Scarred For Life

Chapter 43

*
Zainab's eyes flew from Adnan's bleeding knuckles to the spot where he had tried to put his hand through the wall.

"Was that really necessary?" she asked.

"Get out of my room," he said, his back turned to her. The blood from his knuckles trickled down onto the tiles, forming a small puddle at his feet. Already, all four of his fingers were beginning to swell from the pain.

But it didn't matter.

None of it did.

Because no matter what he put himself through, no matter how much he tried to hurt himself otherwise, the aching in his heart was far greater than any other form of physical pain.

Zainab gingerly stepped forward, ignoring the menacing way Adnan was breathing.

"I heard your mother talking to your sister," she said. "And I just wanted to offer my condolences."

"I don't want or need your condolences," he said. "I want to be left alone."

"Cheer up already," she sighed. "She'll come around. I know she will."

"You know nothing," he said bitterly.

"On the contrary, Mr Adnan Yusuf, I know a lot of things," she said. "Like, for the example, the fact that you talk in your sleep."

If it were physically possible, Adnan stiffened even more.

"Of course you knew already," she shrugged. "But if I may ask, who's Sam?"

In an instant, Adnan had turned and lunged at her, stopping himself just before he touched her. The ferocity of his movement caused Zainab to stagger backwards, falling on the ground with a resounding thud.

"If that name ever crosses your mouth again," he growled, "I will kill you. Do you understand? I'm going to wrap my hands around your neck and watch you as you die. Do I make myself clear?"

Her cool demeanour gone, Zainab simply nodded.

"Get out," he said.

Wordlessly, she drew herself up, keeping her eyes on him. Adnan kept his eyes on her until she left the room. Only then did he collapse onto the chair with a tired groan.

He had had enough of it. Enough of everything. There were enough problems he had to face right now, and he didn't need anyone going back in time to dig up his past. He had buried that a long time ago.

But what the bloody hell was he supposed to do?

Why did he have to ruin everything by telling her he loved her? Why couldn't his stupid mouth keep shut and allow him to construct his words more carefully?

His mother was right. He didn't use his brain to think. More often than not, he seemed to be using his heart for that particular task.

She hated him; that much was clear after everything he'd seen today. And the knowledge of that suffocated him more than anything.

Agitated, he dug his fingers into his palm.

He had to fix this. If not for anything else, then simply to make sure that she didn't hate him. He could live without her, but not with the knowledge that she hated him. But how he was going to do that was up to anyone's guess.

He stood up and began to pace the length of the room, ignoring the throbbing in his hand. He deserved it; he deserved so much worse.

"Damn it all to hell," he groaned as he kicked the sidetable, satisfied when his toes began to throb as well. He thought about punching the wall again, but he knew his fingers wouldn't withstand that kind of force again.