Words Apart

Part 6: Where it all started to go downhill

A year later.
Inayah's POV.

Alhamdhulillah the last year had been wonderful. I was grateful for everything. I had a loving husband. A family. A house. Food on my table. We had become closer than ever and everything felt like something out of a fairytale. He was working for a bank, and I was a teacher. We were both saving, we had dreams that we were keen on fulfilling. We talked about everything. Our pasts, our present, and our future goals. He often told me things, I didn't think he was capable of feeling. He had a history of cold lonely nights and feared dreams, and it just so happened that we both turned out the same. We were becoming the bestest of friends, and ya Allah, oh how much I loved him. He'd became my happiness in such a short time, I was finally starting to believe that happiness has arrived and my prayers have been answered.

But, how was I meant to know how Musa would turn out to be someone completely different? I heard Allah tests you in different ways. Everything was peaceful at the start. He used to work, but ever since he's left his job a few weeks ago, he's accompanying the wrong crowds. He's doing things he shouldn't be. He's left his prayer and he's spending his savings on things that are forbidden.

But the worst thing is, he's become a lot more violent now. I almost don't recognise him. Not anymore. It all started one summer night, I was getting ready for bed, he hadn't come yet, I rang him several times. He answered. There was music playing in the background and he wasn't alone. Loud music. It sounded like a party.

"What?" He spoke in an ever so abrupt manner.
"I'm worried orrried, when are-" and before I could finish he interrupted, "chill I'll be home soon, just don't ring me again, it's embarrassing." *Beeeep.*

He'd cut the line. But that wasn't the only thing he'd cut. His words were starting to become a taunt to my hearts delicate chords. Each part of me was aching. It wasn't the first time he'd done this. I was no longer as happy as I was worried. I stayed up every night, hoping he'd turn up before the sun rises and his parents notice. Every night I'd sit on my prayer mat, I'd hold my hands high, and I'd cry. Oh, how I'd cry. It was a test. I know it was.

And some nights he'd come home, and stop himself from looking me in the eye. I often asked him what was wrong, if he needed a shoulder to lean on. He didn't respond. He said he's tired, and to sleep was where he'd go for the next fourteen hours.

Other days, he'd come home. His speech blurred, his eyes sparkling shots of red. He'd look me in the eye. He'd tell me he loves me, but then push me onto the bed. He thought he had control. I'd resist, and that's when the violence started. He slapped me once. I cried. He saw my tears and stopped. But looked the other way.

Mentally, he was killing every hope I had left. Physically, he thought he had control. And emotionally, he was turning me numb.

There's just so much a woman can do for a man. Hope was reeling out my soul, and I was becoming unrecognisable to myself. I hid it all away, I promised myself I'll stay, but it's his behaviour that was consistently pushing me astray.