Void - Finding Islam (EDITING)

Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

I stood in the bathroom, facing the mirror. My short black hair softly grazed my bare shoulder, dishevelled from 6 hours of sleep and sticking to my cheeks.

I touch my arm with my fingers, feeling the crumbled, burnt brown skin — a contrast to my pale complexion. It has almost been 12 years since the accident, but it's archived in my mind so vividly that it seems almost impossible for me to forget.

And how can I, possibly, forget?

A single event in the past that molds your destiny, changes who you are — for good. Like a background music in a movie; it's always there, perhaps fading away occasionally to give space for important events, but it's still there, shaping the plot, getting louder, higher, with every breakdown.

I'm suddenly attacked by short flashbacks. I can only catch glimpses - pictures switching too fast. I see orange flames rising up to the ceiling. I remember how it caught my sleeve. I remember how it hurt so much that I started to scream. I screamed and I cried. I cried as the fire ate away my flesh, as my father came running into the kitchen, as the flames died down. And I cried as I saw my mother being carried to the hospital. I cried until it hurt to breathe, until my head felt so heavy and swollen it could have dragged my whole body down with it.

It's irrevocable. But I can't help but think that if it all never happened, we wouldn't be like this. My mother wouldn't be so distressed all the time. My father wouldn't be so irritable. And I wouldn't have grown so quiet.

Sighing, I slide a long-sleeved sweatshirt that covers my thighs over my head and tie my hair into a high tiny ponytail and leave the bathroom.

My mother is in her room, making the bed. I stand in the doorway, watching her. A blonde chunk of hair covered the side of her face - the damaged side. She tucks a few strands behind her ear and I catch a glimpse of the injury. The crumbled skin of her cheek resembled that on my arm. Her eye was unhurt, though her eyelids are now closer together, and it gave her several lines on the corner of her mouth whenever she grimaced, indicating false ageing.

The accident has left its fingerprints on both of us.

I turn and leave.

***

I trotted down the stairs, trying not to drop the pile of books I was trying to stuff into my backpack. I escaped the classroom as fast as I could when I heard the bell. This day felt like hell without Tasneem.

My chemistry notebook tumbled to the floor with a thud. Sighing intolerantly, I bent down to fetch it. When I stood back up, a broad shoulder appeared out of nowhere before me. I lifted my head to see none other than Trent Houston smirking at me. I grit my teeth.

Perfect. Exactly what I need.

"Hey, Jen!" He said.

"Hey," I say curtly, avoiding his gaze. 

He wasn't alone; he had Adam and Ali with him. I straightened the strap on my shoulder and continued to stare at a couple laughing in the distance.

"Why the hurry?"

I pressed my lips, then opened them again when I figured I had to reply. If Tasneem was here, he wouldn't have dared talk to me in the first place. I looked up at him. "I have a bus to catch." Then I added, deciding to go with that idea, "So, yeah. Can I go now? To catch the bus, I mean?" 

He frowned. "Yeah, sure."

I started to walk around him, but he stopped me again, holding my arm. I cringed.