Perfectly Imperfect

~17~

Dedicated to 08_Umm_Waraqah ♥️♥️, her comments are life and I learn so much from them. She also has an ongoing Muslim teen fiction that I so love. You should definitely check it out.

And my sister in law adesewa_x made the new cover for me. Saranghea ♥️♥️

                    ~Adam~

I hissed at the automated voice that kept saying; the number that you're trying to call is currently switched off or out of coverage. I've heard that same line for at least a hundred times in the last 20 hours. That was mom's number and even though Aunty had told me not to call her, I kept trying, hoping that I'd at least get lucky and that she'd pick my call.

That was hopeless and pointless because no matter how many times I called her, it was going to keep saying switched off. This wasn't the first time something like this would happen and until she called me herself or they return home, there was no way I could see her or hear her voice.

But that still did not deter me from trying.

Eventually, I gave up, throwing my phone angrily against the wall. It hit the wall before landing on the floor and I hissed when I still saw that it was intact save for probably a broken screen. It was almost time for the dinner and even though I'd said I wasn't interested in going downstairs for the dinner, Aunty had maintained her stance and I knew there was no talking myself out of it.

I heaved a sigh as I sat up on the bed and I winced at the intensity of the pain in my head, it was too much and too sudden that I had to grab my head with my too hands.

Someone opened the door and Charles poked his head in.

"Coz, you're still coming down for the dinner? It's almost time."

"Hmm."

"Good!"

He replied and he slammed the door shut, his footsteps fading as he walked further down the hallway. I wanted to lie down on the bed, cover myself with the duvet and to keep sleeping, if only that would reduce the ache in my heart.

Sometimes, I feel like I've gotten so used to this ache that I don't know how to be without it.

How to live without it.

My phone vibrating against the tiled floor had me shooting out of my bed in less than a second and I ignored the pain that intensified in my head as I walked over to where my phone was. My heart sank when I saw the caller. I'd thought it was mom.

I wanted it to be mom.

It wouldn't be too much to hope for a miracle.

"Adam."

Came the caller's loud and overly cheerful voice when I picked the call. I sank to the floor, my back to the wall, one of my legs stretched out and the other propped up. It was Big Mummy, mom's elder sister, a lawyer who was based in Abuja with her family.

"Big Mummy, Good evening Ma."

"Oko mi, bawo ni? Your dad called and told me Lara had another relapse, ehn?"

I nodded, momentarily forgetting that she could not see me. "Yes Ma."

"Eeh eeh! Oluwa oo. I'd flown over there immediately but Christmas and all of that. Are you fine? I'm sure she'd be fine, ehn?"

I wasn't sure about that. Infact, I wasn't sure about anything at the moment. I opened my mouth and I closed it again, wondering what'd happen if I should tell Big Mummy about the fact that Dad hits mom at every single opportunity, that he probably hit her head against the wall or something and that was why he'd rushed her to the hospital.