FATIMA (YOU series #2)

Chapter 4

       So if you need a hero, just look in the mirror.

      No one's going to save you now, so you better save yourself.

-Kali Uchis

Fatima

How long have I been asleep, and how many prayers have I missed? These were the questions racking through my brain. 

I went to school on Wednesday and napped at Simna's house till around 10:30 pm. I went home before eleven and went to bed about 20 minutes later. 

Now it was 2:40 pm on Thursday. Just how much nytol had I taken? I felt like I had been beaten up. I pull myself off the bed, shower, and then offer my prayers. 

It felt like shit. Is this the Muslim equivalent of doing the walk of shame?

Afterwards, I ordered some Thai food and snuggled into my couch. I binged, walking dead for some time before deciding to phone my mother. It had been almost a week since I last called.

I dialled her number, but she didn't pick up. I tried a few more times but to no avail. I decided to wait a while for her to call back. 

But minutes turned to hours. By 8 pm, I was extremely worried, so I called the one person who might know where she was.

After three rings, the call was picked up.

Me: Hello.

Dad: what is it?

Me: where's mom?

Dad: In the hospital.

Me: What happened to her?

If it weren't biologically impossible, I'd swear my heart dropped to my ass. 

Dad: Call her and ask.

Me: I already did. If I had gotten hold of her, would I call you?

Dad: Then wait till she's conscious and ask her.

Me: What did you do to my mother?

At this point, I was livid. I knew this man had something to do with whatever happened to her.

Dad: Are you accusing me of something, Fatima?

Me: I'm not accusing you. I already know you had a hand in whatever illness has befallen her.

Dad: when did you start speaking to me that way?

Me: Wasn't it enough that you ruined her life? Aren't you content with the misery you've put her in? she gave up her family for you and lost her son because of you. Yet you still have no regard for her. You don't even feel an ounce of guilt. You ruined our family, forced my brother to leave, and turned my mother into a shell of a person. 

Dad: ...

Me: The last time you hugged me was when I was 5. The last time you told me you loved me was 14 years ago. The last time you acted like my father was ages ago. So long ago that I can barely remember. I keep holding onto one memory, the day you helped me build my barbie dream house and played with me for hours, you got called into work minutes later, and you hugged me and told me you loved me. That was the last time I felt any love from you. Why? Where did it all go wrong?

At this point, I was yelling as tears streamed down my face. For years I held these emotions in, and although I had let them out, nothing changed. 

Dad: ...

Me: Coward.

I ended the call and threw the phone into the couch.

I didn't want to feel; I wanted to be numb. The ache in my chest was too much to bare. Gripping my hair tightly, I slid onto the floor. My body shook harshly as I let out loud sobs. I hated these feelings. I hated allowing such a worthless person to do this to me. 

I loathed the effect he had on me. People liked to make it a point that some people didn't have the luxury of having a father, but having one and still lacking fatherly love hurt just as much. 

Hate is a strong word, and I never once thought I hated my father, but I'm done denying it now. I hated him with everything in me. So maybe hating him would help me accept my reality faster.

Picking up my phone, I called juju. I needed something to help me numb these feelings.

Ibrahim

"Escort me to the hospital," Ammi says, coming into the study as I help Akram sort out some files.

"Are you sick?" Akram and I asked in unison.

"No, I have to go see a friend", She responded. 

We drove to the hospital, and when we entered the room, I recognised the lady on the bed as General Abbas' wife, whom we had just seen yesterday, and the guy sitting next to her was the man that came over some weeks back.

We all exchanged pleasantries with the man.

"I'm assuming this had something to do with the card," Ammi says, and he nods in response.

His eyes conveyed his sadness as he stared at the woman's body. She was unconscious and hooked up to so many machines.

"Has Fatima heard?" Ammi asks.

He laughs lightly. 

"She gave him a piece of her mind", he answers. 

"She wanted to take the next flight back, but I advised her to focus on her school work", he adds.

"I can't imagine how she must be feeling," Ammi says, her eyes welling.

Was General Abbas abusive? Was he harming his wife and kids?

When I got home that night, I couldn't hold back anymore. I had to ask my dad about it.

I knocked on the door to his study.

"Dad, are you in here?"

"Come In", he replied. 

"Where have you been all day?" he inquired.

" Akram and I took Ammi to the hospital", I responded.

"Subahanallah, Is she sick?" he asked, taking off his glasses. 

"No, she's not. Her friend is, but that's part of why I'm here." I responded. 

He gestured for me to go on.

"Dad, is General Abbas abusive?" I ask.

He's taken aback by my question.

"Ammi's friend who's in the hospital is his wife", I added.

He sighed.

"General Abbas is a highly respected and decorated General, but he's a terrible husband and an even worse father." He states.

"So terrible that his son ran away from home at 17", he adds.

"I don't get it, his wife seems lovely, and his daughter seems well-behaved, so why?" I ask.

He narrates the story of how the youngest child came to be, and the story did nothing but infuriate me.

"Dad, it's not okay to let them continue living in that situation," I say.

"It is not our place, Ibrahim", he states. 

Anger bubbled inside me. This was beyond what I had initially thought.