In My Sister's Shadow (Book 1)

17. Cri de Coeur

I could still remember the cold winter December night when I first cut myself like it was yesterday. It was Eid ul fitr (Islamic festival after fasting). I wore my gold sequenced red dress, with red matching ribbons in my hair and shiny black shoes. I was 12 and brimming with happiness that day I would go to London with my dad to see my uncle and sit on the big wheel. I didn't know it was called London eye. For the past 4 weeks-during Ramadan-I told all my friends I would go to London and bring them back a gift.

"When I am up in the big wheel you better give me a wave." I buzzed with excitement.

I was fervent, so much so, I made myself ill with excitement, puking all night according to my mum. But on Eid  when dad returned from mosque, the day changed into the colour of his salwar kameez; dead black.

"She will vomit in my car. Leave her with Sakinah" Dad told mum referring to me as the third person who was standing in the living room.

"But dad! I'm better now." I cried out. "I want to go!" I looked up tugging his black kurtha

"I can't have her throwing up in the car every few minutes. Sort her out." Dad decided and that was that.

Through tears and tantrums, I watched Dad take Zeenat and mum to London leaving me in tears at auntie Sakinah's house. Looking through the window Zeenat pulled silly faces as the car drove away. I hated dad. I hated mum. I especially hated Zeenat.

"Beti, come on eat." Auntie Sakinah eased me out from under the table.

"No!" I yelled.

"You will spoil your clothes."

I wanted to rip my special clothes. My cousins came hounding me taking pleasure in my despair.

"Piss off go away." I spat at them.

"I'm telling mum." 15 year old Majid whined standing at the door.

"Serves your right, Moti Kaali Dhaal (fat, black lentils)."

10 year old Haroon teased.

"Your dad didn't take you to London because you're too ugly! They call you moti kaali dhaal. Zeenat is prettier and everyone likes her." They were brutally honest.
"They want to see her, not you. You're ugly!"

Like a lioness I pounced on him and pulled a chunk of his hair. I scratched his face with his brown skin was under my nails. I was livid. I ran upstairs knowing I was in serious trouble and locked myself in the bathroom bawling my eyes out.

Was it true? Is that why dad didn't want to take me? I embarrassed him? I searched through the cupboards for something, anything to hurt myself and get back at my parents. I wanted to cut my special dress. To stab my shoes. Such was the power of the rage trapped in me. I wanted to kill myself and make them suffer. I wanted them to return and see my dead body and then I would be the one laughing, so I thought.

In the cupboards I found uncle's scissors. I took it out and melted into a corner. The door pounded with knocks. My head throbbed but all I saw was this beautiful sharp shiny scissors that I opened and I pressed against my wrist. The danger that lurked was enticing. Under the glimmering light, the sharp shiny blade, deliciously flirted on my wrist. A voice, loud and mechanical, laughing at me to do it.

'Cut your flesh and make your mother bleed!'

The shouts of auntie Sakinah drowned out. I closed my eyes and held my breath pressing the razor-sharp knife against my skin. The rush of danger gushed through my veins. The first cut was painfully sharp, but I grit my teeth and pushed on with the image of Haroon laughing at me calling me names. I hated my body. I hated everything about me. As my skin cut like a hot knife slicing through butter. The pressure in my head eased taking away the emotional pain. At that moment the psychedelic high was phenomenal. I felt a release from the pressure cooker steaming in my mind hooting away like a steam engine. It silenced the chaos in my head, briefly freezing the repetitive flashbacks. Tears of pain streamed down my cheeks but I laughed menacingly at the sight of my crying wrists. For the first time I felt in control. I felt relieved that I yielded the power to hurt myself and make me feel something spectacular.