Chapter 4 - Rest and Revelations

Despite the couch being old and in need of repairs, August thought it was pretty comfortable to sit on. He assumed that because of Layla's weight, she wouldn't feel the admittedly annoying springs underneath where she was sitting next to him.

He was watching the news with her on the old television on the table in front of the couch. The Taliban controlled media propagating a message that regular people wouldn't follow. It was irksome to listen to the advertisement as he waited for the news to return on the screen.

"Finally," he said as the news channel came back from the commercial break. 

The news anchor speaks in rapid Pashto, relaying a blurred photograph of August's masked visage midway through slaughtering a group of armed men. The anchor states that anyone caught harboring this woman is to be punished and executed on the spot.

August snickers as he says, "All of them really think I'm a woman."

Layla says from next to him, "Why?"

"Well, I was always told I had my mother's beauty."

"Did… did she teach you how to fight like that?"

"No. I taught myself.", he says, looking down at the floor.

"I… I can't even imagine doing anything like that. You moved so fast, they were all… k-killed… in the blink of an eye."

"... Like you said, I am fast."

"Why? Why do you fight? Those men fight because they think that's what Allah wants. But you…", she says, turning her head to face August.

August raises his gaze from the floor to the television set again, a weather broadcast playing as he says with more force than intended, "There's certain kinds of people I hate."

Layla furrows her brow in confusion and concern at his blunt statement, her eyes searching his face. "But…" Her voice is barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. "What… What kinds of people?", she asks, her words hesitant and halting. "Are they… Are they like the men who… who attacked us?" Her small hands clench together tightly, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip.

"...Yes.", August replies simply.

Layla asks, "But… but why? What did they do to you?" Her words spill out, almost at a rush.

August looks away to his right, a grim expression on his face. He turns his gaze towards the wall, the darkness reflecting the turmoil inside him. The muscles in his jaw tense as he struggles to find the right words, the memories of the past threatening to overwhelm him. Layla's question hangs in the air, heavy and full of anticipation.

"I lost my mother to people like them." The answer comes from August's mouth after twenty-two seconds of silence.

Layla's breath hitches, her eyes filling with tears at his words, the memory of hearing her mother's screams followed by gunfire rings fresh in her mind. "Your mother… Can you…can you tell me about her? What was she like?" Layla asks, her voice thick with emotion, yet gentle and compassionate. She looks up at August, her eyes filled with sincere curiosity and a desire to connect, to understand his pain.

"Strong. Stubborn, yet fair. Affectionate. Nagging.", he says, chuckling at the last descriptor, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a small smile. "She was the kind of person who would do anything for those she cared about." his voice filled with a mix of fondness and sorrow. "She was a fighter, in her own way. Not with swords or fists like me, but with words, with love, with resilience. Don't get me wrong, she would hack off limbs if she was forced too."

Layla listens intently, her eyes wide with fascination as he speaks of his mother. A small, melancholic smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "She sounds…she sounds wonderful. I wish mine was…"Layla says, her voice trailing off, a wistful expression crossing her face. She shakes her, as if trying to dispel the thought. "Tell me more about your family, please." Layla encourages, her voice soft and inviting.

"I never knew my father. I was raised by my mother alone. The rest of the family wanted little to do with us. I didn't care that much either way. All I needed was my mother."

Layla's eyes widened in surprise at the revelation. "You never knew your father?", she asks, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. "And your family… they wanted nothing to do with your mother?" She shakes her head slowly, a look of disbelief on her face. "That's… that's terrible." she says, her words heavy with emotion. "Family should be together, no matter what."

"Family is what you choose, not what you are told."

"I see… Your mother was your family. She was everything for you.", Layla says after a few seconds of thought. "You're… not from here.", she says as a statement instead of a question.

"Yeah. American.", August confirms softly.

"Why did you leave?"

August ignores the question as he turns his attention back to the television. The news anchor, a stern-looking man with piercing eyes, is mid-sentence, "...and the mysterious individual, believed to be a woman, is still at large."

August scoffs and remarks sarcastically, "Well if I was a woman, I would have strangely flat breasts, you think? Worst running gag ever."

Layla turns back to August from the news, a hint of a smile on her face. "I think it's funny."

"Oh, not you too." August sighs in acceptance. A few minutes pass by with silence taking precedence in the room.

Layla asks, disturbing the calm silence, "Are we safe here?"

"...You remember what happened earlier outside?", August asks in response.

Layla nods grimly, remembering the scene from a few hours ago. The bodies and screaming of their would-be assailants running fresh in her mind once more. Her view of August, the confusing whirlwind of death that had saved her, standing calm atop the bloody dirt and sand.

August says after he gets his confirmation, his tone practically echoing with dark humor, "Then I pity the fool who breaks in here and thinks we are easy targets."

Layla nods dumbly. Logically she should be comforted by the statement. She should. Instead, it was a reminder that no matter how the man who saved her acted, he was still the cascading tsunami of destruction that could both figuratively and literally run through his opponents.