The Two of Us

Chapter 16 - Scars

Chapter Sixteen - Scars

Khalid took a deep breath as he stepped into his house. He'd finally been released from the hospital and as he gazed at his living room, and breathed in that distinct smell of his home, he smiled. He didn't realize how much he'd miss the place. His mother came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Yallah, habibi, the nurses said to take a few days off until your back fully heals." She told him softly, leading him to his room.

Khalid followed her silently. After she closed the door, he stood there staring out the window. He couldn't bring himself to lie down or do anything. He just wanted to think. He thought about his parents and the way they looked at him. He suspected they had their ideas to how he'd gotten stabbed. Not that he'd tell them.

And Sabrina.

A pang in his heart made him wince, as an image of her face surfaced in his mind. Why had she wanted to know who killed Zayn? She said she wanted to help. But he knew better. It was the fact that he was hurting her, even now when he'd promised he wouldn't never, that made him feel like crap. Some things would never change, he supposed.

He was too restless too sleep. His mind was too loud for him, his thoughts rapid and uncontrolled. If he lay down he'd stare at the ceiling and his guilt and anger would tear him apart. So, with a sigh, he snuck out into the living room and grabbed the T.V remote. 

This is sort of like resting, he argued internally.

The Simpsons were on. He watched without seeing as the silly, yellow people ran around and did silly, useless thing. He flipped through the channels and came across a talk show. He zoned out, drowning in his thoughts until a gale of laughter made him look up. They were so happy, he thought, suddenly. Why can't I be that happy?

Ten minutes later he found himself locked in the bathroom, breathing heavily and leaning over the sink, staring at his reflection. The laughter echoed in his mind, seeming to taunt him. He screwed his eyes shut and made the decision. He opened them and his eyes were wide and fearful. He usually avoided mirrors but today he wanted to see.

He turned around and slipped his shirt off. He glanced back, holding his breath and his gaze slid to the stab wound. His eyes slid upwards until...there. His breath caught in his throat. On his upper back were long, red scars. He did them himself, everyday after Zayn's death.

Oh, he knew it was wrong. Haraam even. But there was something so tempting about reaching back and digging his nails into his skin and clawing it all off. He'd spent many a night, trying to rip his skin off, because he didn't want it. He didn't want this body, this life. But it didn't work, obviously, and all he felt was burning. So much burning.

He made sure it never reached his neck. He made sure he never wore white shirts otherwise he'd take them off and see the blood. He made sure his shirts had collars, just in case. He'd had a hard time explaining to the nurses who had cleaned up his stab wound. Drugs, he'd lied. Hallucinations that made him tear at his skin. They'd watched him closely after that.

There were some things that no one would understand.

He kept staring. He reached back and traced a white scar. They were fading now. He'd stopped after he'd decided he wanted to marry Sabrina. Cut his nails and everything. Sometimes his hands would still shake, though, and he'd have to busy himself with something else. Anything other that that. He took a breath and ran his hands through his hair. He regretted it, of course. What had it managed? Only more pain.