THE NARCISSIST'S WIFE

Chapter Four: Bullied

Assalam Alaikum lovelies!

It's been a while but guess what? We have the longest of all the chapters so far!  ☺️

And for the first time, Zahra and Sharif are going to have a conversation!

How do you envisage it? Feel free to share with us your guesses before you read!  😇🙌

Love ya! 💕💕💕

Zahra's hands trembled as she picked up the phone from her desk. It was a foreign number calling her, so her caller had to be only one person; her husband.

But why was he calling?

Anxious, she couldn't pick the first call. She heard her colleagues' voices telling that her phone was ringing but it was as though their voices were coming from a distance.

The wall clock from her cubicle ticked faster than usual. Everything was happening too fast. She had two missed calls already.

And that was deadly!

She needed somewhere secluded to pick the call because she had no idea what it was all about.

Or maybe she did.

She had no idea what she would do if her fears came true. She sneaked out of the office to an unknown destination, somewhere private, anywhere. She evaluated choosing her aunt's office for her call but the office was on the fourth floor: it was a bit too far away.

Three missed calls...

She dashed to the corridor while her eyes scanned through the part of the building that her eyes could access.  She was trying to think as fast and hard as she could.

Okay... the stair case. People hardly used it, right?

But as she got to the end of the corridor where the stair case began, her phone began to ring again. She swallowed hard.

"Assalam Alaikum Wa Rahmatullah." She spoke into the phone, terror gripping her very soul.

"Fatima..." He began as her Salam went unanswered. She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, opened them and walked to the stairs to sit.

She always ended up needing to sit when he addressed her by that. Fatima, it was the easiest way to tell her that he was about to unleash terror. He only called her that when he was mad, when he wanted to break her face.

The worst of her numerous names was when he called her Fadimatu, his voice was usually needled with sarcasm, anger and disappointment. She never liked the feeling nor did she like the action that followed afterwards. 'Fadimatu', simply meant that she was in deep trouble.

"Where were you?!" He thundered in fury.

"I was... I was..." She had to take a deep breath and look around her environment before she was able to think of the right response to give. "I am at work." She finally answered, swallowing the gulp of anxiety that formed in her throat.

"Zahra, you have turned into a defiant being! What am I saying? You have turned into a she devil! Haven't I warned you? Why do I always have to remind you not cross me, not to hurt me?" He questioned.

"I'm sorry..." She stuttered, not knowing exactly what she was apologizing for. In her world, it was the norm. All that mattered was her apologies and not whether or not she was wrong.

"Shut the hell up! You can say that to a stranger. Hypocrite. How wicked can one be!"

Okay, the 'wicked' part lashed at her, cutting deep right into her bones. The cut was not deep because he called her 'wicked'; it was the way he pronounced the word, stressing on the consonant 'ck'. Her pain was because of the way he uttered it, the way he spat it at her, the way he made sure that she felt the full sting of it.