Wither

Chapter 5: Stolen Privileges

Chapter 5: Stolen Privileges 

Okay so 'his' name from now onward is Mikhail Ali. I thought it would be more mysterious to call him 'him' or 'he' or 'his' but making them italic in every line is pretty shit. So here's your name.

I had never been someone who offered prayers regularly. I had been a bitch to think that I could skip my prayers and God would forgive me. When I was young almost fourteen, my brothers used to fast and pray regularly, even though both were younger, one was a year younger and the other one five years younger. I would lie to my parents or generally hide whenever there was Aza'an (Call to Prayer). I preferred my T.V. shows or books over it. At the time, I had a big head, I didn't follow any rules, I had a big ego, and I didn't ever do what I was told. I was busy planning the 'perfect future', and thinking about the places I could go to if I wasn't restricted in my home and if I had enough money. I watched lots of videos that would try to make us realize that how we needed to fear God but it never affected me, as I said, I had a big head.

But now when I got a taste on having a large head, I had to find redemption.

The morning came early; my body was hurting, still. I got off the bed letting out 'ouch' every time my body made a contact with anything, even my steps hurt. Looking at the clock, I found out I woke quite in time for my prayers. I wore the first thing in my closet, which happened to be a over sized hoodie and joggers.

Making my way to the washroom, and letting out long strings of cry, I turned on the tap. My wuz'u, normally didn't take longer than two minutes but this time body was aching more than it ever had, so it ended up being ten minutes long. Wearing a scarf, I laid down my ja'namaz (Prayer mat), and stood on it. My prayer was again long, with pain and tears. When I sat down for Du'a the tears flowed down my eyes like there was happiness on the ground where they fell. I prayed and prayed for Allah to help me find a way out of the life I was living, out of the all the pain. I prayed for death. Never in a million years would I have ever thought of praying for death, my life meant too much for me. I always thought there is a way out, it just takes will to find it, but my will was lost, buried a thousand miles underneath the ground. Now I thought that death was the only answer. Pathetic I know.

After I was done with my Fajr prayer, I went out of the room to find some painkillers in the kitchen. Mikhail wasn't home, to my luck. I went to make my breakfast as Angeline was asleep, considering I usually slept after my prayers and woke up at around 8 a.m., but my pain made me unable to do so.

My breakfast consisted of a fruit salad with almonds and a smoothie. I loved to eat but ever since I stepped into this hell, I lost my appetite, I loved eggs and toasts but now they didn't keep the same appeal to me, the fruits were all I ate. Even the fruits were tasteless, back in Pakistan the fruits had the best tastes but here they weren't as good.

After an hour Mikhail left, I hid in the broom closet until I heard the door close.

I sat on the couch, thinking of how could I survive this hell, one option was to have mutual 'love' feelings for Mikhail but that was impossible. Suddenly an idea popped into my head, Mikhail had never stopped me from going outside, and primarily he knew that if I ever told the police that my husband hit me, he would just pull the stings of his associates in the police or buy them off with lots of cash. Whoever said money can't buy you happiness was wrong. It can buy you happiness but most importantly satisfaction.

My idea was to simply convince Mikhail to let me do a job, I had studied, I could do something, anything to get spend more time outside of this house.