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“You know what I mean, Hana.”

“I know, you always do.”

“What do you mean?” I look at her, puzzled. Hana stands up and comes to sit next to me. In these moments, I know my cousin is about to say something that is going to put things into perspective. From an early age, Hana and I learned to talk without saying a word. She and I saw how dysfunctional our family was. Her parents were leeching pieces of shit, and my father is the ringleader of all evil beings. They ingrained into us that without family loyalty, you might as well cease to exist. What they didn’t tell us is that they were looking for something even beyond loyalty: mindless and soulless soldiers.

Hana and I saw right through that.

The first time I noticed my family was fucked up beyond any imagination was when my father yelled at my mother when I was twelve years old. My mama organized a surprise birthday party for him, and he blew up at her. He said that surprises shouldn’t be done in our world. My mama apologized, but he didn’t care, so he yelled at her. Later that night, my father caught me listening to their fight, and he didn’t reprimand me; no, he gave me ‘life advice.’ As a twelve-year-old child, I needed to listen to him: how love makes someone a liability, and that women are here for one thing and one thing only: making heirs.

Whatever the fuck that means.

From that point on, my mother started telling me that I should never hurt someone I love. So, I didn’t. When Hana was born, I made a vow that I would always protect her. What happened between her and her parents is her story to tell.

The ghosts of our past are still haunting us, even though we have tried to cope.

“You always know what to say to me or how to comfort me.” My cousin’s face softens. “And you have always been here for me, but…” She drifts off and stops talking. Her eyes are scanning my face, and she is looking for answers in them. To what question? I don’t know.

“You are killing me, Hana,” I tell her. She looks defeated–her shoulders are slumped, and she is not smiling.

“You also need somebody.” The weight of her words lands like a punch––hard and unexpected. This raises another layer of devastation: do I really need somebody? Do I need a person to tell me that they love me? That they care for me?

“Hana, I don’t believe that I do. I can manage on my own,” I convey to her. I’m hoping my conviction sounds as believable as I want it to. My cousin sighs and pats me on my back. She stands up to go back to her apartment.

“Don’t let her win. You are Noa after all.”

“What the fuck, Hana?” My anger is obvious.

“You are not only your father, but you are also Anita.” My mama. Hana leaves on that note, and I’m left feeling more confused than before. But one thing is clear: I am Noa.

But I am also M.

And Lana won’t ever get to experience Noa again.

No, M is coming for her.

Chapter three

Noa

Acouple of days have passed since I last saw her, and my mind is consumed with her. My bed still smells like her, like my whole fucking house. I look at my bed and decide that something needs to happen.

“Fuck these fucking sheets and fuck this mattress,” I mumble to myself.

I get up and strip everything. After what feels like an eternity, I gather the sheets and put them in the washing machine. I thought about burning them, but that shit is not good for the environment. That’s why I am donating everything she has ever touched or slept on to a local women’s shelter. She has a lot of her clothes here, and that will also be donated. This is my attempt to get rid of her as fast as possible.

Healthy? No.

Do I care? Even less.

***

I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of her clothes, so I donated a million euros to the shelter. I’m sitting down behind my computer. My fingers hover over the button to look inside her apartment, but I am not sure I am ready to look. The cameras I installed a couple of months ago seem useless now. The desire to look inside her home stems from the fact that I’m hoping to see her. This feeling towards her is a losing game, and I am competing in something I know will end in an undesirable outcome for me.

I opt out of looking in her apartment and do something I believe is worthwhile. My call is international, and the person I am ringing will hopefully lift my spirits. Or at least help me feel better about myself. I need to know that I have done one thing right in my life–I need to prove my father wrong and my mother right.

“M! This is a pleasant surprise,” my friend Lejla tells me through the phone. Lejla got married to our friend Arsen a couple of months ago, and I couldn’t be happier for them. They got married so Arsen could get his inheritance and Lejla the funding for her charitable organization. It was convenient for both of them, but fuck that. They broke up a while ago, and they can fool everybody around them–they can’t fool their friends. My friend is doing her best not to show that she still loves Arsen. Hopefully they’ll both realize that they need to pull their head out of their asses, and realize they are perfect for each other.

“Hello, Lejla. How are you?” I ask her as I go downstairs to make a cup of coffee.