Breaking Point

11

Chapter 11

*Trigger Warning - self harm mentions/panic attacks*

"What are you wearing?"

Salma stood on the doormat, wearing some kind of sparkly top that reached mid thigh. She was also clad in ripped leggings and heels that she was having a hard time balancing in. Her hair was messy as if she'd just spent half the night partying, which she probably had judging from the frozen look of surprise and fear on her face, a deer caught in the headlights. My mother stood before her, hands on her hips.

I'd gotten up with a parched throat and was headed to the kitchen when I'd happened upon the scene. Glancing at the clock that ticked in the hallway, I noticed that it was almost 2 AM. Before I'd went to bed, my mother had turned as white as a sheet to discover that Salma was still out with friends. She'd silently taken a seat in the living room, clasping her hands on her knees and staring intently at the front door. She'd told me to go to my room, with a low, scary voice and I'd obediently done so.

"Mom!" Salma exclaimed, trying to pull down her insanely tight top.

"Salma." My mother narrowed her eyes. "You've gone too far this time. Look at the time! You know that you are not allowed to stay out this late."

"My friend's car broke down!" Salma pouted. "You can ask her!"

My mother neared the defensive girl and narrowed her eyes. Salma took a step back, stumbling on her heels. I crept slowly back into the shadows, my quest to get a glass of water, completely forgotten. I headed back into my room, inching the door closed so that it wouldn't make noise. I didn't want to be caught eavesdropping when they started their screaming match.

"You smell of alcohol." I heard my mother say.

I gulped and even though I couldn't see Salma, I heard her whimper. I quickly slipped into my bed as she exploded into indignant remarks about how her friends had forced her and everyone was doing it and the she would look stupid if she didn't have some. My mother was silent throughout the entire rant, and I strained my ears under my bedcovers.

"Salma, you know alcohol is strictly forbidden in our religion!" My mother reminded her firmly, imagining her finger posed in accusation as she scolded my sister. "How could you allow your friends to pressure you like this!"

"You won't understand!" Salma cried. "You don't know what it's like!"

"I don't know what to do with you anymore." My mother huffed, and my heart shuddered at the disappointment in her voice. "What will your father think?"

"Guess what, mom!" Salma exploded. "Dad isn't here!"

"Salma--"

"Dad isn't coming back!"

"Salma, how dare you!"

"Dad....is dying!!"

Salma was crying now, ugly sobs that rose up and down with each gasp that tore through her throat. I squeezed my eyes shut as if I could drown out her cries in the darkness of my room, but her sobbing grew louder before it finally died down, ending with a shuddering whine. I heard a loud slump, and it'd sounded as if she'd fallen to the floor. My mother was silent.

"Baba is dying." She whimpered. "Baba isn't coming back. Baba is dying."

- - -

Salma's eyes were puffy and red the next morning. I pretended not to notice her droopy eyelids as I poured her a cup of coffee and munched on toast while she stared at the kitchen table. Breakfast passed in silence, only interrupted by the loud chatter of the birds outside and cars honking as they drove past. It was a wet Friday morning, and the skies were filled with grey clouds. Raindrops decorated the window and from this I'd figured that it'd rained last night. My mother had already gone to work by the time I'd forced myself out of bed.