[ the wounds sting. kaveh cries. the two things are not mutually correlated, nor mutually exclusive. nowhere in this world is there a separation so clear and clear cut. the act of knowing someone is messy; the act of taking them apart, too, must be so, even if it's oneself. that kaveh can use his wounds to hide the stinging of his wounds is one perspective. it is most likely true. but another perspective is thus: that kaveh can only allow himself to cry because of the stinging of his wounds. these, too, are not mutually exclusive. what alhaitham sees is thus: that grief and guilt have bitten each other in the throat, and have become impossible to untangle from one another. it is not the first time alhaitham has made this observation. the first time had been kaveh, still clad in his akademiya-issued kshahrewar whites, hands clutched around a rejected blueprint as a herbad denounced the integrity of his artistic creation. your mother had been better. be better. alhaitham had watched as kaveh swallowed it down, the anger, the fury, the pride, the grief, the guilt.
that day, kaveh had bled. the wounds were not visceral; the wounds were no less shallow. another truth: that kaveh can cry because his wounds sting does not mean, however, that alhaitham is blind. he sees the tears not in the wet trails of it brimming against the red of kaveh's bleeding eyes. he sees it in the hunch of his shoulders, in the set of his neck, in the bow of his head and the trembling of his arms. in no universe would alhaitham not see. tears are not the only evidence of their shedding. alhaitham sees this too: words caught in the net of kaveh's throat, and die. kaveh swallows them whole.
kaveh, who is so possessive of his vulnerability, his supposed sin of being made of something human and soft. alhaitham, who watches. ]
Fine. [ alhaitham says. the word comes as his tweezers lift. the last of the wound is clean. he sets his implements down. the gauze comes to his fingertips. his words follow: ] Speak, then. You assert that you do not regret the deed, and you see it as something that must be done.
[ he applies the first of the gauze. alhaitham's fingers are swift and sure. ] Was it the right thing to do? Begin there.
no subject
that day, kaveh had bled. the wounds were not visceral; the wounds were no less shallow. another truth: that kaveh can cry because his wounds sting does not mean, however, that alhaitham is blind. he sees the tears not in the wet trails of it brimming against the red of kaveh's bleeding eyes. he sees it in the hunch of his shoulders, in the set of his neck, in the bow of his head and the trembling of his arms. in no universe would alhaitham not see. tears are not the only evidence of their shedding. alhaitham sees this too: words caught in the net of kaveh's throat, and die. kaveh swallows them whole.
kaveh, who is so possessive of his vulnerability, his supposed sin of being made of something human and soft. alhaitham, who watches. ]
Fine. [ alhaitham says. the word comes as his tweezers lift. the last of the wound is clean. he sets his implements down. the gauze comes to his fingertips. his words follow: ] Speak, then. You assert that you do not regret the deed, and you see it as something that must be done.
[ he applies the first of the gauze. alhaitham's fingers are swift and sure. ] Was it the right thing to do? Begin there.