Dear Laura 2

Chapter 22

For the next month, I dragged myself to do anything. I was living with Beth and helping around the house, but I felt like a zombie every day. My brain could not engage with reality. I constantly felt like walls were closing in on me and that I was forcing myself to stay alive. I could barely eat too. I even wished I was dead. Death was so much better because it was final. It was so much better than the continuation of emptiness and grief that I felt on the daily. The memory of him still haunted me. The memory of the day he beat me up to a pulp tormented me.

Every time I was alone, I would literally hear the sound of my heart slowing down the way it did on that day. I heard it as though it was happening in real time and not just a figment of my own traumatised imagination.

However, given all that, I still could not imagine giving myself to another human being the way I gave myself to Abdul. I did not want anybody else to touch me where he did or kiss me where he did or say the things he used to say to me. I know I should not say that given the fact that those were the same hands that left scars on my body, the same words that wounded my soul and the very same kisses that sucked the life out of me. Whatever the logical facts were, I still preferred him over any other man. At least with him I knew what to expect. Rather the devil I knew right? Even though he was the one holding the knife that was constantly stabbing my heart, I still wanted him to be the one that stopped the bleeding and puzzle the pieces together again. It was more like an aching need than a want.

Every splitting second that I was in Chicago, I was trying to convince myself that I did not love him anymore. I did everything I possible could—read, take a walk, do chores, and even babysit, so that I could distract myself from the disheartening thoughts and my love for him. I tried to distract myself from the happy memories we shared and the happy family that I imagined we would have. The babysitting part was kind of triggering for me, I kept imagining moments I could have with my child.

There was a part of me, although so little, that believed that we still had a shot. That I would wake up from this terrible nightmare and find him making breakfast in the kitchen. That the parts where he made me cry or question my worth or when hit me or degraded me were not real. I was desperately hanging on to that belief, despite it shattering me.

"I need to talk to him, at least to get closure. Things cannot end the way they did. I thought I was done with him, but I cannot go on without proper closure Beth." I said to Beth one morning.

Her response was brief yet held so much weight; "The disrespect was all the closure you needed." Damn!

I did not know how I was expected to live without him. I constantly craved his attention and love. I did not know how to go on without my fix. The hours seemed to be going by slowly and I did not know how much of it I could take. How long do they mean when they say, time heals? Because I needed time to heal a little faster.

I ended up telling my parents about Abdul and mom kept saying that she knew I was too young to be independent and that she's sorry, but I should had listened to her. I honestly did not expect a better response from her. Both my parents resented me for missing Malik's funeral and to some extent I did understand why they were hostile towards me. My mom however, called me every day since I had been living at Beth's. That was sweet of her.

Just as I was cleaning up Jonathan's puke on a Wednesday morning, I got a call from mom.

"You lied about this man. You are a thief and a liar now?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." I nonchalantly responded.

"Turn on the news." She said.

"I am busy with the--."

"Hurry. "

"Okay!" I rolled my eyes but still did as she told me.