Scarred For Life

Chapter 17

*

To a soul which has never tasted grief, the sight of Afrah curled up on her bed would have seemed strange and unwelcoming. Although the guests downstairs had very nearly forgotten about the little 'incident' from earlier, it was all she could think about. Her clothes lay discarded at the foot of the bed, her sheets were rumpled up and her pillows were thrown all over the room, each landing in a different location after being catapulted with a surprising strength, usually accompanied by a cry of anguish.

She was a mess, and she knew it.

The worst part about her predicament was the fact that she couldn't even share her grief with anyone. If Afrah were to receive a dollar for every time she had tried and failed to speak up about what happened to her, she would have nearly been as rich as her father was.

But it wasn't as easy as it sounded.

In the distance, she could hear the call to Asr echoing across the street. The wedding had been concluded hours ago, and Amina was already someone's wife. The idea seemed almost laughable. Amina was much too childish and irresponsible to be embarking on this journey by herself.

But of course she would have her husband by her side. She wasn't completely alone.

Unlike her.

Confined within the walls which she had built herself, Afrah couldn't help but feel like an outsider who was cursed to roam the vastness of her own empty soul, occasionally peeking over to see how the other side lived. Curious little beings they turned out to be, for they didn't talk like her; didn't walk like her; didn't eat or sleep like her; they didn't even look at others the way she looked at them, with an unbridled envy in her eyes.

It wasn't as if she wanted to be this way though. What wouldn't she give to be able to do the things others could do easily?

What wouldn't she give to just be normal?

The tiny voice at the back of her mind which had stuck there for as long as she could remember had other thoughts however.

'You will never fit in with them, Afrah,' it said. 'You are not meant for this life. They will never understand you. Did you not see the way they looked at you? Like the sick person you are. Why should you even try to fight it?'

The iqama came next, the last call before the prayer began.

'You will never find happiness here, Afrah,' the voice continue. 'Never! They will never accept you. But I'm here for you. I've always been here. Just for you. Only you.'

Afrah shrugged it off. She wasn't about to go down that path again. She remembered all too well what had happened the last time she allowed that voice to persuade her into doing something stupid. The scars on her wrists were enough to bring her back to her senses.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. Afrah turned her eyes towards the door, but she said nothing. Every bone in her body had gone limp. The voice did that to her sometimes, draining her of any strength she had left.

Slowly, the door was pushed open to reveal Umma standing in the hallway, a skeptical look in her eyes. In her hands she carried a tray with a covered plate and a bottle of water.

"Afrah?" she called quietly. "You're awake?"

She simply nodded.

"I thought you might get hungry, so I brought you some food before they finish it downstairs," Umma said as she entered the room. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better," she replied.

"Good," Umma sighed as she set the food down on the bedside drawer. She placed the back of her hand on Afrah's forehead, pulling away when she was satisfied with the temperature.