The entire time she was telling me all this, I expressed my sympathy and understanding and appreciation of it all to give her as much support and encouragement that she'd done the right things as I could. Inside, however, I cycled between disgust, anger, and horror. Hearing about all she'd been through only made me that much more relieved and happy that I'd done what I had.
By the time she was ready to see if the money from her parents was available, I could see that she'd managed to purge herself of at least some of all the assorted crap that had been weighing her down: she was visibly more relaxed and calm than she'd been when I first saw her in my cab. A quick check of a phone book told me where I could find the wire transfer service her parents had told her, and it was less than half an hour later that she had cash in her hand. From there, it was a fairly quick trip to the hotel that she'd opted for – a decent middle-class kind of place. The only ID she had was her passport, and the hotel was initially reluctant to give her a room without some means of guaranteeing any additional charges, like phone calls and the like. When I gave the desk clerk my ID and a credit card, though, that was enough.
I'd set her bags down on the floor of her room, and was about to leave when she turned toward me and said "Thank you, Jim, for everything."
"I'm happy I was able to help, Saleh. Nobody should have to put up with that kind of nonsense, and I'm glad that you have a chance to be happy now."
She moved to stand in front of me, and I wasn't particularly surprised when she hesitantly put her arms around me and gave me a hug which I softly returned. What practically floored me was when it went from being a soft, chaste hug to having her holding me tightly enough to damn near cut off my breathing, and crying into my chest in great wracking sobs. All I could do was put my arms around her and gently hold her while I offered words of comfort and reassurance. What really threw me, though, was the feel of her body against mine: underneath the shapeless sack she was wearing, I could detect a medium-sized frame with all the usual parts in the usual proportions – all in all, she made for a nice little bundle in my arms, and I couldn't help but start to react to the feel of her body against mine. Still, I knew she was at a delicate point in all kinds of ways, and simply turned my body a little so that she wasn't pressing (as much, at least) against my semi-erect penis while I continued to try and get her settled down.
We must have stayed there like that for a good fifteen minutes: she'd settle down a bit, and then the whole thing would start up all over again. Her crying was frequent and hard enough that the entire chest of my shirt was wet before she'd calmed down enough to relax her hold on me. Even then, it was still a while longer before I heard her tell me "I… I'm sorry to cry on you like this, but when I started to hug you, I was just trying to let you know I appreciate everything you've done to help me. But when I looked around this room, I suddenly realized that I was finally back in my own country, and that I was truly free again – that I didn't have to worry that people were spying on me, or that I was going to be hurt because of some bullshit honor thing, or any of the other crap I've had to live with for so long. Then everything that's happened just hit me, and I lost it."
"It's okay, dear", I assured her. "I kinda figured it was something like that."
It wasn't until she tilted her head to look up at me that I realized that I'd used the endearment; I was looking into her red, puffy, and still beautiful eyes when she asked me "Why did you call me that?"
Apologetically, I told her "I hope you'll forgive me, but after everything that has happened, I can't help but feel at least a little bit of affection for you." Seeing the expression on her face, I hastened to say "No, I'm not saying I'm madly in love with you, or that I want us to run off together, or that I think we should spend the rest of our lives with each other; just that after hearing all that you've been through, and holding you while you cried, I can't help but feel a little protective of you. And along with all the rest of that, you're a very pretty young lady."
She considered that for a few moments before telling me "Okay, I can understand that. I mean, having your arms around me is making me feel like I'm being protected, now."
She looked into my face for a few more seconds before letting her head rest against me again.
I was perfectly willing to stand there and hold her for as long as she wanted me to – both to let her hold on to that protected feeling she'd mentioned, and for the simple pleasure of feeling her body against mine.
A bit later, I heard her softly ask "After you've been so generous to me… and so patient and understanding… and not judging me for what happened to me… would you do one more thing for me?"
"If I can", I answered, thinking she wanted some small favor or other – only to be amazed when she asked "Would… would you show me what it's like to be loved by a man?"
After getting her pried loose from me, I held her by the shoulders at arms length when I asked her "Are you asking me to be with you… physically?"
I could see the nervousness and fear (of rejection?) in her eyes as she answered "Yes, that's what I'm asking. All I have ever known has been… him… and I'm sure that it's supposed to be better than that! But I'm afraid, too – that what I had with him has ruined me for other men; that I'll never know pleasure or happiness because of what he has done with me. You know that I'm not a virgin now, but that also means that no one will have to know if you will do that for me. Please, Jim… you have already been so gentle and patient with me – could you help me find comfort that way, too? I could… feel you, when you were holding me, so I think maybe you think I'm pretty enough…"
Over the years, I'd been on the receiving end of all manner of questions, requests, offers, and outright propositions – but hearing that from her was definitely a first. If I hadn't been aware of how she'd gotten to that point, I'd likely have taken her up on it in a skinny minute; but I did know, and I was all too aware of what kind of emotional and psychological shape she was in just then. I certainly thought she was pretty enough, and didn't doubt for a moment that the body I'd felt against mine would be just as appealing. It was my ethics and morals that were keeping me from closing the door behind me and fulfilling her request. That left me standing there trying to decide just what the hell to do as my desire and compassion battled each other.
I could see her getting more and more nervous and fearful, and finally got the front part of my brain working well enough to mediate between my compassion and desire.
Looking into her eyes, I asked "Saleh, a lot has changed for you today. Are you sure that you want this to happen? And now?" My conscience demanded that I give her the chance to call it off, at least once.
She stood a little straighter, and I could hear the certainty in her voice as she answered "Yes, much has changed. But ever since I was married, I have dreamed that I would know hope and happiness; and each time he was with me, I lost some of that dream, and I was afraid a little more. Today, because of you, I have my dreams again. Will you not help me lose the fear, too?"
I ignored her question in favor of asking one of my own: "If your married life was difficult with him, what makes you think that it might be better with me?" I had to know if there was any chance that we'd actually accomplish anything, or if the whole deal would just end up with hurt and frustration.