“Look, I’ll look into this right away. I promise, I’ll find who’s responsible for this, I know this is exactly what you were trying to avoid. I have to go. I love you,” he murmurs softly.
Although our conversation ends on a placated note, I’m embarrassed and can’t shake my suspicions of Dawn’s trickery. But what can I do now? He has to go back to his meeting.
“Love you, too,” I return, just above a whisper.
I stay, stuck in place at my desk, still chewing on Azmir’s words. I even hold the phone to my head, enduring the blaring disconnect alarm. His analogy of the type of status he holds rings in my head. Though I still have yet to understand Azmir’s rise, I have to admit that I signed up for it when I agreed to marry him. I don’t want the fanfare, the constant fissures in our bubble, the sharing of traditional personal events with people I don’t know. But I’ve chosen him. I’ve relented to his chase. That’s what I meditate on while going about the remainder of my day.
It’s well after six p.m. I’m sitting in my office, going over x-ray films, when I get a text from Azmir: Sorry for being so short earlier. It’s been a stressful few days returning to work. Facetime tonite @ 9. Grab your iPad.
iPad? I haven’t thought of that thing since our breakup, last year. I have to think of where it is. After a few beats, I recall Azmir having it delivered here and me tossing it in an underused drawer. I turn to open it, and sure enough, it’s here. Nice and dead, but here after months of abandonment. I text Azmir back, agreeing to it and then make my way home. After locating and plugging the device into the charger, I go into my regular night regime.
Finding time to kill before he calls, I start to reacquaint myself with the iPad. I didn’t set up much in it before my breakup with Azmir, but I recall feeling it was such a cool device. When I unlock it, I immediately see a picture of Azmir and me at the charity he invited me to right after our blow up about him paying Sebastian off. We were seated at our assigned table, leaned into each other for the camera. My smile was barely stifled and the look in Azmir’s eyes was soft…peaceful-like. I know I didn’t set the picture on here, so my curiosity carries me over to the photo app to see what else I can discover.
My breath catches when I see there’s actually an album, created at some point. I start sliding through at least two dozen pictures of me, and others of Azmir and me. Many of them were taken while I was asleep, a few when I was gazing introspectively out at the water in his cabin cruiser, some of the two of us at social events, and a handful of me laughing away from the camera. What amazes me are the ones of me naked from the shoulders up with a flushed face and glistening skin, hair damp and stuck to my face, lips swollen and parted, dozing, clearly after having just made love. All of these pictures capture me in delicate states. I’m not angry, sheepish—or fleeting in the pictures. I’m very much happy and in love. I’m soft, feminine, and valued. I’m his to adore. To love. Azmir had loved me, even back then.
The emotion that lances through my belly can’t be explained. I never knew these photos even existed. I had no idea Azmir is the memorabilia keeping type. They are intimate photographs of shared experiences by us, revealing a sentimental side of him. Now it makes sense why he had the iPad delivered to me out of all my other belongings. Maybe I’m reaching, but I believe Azmir wanted me to see myself through his eyes. He wanted me to capture his love for me at a time when I didn’t think it existed.
I must run the slideshow of the collection of photo ten times, losing myself in the message of it. When the iPad trills, I look at the time on the nightstand and note Azmir is six minutes early.
My heart pounds like elephants in a safari while I wait for his image to appear. When we’re connected, I notice the weariness in his eyes. As beautiful as he is encased in dark chocolate, I know Azmir is overworked. He’s lying against a headboard, wearing a tank T-shirt that exposes his bubbled arms and the lumps of his carved chest muscles. I swallow deep in fortitude. For the first few seconds after being connected, he doesn’t speak, just studies my appearance in the box contemplatively. I attempt to break the awkwardness that it causes me to feel.
“Quiet much? This feels a little stalkerish instead of communicative,” I jeer on shaky vocals.
Azmir cocks his head to the side, bringing that tongue to his molars. “You don’t usually stalk something that belongs to you.”
Awwww…Azmir… I fight through my cheeks heating.
“How have you been?” he asks softly, in clear contrast to our previous exchange.
“Lonely, angry…down right miserable without you,” I easily admit.
Azmir nods solemnly. Though he doesn’t offer words of comfort, I somehow sense his regrets through that simple act of nodding as if he’s somehow slips his long, capable arms through the screen and wraps them around me. Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed with emotions that need to escape my tormented heart.