked up at me and, with the best smile she could muster, continued, "Yemotk! You made me jump, sweetheart!" She giggled a bit. Then sighed again. Another nervous giggle.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to, iko. You had me worried for a minute though. I've never seen you like that before. You alright?"

I could hear her breathing slowing down to a normal rate from where I was standing. I slowly let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm fine now," she replied, smiling. "I missed you so much! I got in last night, and I wanted to surprise you. Used the key you gave me." She sat there, her head slightly slanted at an angle, looking up at me. My heart thawed out from the shock and I could finally move my feet.

She jumped up and into me with a cackle. My mind was still slightly numbed from what I had witnessed minutes ago, but it didn't stop me from enjoying the long, tight hug. Despite the beauty of the moment, I couldn't help but notice to how stiff she remained. I held on to her, while thoughts still raced through my head. But I didn't, for the life of me, know what to make of her unusual physical reaction earlier.

"I missed you too," I said quietly into her ear, taking in a whiff of her sweet aroma, as her excited heartbeat serenaded mine.

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Breakfast was done. I had cooked. We sat silently at the table. The sense of nervousness and discomfort still hung in the air, which drove me up the wall with worry.

It was quiet. Too quiet, save the sounds of Miles' trumpet on the stereo.

I noticed that next to the magazine she was reading was also her diary. Her diary? What the hell was it doing there on my kitchen table? In plain view too. She knew me better than to keep her diary within my reach. My curiosity has always been my flaw. Everyone I know never fails to mention at least once that my curiosity would be the reason of my demise.

She looked up from her cup of green tea and stole a glance at me.

"I'm gonna go pick something up for my sister, D.," she said, with a forced smile, finishing up her tea. She hurriedly got up, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and headed out the door. "I'll be back soon. Check out what I got you from San Fran," she hollered on her way out, the door creaking shut behind her.

I looked out the doorway of the kitchen, then my glance slowly traced itself back to the table, passing casually by my unopened gift and pausing there for a second. I was curious. But not as curious as finding out why she'd leave her diary behind, right under my nose.

Nudging my cup of hot coffee a little to the side, I reached out and pulled the spiral bound, velvet covered diary towards me, my head cocked to the side, my brows coming together in a deep frown.

I turned past the pages that I had read hastily in secret months ago, and came upon entries she wrote over her four week sojourn to the west coast … it was her college's Ethiopian Students Association reunion. Something in the back of my head was chastising me for violating her privacy, but yet another something was telling me that she wouldn't have left it there if she didn't want me to read it. It was this other something that dominated, as I started reading the entry dated March X, 19XX.
It was all a routine day … uninteresting, almost. Until the part where she mentions she met her ex-boyfriend at a dinner party.

I kept on reading …

However, the more I read, the more I started shaking. I couldn't stop my right hand from trembling. Huge waves of anger and utter shock were drowning me into a state of uncontrollable rage … and inconsolable grief.

To stop my hand from trembling, I put it on top of the china mug and clasped the edges firmly. Too firmly. The hot steam from the coffee inside was slowly eating through my palm, as the heated mug glued the tips of my fingers to itself. But the scalding pain was nothing compared to what was happening to me inside.

I kept on reading …

I stopped reading only when my eyes were glazed with a thick film of tears.

Somewhere in the back, I could almost hear the door to my apartment open and close with its own unique creak. She had been standing at the entry to the kitchen for a while, I guess. Looking up from my slump, I saw her there, leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed tightly against her bosom, her head low. I could see her face was streaked with rivers of tears. She slowly began walking towards me, her hands wiping her tears away, and then doing the same to mine.

I wanted to say something. She sat on the seat next to me, and wiped the scalding coffee from my thigh, while her eyes remained locked with mine.

"Uhm. What are we going to do now?" I asked. It was the only thing I could say.

She pursed her lips together and swallowed, while another wave of tears seemed to flood her eyes.

"I've been thinking about moving. My older sister's place," she said slowly.

"But…" She wouldn't let me finish.

"I know, D. I know." She nodded knowingly. I didn't want her to leave. Not at all. What I wanted was for her to stay and we could deal with it together. Right?

"It's for me," she continued, still looking at me dead in the eyes, while occasionally wiping her tears away. "I think it'd be best for both of us, too."

I couldn't contest her reasoning. But only because I was emotionally and physically drained. My heart palpitated at the thought of her leaving me.

"Okay." I agreed. Why, I still don't know. Most probably because I felt like she'd be happier if she took some time off for herself.

She slowly got up, pulling me up with her by the hand, and moved closer to give me a hug. I didn't care that my hand was blistered and scalded. I held on tight to her, burdened with the possibility that this may well be the last time I'd see her for a while. I didn't want to let go. She gently kissed me on the cheek, then moved closer to give me a kiss on the lips. She didn't want to let go either. We stood there, clasped to one another, negligent to the fact that something neither of us had any control over was about to violently come between us and rip us apart.

"I'll call you," she said between sniffs. Then she picked up her diary and walked out the door.

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I haven't seen her since. But we talk over the phone occasionally. She seems like she's settled down well in her new city. We never brought it up since that day at my apartment. We somehow always manage to weave around it. We both know we would've stayed together if we could help it. But it would have put both our sanity on the line.

And to this day, I still love her to death.

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March X, 19XX

4 more days till I see D. again. If only he knew how much I miss him. I'm nervous though. Actually I'm scared to death. I have no idea how I'm going to tell him what happened last night with my ex from high school. How could I possibly tell anyone about it? But I have to tell him. It's not something I can live with if I kept this from D. Jesus, I don't know what to do. I want to tell him. Desperately. I need to talk to someone about last night. Someone has to listen. Someone has to understand. Someone has to hold my hands, look into my eyes and tell me it was going to be ok. Only D. is capable of doing that. I have a feeling this is going to tear us apart. I know I'm not myself anymore. I need my time off. I need to get away. I hope to God he understands. Please let him understand. I think it'd be better for the both of us if we spent some time apart. At least, for me. But I'm sure he needs some time too. But I need to tell him first before all that. Aaaaaargh, I'm frustrated. And confused … hurt … too hurt. I prayed last night after the whole thing. I don't know if He heard me or not.

But how I do tell him? How? How do you tell your boyfriend you've been raped?