#41 in Spiritual 2/3/17.
Religion. It's a big part of you. Some would say that religion is basically who you are.
All her life Amira has been told who she is. What she is.
A Muslim girl.
But the more she learns about her religion the more she r...
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My mother is the first person I see as me and Seid spring apart. Everything happens in slow motion. Seid is replaced by Zayn who's suddenly holding my hand whilst my mother is patting my head. I can feel her wrath through her cold fingers.
"What-" I open my mouth to ask her what the hell she's doing here but she places a hand on my cheek.
"I'm taking you home,"
Home. That house where my mother accused my father of unspeakable things just because he wanted me to be a good Muslim- a good person. Home where my mother treated me like her little play doll- a puppet. Home, the place I worked my ass off to get out of. And now she's going to drag me back home. Drag me back to the hell I lived in.
I want to scream but I don't think I have the energy right now so instead I pull my hand away from Zayn's and squeeze my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. It takes time but they finally stop trying to assess whether I'm asleep or not. My mother and Zayn make a good combo, he could be her son.
I know my mother knew I wasn't sleeping so I hear her send Zayn out and clench my fists, ready for the hell she's about to unleash.
"Get up," She prods me with her finger.
"What?" I murmur.
"Don't what me, what the hell are you doing here? Miles away from your university? With boys?" Her questions don't stop there, "Why was Seid here? Why haven't you been in touch with Zayn?"
"Mother-" I groan.
"Don't, Amira, don't you dare talk back to me," She screams. Don't they have nurses who can escort her out? Isn't it like illegal to yell at a patient?
"Fine then I won't answer your questions,"
"I don't want your answers,"
"Okay then," I turn away from her. Maybe if I ignore her hard enough she'll go away.
"We're going home,"
"No we're not," I whisper.
"What did you say?"
"We're not going home," I whisper again.
"Face me," She screams, but I don't. I don't want to face her. Not now not ever. "Amira, I swear to God."
"God?" I shout before I can stop myself and turn around to face my mother in all her disheveled glory. "Are you gonna talk about God right now mother?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Swear on Him, it's not like He means anything to you," She looks like I've slapped her across the face, "Or better yet, swear on my life, it's not like I mean anything to you."
