Battered, With Love

Chapter 10 -- Liar, Liar

Long time, no update. I apologize. School and life have had me at my wit's end.

"Revenge is sweet but sweeter is the feeling of being the better person. Think about that one for a while." -- Ash (:

           I’m not complaining. I swear I’m not. I’ve had enough time to work this entire thing out and mature and get over my childhood. But I’ll say this: growing up wasn’t the best experience. I said the basics, which I’m eternally grateful for. I had loving parents who loved each other. I had siblings to spend time with. I had food on the table, clothes and shoes of my choice, opportunities, and the best schools in the area, all of it.

            But there’s more to life than that. I had the basic foundation, but that foundation had so many cracks in it, always threatening to collapse and break at any time.

            I have two older brothers: Zubair and Zaid. My brothers are twins themselves. They’re way older compared to me and Harun (they’re twenty-eight). After them, there’s my sister, Juwariyah. She’s twenty-seven. Then, of course, there is Harun and I, the second set of twins.

            Life was good until I was about five. Harun wasn’t born deaf. When we were about five, we went on vacation and when we came back, Harun’s health declined. Concerned, our parents took him to the doctor, and found out he had meningitis.

            That revelation forever shattered our world. Zubair and Zaid were fifteen, and Juwariyah was fourteen. I was only five, so I didn’t know much of what was going on. To this day, those two months and their aftermath are like the forbidden topic in our family. Ghosts lurk in the deepest corners of our lives; there, but never addressed.

            I know that the meningitis was what caused some complications, causing Harun to lose a great amount of hearing ability in both of his ears. None of us—even me, when I was old enough to realize it—were the same ever again.

            Growing up, I longed for someone that understood. My parents only knew what it was like to be Harun’s parent; I needed someone that understood what it was like to be Harun’s sister. So naturally, as a kid, I went to Juwariyah with my problems.

            Juwariyah is probably the one person in this world who is the closest to understanding what I feel. Yet she and I don’t get along. Isn’t that ironic? My sister, the one person that would get it, doesn’t get along with me.

            Granted, we have a nine year difference between us. But I was never good enough for her. I never did the right thing. I was selfish and whiny. At least, according to her I was.

            Back when Hamza and I had gotten into our first fight, she was who I went to first.

            I come home and slam the door shut. My anger teems and stirs in my chest as I think back to the stupid imbecile I got paired up with for an English project. He spent the entire class telling me that he wasn’t going to do any of the work.

            “Don’t even think about it. I’m not doing this shit. She,” he jerked his head towards our English teacher, “said that this was a continuation of something you guys were doing last year. I wasn’t here last year. So you’re gonna have to do this.”

            I’m really shy, especially around boys, but something about him just makes me so angry. “No. I’m not going to do it all. You have to do your part.” I had retorted.