However it goes, it ends in pain.

Chapter 7

I close my eyes and mentally place my anger in a box. I visualize pushing It shut; it takes a lot of effort, and I feel my knees weaken, my throat throb and my eyelids go heavy.

There's so much anger in me, according to this woman on social media- my body is trying to telling me that I have so much emotions I should be dealing with.

But I don't want to be dealing with anything right now. In fact, I just want to go on a reckless drive.

Maimuna and I are standing just outside the pottery house, the building is shorter than the average height of buildings in Nigeria, it's also the only building visible to us from the car were standing around. We've just finished creating some pieces and Maimuna is offering to take me out for a drink.

I decline politely.

I am too angry to be around her.

'Okay' she says turning to give me a hug. 'I'm glad we did this, lets plan for something again'

I return her hug, my purse hitting her shoulder. 'Yeah. It was lots of fun'

Maimuna gets into her Toyota and I walk to my Audi. I fumble with the keys, getting my pinky nail cut in the process and some how feeling angrier.

It takes longer than normal to get my keys in the ignition, but when I finally driving the car, I speed oblivious to where I'm heading. Luckily, this area is empty, there's not many cars.

It's ironic that I have motion sickness when I am a passenger in a car, but absolutely love driving.

It's the wind hitting your face, the loud noise outside drowning your thought, the adrenaline and energy transferred elsewhere, and it's the risk, knowing that anything can happen, but still doing it. Not many people know about how when I become consumed with anger, I speed in my car. Has it gotten me in trouble? Not yet.

Normally I am always angry, it's a kind of quiet anger that I internalize. Which eventually when expressed, is dangerously out of proportion. With my normal 50% state of anger, and Usman yelling at me the other day (we haven't spoken in two days by the way) Maimuna arriving late to an outing we'd planned almost three weeks ago, just tipped me off.

I in fact did not have a fun time. Amira went on a quick business trip, so we haven't spoke much. I haven't told her about Usman, and now all the anger is eating me inside out.

It's like a bone shaking feeling that just wants to cut right through me, and I feel it everywhere.

I mean it's behind my eyes, the conscious effort I make to breath, the ringing in my ears, my stiff jaw, my heavy shoulders, and heavy breasts, this anger is my fingers and toes.

Some days I feel my body vibrate, as my brain begs me to feel and deal with whatever emotions I've stuffed in my mental box. In those cases, I have no choice but to do it, to feel.

When I start driving at a regular pace again, I notice that I am still surrounded by endless trees and no cars or people in sight.

Now that I am no longer fuming with anger, I start to panic. If a man, or men attempted any form of assault, or robbery, I am all alone. I start speeding again, this time, I am not doing it out of anger, but out of fear.

According to google maps, I am 17 minutes away from my grandmother's house; the closest place to where I am.

I urge my car to move faster, as images of being attacked and assaulted cross my vision.

There are so many stories of girls getting rapped, kidnapped, robbed. And these stories are popular, not for their interest but for their commonality.

I start whispering prayers, of all kinds. Tears sting my eyes. I don't usually cry, I stopped being a crier years ago, in fact I struggle to cry, maybe it has to do with my not feeling things, but in this moment, in fear, tears sting my eyes, which isn't helpful as It makes the road blur.

Alarms blare in my head with each passing moment, FASTER, FASTER, FASTER. My head feels like it's growing bigger with panic. My chest heaves as more tears roll down my cheeks. This is what a heart attack must feel like, I think. I start to lose awareness of everything around me. All I know is my knuckles hurt from gripping my stirring wheel, I want to go faster, my chest is in knots and it's making breathing hard, and-

And there is a loud honk.

A loud honk means trouble.

Trouble is a large street light not far from me, a large street light just in front of me!

Brakes.

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I wake in a bed, my body sore. Everything I see is white and clean, white walls, white sheets, a white couch, and white doors- one of which I conclude leads to a bathroom. There is a window facing me, not quite opposite my bed nor adjacent to it either, it's a weird position for a window.

A drip bag is attached to my right wrist, and a very high positioned T.V screen muted opposite me. The hospital.

I have never been hospitalized in my life.

As I sit up in the bed. A head peaks through the door. It's a smallish nurse, and just behind her I see a taller shadow, the shape of a man. It's not Usman or Habeel, neither is it my father.

I start praying that the hospital hasn't called some guy on my phone that I am trying desperately to avoid, or one that I don't even really talk to. The only people in my emergency contact list are-

'Is she awake?' he asks the nurse who I am sure is the only person stopping him from coming in here.

'Sir, please don't make me call the security on you' she shuts the door.

I hear him huff.

'How are you feeling?' she asks, her ponytail swinging ever so slowly. She is dressed in blue scrubs, that hang to her curves.

'Exhausted.' I answer truthfully.

'Yes. Well, your body must have lost all the adrenaline by now. And the impact of your car on the pole was quite hard.'

'Who is the man outside?' curiosity eats away at me

She looks at me like I am asking the wrong question. Which I guess I am, but I can't help it.

'I don't know.'

I nod.

'Go on. Tell me all the injuries I've sustained.'

'You-'

'Amra Isa Rabiu!' my mother's shrill voice interrupts the nurse, as she pushes into the hospital room, she's at my side in seconds.

Touching every part of me, as if to make sure I am there.

'Don't do that again.' She warns.

My father rolls his eyes. I smile.

The door is ajar, and a man is staring at me. I am conscious of the fact that my veil is no longer on my head, my braids are in a low messy ponytail. When our eyes meet, he looks away. The nurse makes her way out and shuts the door.

I tear my eyes away from the door and look at my chattering mother, who I notice is dressed in a black abaya and a big green scarf, with the slides she usually wears at home.

'This man called through your phone, I immediately started scolding you for not replying to my messages, when he says 'Amra is in the hospital. She hasn't woken up for the past hour. Your number was in her emergency contact' she makes an attempt at imitating him. My cheeks flush, considering he can probably hear her, I assume he's the man sat outside.

Then he hangs up. I didn't even have enough time to process how rude it was of him to just hang up. I just called your father to get the car ready and rushed down here.'

I laugh at my mother's recount. My father shakes his head at his wife.

The room feels much smaller with my father's size and my mother's noise.

The nurse returns with a female doctor. I notice the man is still there, leaning against the wall one foot propped up, his arms folded across his chest. 

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