In My Sister's Shadow (Book 1)

19. Coming Home

Author's Note: Well, guys. Well done for voting. Please keep it up. You have earned yourself a bonus chapter update, which I RARELY do anymore due to my hectic life.

As a thank you, ENJOY!

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Parking up outside the house, I knocked on the door with trepidation. Across the road was Maggie. Somewhere behind the blinds, she was watching me waiting to report to the authorities about our latest squabble. Would Zayn leave me out in the cold as well? Didn't anyone want me? Didn't anyone need me? I wept silently outside in the dark thankful no one could see my tears. I knocked on the door twice and could hear the commotion from inside. On the third knock Zara opened the door to my desperate relief.

Standing on the beanbag, dressed in her vest and pyjama bottoms I looked at her puny little shoulders. I wanted to hold her. Squeeze the life out of her. Hug her. Kiss her. I needed her warmth. Love. Smell. Like a flowing river, my tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Where's your clothes darling?" I mumbled reaching out to hold her.

"Armaan dropped strawberry milkshake on my top. Daddy!" She called out.

Before I could snatch her arm and press her against my chest, she shot through the kitchen. I couldn't let Zayn see me in this state. I needed to be alone. I ran to my dark room and locked the door.

In the privacy of my bedroom, I unpinned my hijab and flung it across the room along with my jacket. My hair unfurled around me. In the dark I sunk into a corner of my room. There, I sat curled like a ball sweating out my tears. My shoulders shuddered. I needed something to stop this pain. It was taking over my body to a point where I couldn't breathe. My heart swirled in a chasm of darkness plunging into the depths of despair. I needed something to cope. Somehow to climb out of this dark deep and desperate void. I searched through the drawers for something. I didn't know what.

Then under the bed my hand found a pencil. Under the orange glow of the street lamppost I fingered the pointy sharp edge. I pulled up my sleeves. The sharp point sat precariously on my skin, soft enough to not pierce my arm, hard enough to enforce the intended message. The harsh led was cold and raw against my bare skin, but my numb body could not feel anything except for the excruciating pain of dad's betrayal. All it took was one small cut. It would be quick, short and take me to my good place. The voices in my head were deafening. I needed this. I pressed the sharp point on my soft skin and clenched my eyes shut. After 23 months of staying clean I fell off the wagon and attempted to cut myself. My heart sank even lower as I wronged my soul and fell into the trap of torturing my body. However, a loud knock on the door interrupted me and darted my eyes open.

"Who is it?" I sniffed.

"Zorro, could you open the door?"

"I'll be down later." I swallowed my tears pushing through my quivering voice.

"Just give me a minute; I need to speak to you." Zayn pressed.

"Zayn can't you leave me alone for five minutes?" I stressed. "Just go!" I yelled.

There was silence. I was back in my solitude.

"Zohra!" It was the first time I heard him say my full name. It felt personal and I felt responsible responding to it. I hid the pencil under the duvet, dried my eyes and pushed my hair back. Before I opened the door, I switched on the light so he wouldn't be suspicious.

Once I opened the door, I turned my back to him concealing my red and puffy eyes. The light was blinding.

"You okay?" He asked and I hummed a response.