Basma likes Fendi

39 | Day 246

•Inteesar

If the news didn't kill me, I might've killed myself.

Bury a hatchet.

As if it was that simple.

A man died. God forbid he rose from the dead to tell me he loved me back. My brother is the one to blame.

Day 246. That is how long I've been counting since I lost him. I can't even say his name again. It was forbidden in my household.

Which household you might wonder and you'll soon understand. Just know that I can't stop thinking of him. I'm at a point where I mark the days I think of him on my calendar so much it begins to feel like an enormous betrayal when I don't.

The funniest part of it all was that it was on the last day of the year. What kind of sick twisted joke was the universe playing at? I can only say screw it, never can I move on.

Therapist who? I didn't need one and wouldn't see one. Period. But who doesn't know when they need help? I know but I think living in a house full of minds like mine wouldn't be of help.  I also need to take care of a child.

She wished he died on a lovely, rainy, clear-clouds-in-the-sky day. She wished he would not die on her but with her. At least the rain would grow leaves of deep rooted love above their graves. She wished she would stop talking about herself in third person.

That was all it took for me to realize I was not alright.

How much of time has passed since I lost my entirety? One thing I knew was that it was too long to count in weeks but I knew, I knew I would never be the same after his passage.

Let's press the reverse button on this life and play it back to his time.

Just enjoy, until you can't.

I'm now back to the day he tried to drown himself—that was one of the happiest days of my life. He almost died but he didn't and that was all I cared about. But, that was a while after the doctors were able to surgically pump the water out of his system.

I think I was close to dying in the waiting room. I'd made all the calls I could make and no one had shown up.

"Quick!" A nurse shouted, "take him to the ICU. I think we can still save him."

They charged into a long wing in the hospital and they shut the doors. About thirty minutes to an hour later the doctor came out.

"He's awake but you can't see him now because he needs rest."

I cried. I cried like I'd never done before, might've blacked out, might've seen him at the door of the lobby staring at me in the kaftan he might've died in and I blamed Jameel for everything. I hope he rots wherever he is.

"When can we see him?" I asked.

"Are you the wife?" The doctor stopped, she almost brushed past me because she chose to believe otherwise when I didn't answer.

I dragged deep breathes in a one-two-three motion, digging my teeth into my thinned lips to keep my cool before I get someone's blood on my hands.

With a final exhale, I showed her my screen. We weren't married then but it was a picture of him that I took while he was laughing. I was no wife but I still prayed to be. "Does that answer your question?"

She pressed a hand  to her chest, "My mistake." and marches—actually, ran—off back to her office, presumably.

I wasn't his wife but I deeply wanted to be and wanted her to believe it too but I knew in my heart one day it would happen even if it wasn't that day.