LYING ON HIS BED, Amir stares up at the ceiling and admires the sunlight that filters through the small bedroom window. It’s late afternoon. His parents are at work and his brother is playing with his friend who lives on the floor below theirs. Amir is alone. He likes these quiet moments when he can read a book or stare off into the distance and just think. Think about what it will be like when he grows up. He wants the same profession as his favourite teacher Mr. Labaki. Amir likes him because he has a quiet confidence. He always remains calm even when the class is rowdy. He wears tweed jackets, the kind with patches on the elbows, and this reminds Amir of an English professor and this is what Amir wants to be. There is suddenly a knock. Amir quickly sits up in bed then shuffles his feet across the floor until he’s standing at the front door. Another knock, louder this time. Sweat slides down his ribcage. He hears footsteps in the corridor. His parents have warned him never to open the door when they are at work. He shivers, arms tight around his waist. He stands on his tiptoes and peeks through the peephole. Then he breathes a sigh of relief. Walid is on the other side. With one quick movement, he unlatches the door and opens it to his neighbour. Amir smiles and remembers the time they had eaten falafels together.
“Marhaba, Amir," Walid says, tucking his long bangs behind his ears. Stepping forward, he ruffles Amir’s hair. “Are your parents home? I wanted to borrow something from them.”
Amir shakes his head. “No, they’re both at work.”
“What time do you expect them back?”
Glancing down at his wristwatch, he says, “Around five.” It’s after three now.
“May I come in?” Walid asks, clearing his throat.
“Sure.” Amir steps aside and lets his neighbour in. They walk into the living room where Walid sinks back on the sofa and glances around the room. His eyes open wide as he takes in the television set, the family pictures on the wall, the colourful blanket on the sofa that Amir’s mother knitted.
“Nice place.”
“Thank you," Amir answers shyly, standing across Walid.
“Do you have anything to drink?”
“We have cola.”
Walid laughs. “I was hoping for something stronger.”
Amir doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing.
Walid then pulls out a flask from his blazer pocket and takes a few gulps then hands it to Amir. “Take a sip. It’s good for you. It’ll make you strong.” He flexes his biceps and Amir notices how muscular he is. Amir slowly lifts the silver container to his mouth and swallows the licorice-flavoured arak; it stings his throat and burns his eyes. He begins to choke. Walid gets up from the couch and pats his back. “Are you all right?” he asks softly.
Amir nods and grins. He likes the warmth from Walid’s touch.
“Why don’t you show me around?”
Amir takes him through the apartment. When they get to his parents’ room, Walid walks inside it and slumps on the mattress. He pats a spot next to him and asks Amir to join him. The boy hesitates. “Come on, what are you afraid of?”
He straightens his shoulders and smiles. “Nothing.”
“I knew it. The first time I saw you in the stairwell. I said that Amir, that prince, is a brave one. Come here.” Walid motions again. “Come sit beside me.”
Still unsure, Amir pauses but then takes quick strides and hops on the mattress. Before he knows it, Walid is pulling him onto his lap. He resists, but Walid is too strong; he has him by the waist and lifts him onto his lap. Amir feels something jabbing his buttocks; he squirms but Walid has a firm grip on him with his left arm while his right hand rubs Amir’s penis through the boy’s jeans.
“You’re hurting me," Amir winces.
Walid kisses the back of his neck. Amir takes short, deep breaths. An urge to pee pulsates through his groin. The smell of liquor floats into Amir’s nostrils. He looks down and feels his penis growing hard. Ashamed, he clenches his fists and pounds them against Walid’s thighs. The man shrieks, loosening his hold. “You little bastard!”
Amir jumps off his lap and races towards the bedroom door but Walid lunges at him and drags him back to the bed, pushes him face down, tugs at the boy’s jeans. Amir kicks and screams as loud as he can. “Stop! Don’t. Please don’t.” But this doesn’t make Walid stop; he unzips his own pants and pulls them down. “God, please help me," Amir begs.
Walid’s rough hand now covers Amir’s mouth until he can’t breathe. His eyes tear as Walid jams his cock inside him. Rough, fast. Pain surges through his tiny body and he tries to squirm free but there’s no point, Walid is too strong. Amir stops and lies still. The room is black. His chin bobs against the mattress while Walid pumps furiously until the man finally shudders. A wetness spreads down Amir’s thighs. And he realizes that he’s pissed himself. Walid’s hand loosens from his mouth. Amir sobs. He feels Walid’s weight lift off him. He hears Walid zip up his pants, then the bed shifts and he’s leaning over Amir again, whispering into his ear. “You got some good ass. Delicious, fresh like meat from a butcher’s shop.” Amir hears him smack his lips together. Footsteps march across the floor. Then the front door opens and slams. He is all alone again.
His ass throbs. He’s standing in his own bedroom now, biting his lower lip as he strips off his soiled pants and wipes himself quickly with a towel then slides on a new pair of jeans and races outside the apartment and throws the stained trousers and towel down the garbage shoot. Back in the apartment, he cleans his parents’ bed, removing every trace of what happened to him. He uses a freshener and sprays a long line of lavender in the air. Taking a whiff, he can’t smell his urine anymore. Then he scrubs the sheets clean with a rag and blow-dries the wet spot with his mother’s hairdryer, listening carefully for his parents’ return. Tears burn his eyes but he wipes them dry too. He glances around. Everything is clean. He slides down the wall, pulls his knees to his chest and lets the tears cascade down his cheeks.
After a few minutes, he stops and looks across at the bed. He feels Walid inside him and he winces. Before he knows it, he runs into the kitchen and grabs a butcher’s knife. He races back into the bedroom and plunges it into the pillows, feathers fly in the air, then jabs the knife into the mattress, the spot where he was raped. He keeps digging deeper and deeper until his arm feels numb. He doesn’t hear his mother’s voice shouting from the front hallway but he’s certain she would’ve said, “Amir, we’re home!” He keeps thrusting the blade into the mattress until she is standing at the bedroom door. Now he hears her. She yells, “What are you doing? Have you gone crazy?” She slaps him across the head, pulls the knife out of his hand and slaps him again and again. Harder each time. She doesn’t question why he’s doing what he’s doing. Doesn’t realize what that man did to him. Doesn’t know that Amir’s ass is red from Walid’s violent thrusts. “I hate you!” Amir spits in her face then rushes out of the room. His father tries to grab him but he pushes him away and races out of the apartment and down the stairs.