Muslimah in love

9. Broken

I froze like an icicle. Everything blurred except for the couple in front of me. I couldn't move. They were oblivious to everything and everyone besides each other. What had I done to deserve this? She was a stunning brunette and I wanted to ripe all her repulsive, pretty hair off. I couldn't see her face properly but I just knew she'd be gorgeous. I was standing there staring like a complete stalker but I didn't care.

Now all the late night, moodiness, silence and why he feared me becoming pregnant made sense. The truth, that I had so vigorously rejected, had been staring at me the whole time and now the actions were being played out, right bang in front of my face. My husband, the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with, was clearly in love with another women.

'Excuse me, Miss.' Someone said breaking my thoughts. 'Can I ask a few questions?' It was one of the questionnaire or survey people.

I looked at the young girl, her eyes bright blue and clear, So young and unaware. Right now she probably thought her school exams were the biggest problem. Until a few moments ago, my biggest worry was his bloody gift. But that was trival compared to the worry that lay in fornt of me; a worry I thought would never ever happen to me, because good Muslims don't cheat on their bloody wives. My bubble of hope had burst.

'Never trust a man.' I warned the girl who looked at me confused. I felt sick and suffocated. I walked out the shopping centre. No amount of shopping would make me feel better. The lump in my throat was hurting just like everything else. I was a zombie, dazed by the truth and betrayal. I just wanted to die.

Astagfirullah (God forgive me). I shouldn't say things like that but the hurt and heartbreak felt too much. At this moment anything including death, seemed better than having this ghastly, sickening feeling. But I couldn't. Suicide meant going straight to hell and I wasn't going to let a pathetic man ruin my entry to heaven. Anyway, i wasn't ready to die and face my lord. Suddenly I felt rage, a deep fiery rage like a volcano build inside me. I wanted blood.

The strangest thing was, I hadn't even shed a tear.

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Before I knew it, I had shattered and broken numerous fragile objects that I had so carefully purchased for the apartment. I felt like a broken glass like the shattered pieces of glass I was surrounded by.I couldn't hold it back any longer. Loud sobs broke out of me and the river of tears began to flow. After my tear ducts were dry of anymore water, my feelings turned into ice, I felt a little calmer and it soon turned into numbness. My heart had hardened and I felt like a stone inside. I was Bella from New Moon; Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath, women or characters united due to the grief caused by the men in their lives. Now I understood why all those women used to commit suicide for love. And maybe all those ridiculous depressing song lyrics weren't as ridiculous as I had thought them to be.

A pool of beautiful crimson blood was forming in front of me. Where'd that come from? Then I realised it was coming from me. I suddenly felt the sharp stinging pain. A jiggered line of red across my wet, red-stained palm stared at me. Damn, what had I done to myself? I guess I got the blood i had wanted.

For the first time ever, I realised that I had lost complete control. I never lost control and if I felt like I wanted to, I still managed to keep it in tact. Even like the time I was so close to getting a signed copy of Anthony Horowitz's 'Storm breaker' back when I was a massive Alex rider fan. Not even the time where I couldn't go to Sam's extra special sleepover because she had a snake as a pet. Yes, you could say that i didn't have much to moan over, and being the only girl and having an older brother had its perks.

After bandaging my hand I tidied up. Everything was a mess; like myself. I slowly cleaned up everything and chucked it into the kitchen bin, the sounds of the glass crashing against each other was deafening.

Pouring some Radox stress relieve bath bubbles I sat in the burning bath. I let the water soak into my skin and i tried to relax my muscles but i couldn't. Then, I held my nose with my fingers and dunk my head under the water just to make everything disappear and my thoughts to stop swirling. All I could here was the faint sound of my heartbeat. I wondered how it would feel if someone just came in and held me down, drowning me. Zaid was already doing that to me mentally. I bolted up. The heat was stifling. I had to get out.

Now my guilt was sinking in. I hadn't dealt with this situation like a good Muslimah would. I was weak. I had let my anger over take me. The hadith: ''The strong-man is not one who wrestles well but the strong man is one who controls himself when he is in a fit of rage.'' ran through my mind. I had broken things, hurt myself and wasted money. Instead, I should have turned to Allah, prayed, made dua (supplications) or given in charity. This was my test and so far I wasn't doing so well. I had been doing well until today, tolerating all his shitty treatment of me.

Later, I packed a weekend bag and yes, like a little girl, I was running back to my mum again. I went into the guest room and climbed into the soft bed. No way would I sleep anywhere near him tonight. I tried to sleep. I prayed surahs that I had memorised from the Holy Quran and duas (supplications). It usually worked but today my mind was an overdrive of thoughts. So I got up and went to the living room with some work and switched the TV on. A documentary about the Mughal empire was on. I sat blindly watching it.

I didn't know what to do or how to act? What could I do? What should I do? But my brothers chances of marrying someone good somewhat depended on me. Argh, how I hated the way my culture saw the whole divorce and marriage business. It didn't even relate to religion. If a couple divorced they mostly blamed the girl for it. For flip's sake, the guy could be guilty as well.

Painfully and with much thinking, I had decided that I wasn't going to confront him but stay quiet, in the literal sense too. I was a victim of unrequited love and that felt even worse than being single. As soon as Yusuf was married, I would be leaving Zaid. Patience for now. I had done it all this time without realising so I could for a while longer. But how much longer?

But why hadn't he already divorced me and married her ? Clearly it had going on for a long time. What was he waiting for? That was the question that really got me. It didn't make sense.

Suddenly the front door open. Zaid was home. My heart was drumming heavily. Luckily I had my back towards the entrance of the room as I was leaning on the edge of the sofa with my legs resting across the sofa, so I wouldn't have to face him.

I heard his footsteps coming towards the living room.

'Asalamualiakum.' He greeted me, sounding a little surprised as if he wasn't expecting to see me. It was probably strange for him that I was awake so late because I usually went to bed before 11.30.

I couldn't bare to even look at him, so without turning back I forced myself to answer, 'Wasalaam.' I continued to keep my head down, pretending to be busy writing. I could feel him waiting. Probably waiting for me to ask if he wants dinner but I didn't. He probably ate anyway or if he didn't then he could serve himself. I wasn't his maid. After I heard the bathroom door shut I picked up my phone and texted Kylie, 'I'm in. America here we come!!!xx'

I was done with trying to win his love.

So, what do you think? Should Zara have confronted him or was she right in deciding to stay silent for her brothers sake? Let me know what you think and don't forget to vote. Thank you all!!!