Always Is Not Forever (Breaking Myself - Part II)

6. Kiara

[ A B E E R ' S P O V ]

"You are here," She gasped as if shocked to witness my erect figure in front of her after all these years.

I didn't intend to come back here after the intentions she harbored for Kiara. I had cut my ties to this land, country, and majorly, her. But no matter how much I try, I am always thrust to her door to ask for answers.

Licking my lower lip, I dropped the bag on the floor and eyed her aged eyes, the white hair tucked in her hijab, and the lines forming around her face to confess her age but yet I turned a blind eye. As if looking at her wasn't enough, I walked my eyes around the house I had left ages ago in the hope to treat my drug problem.

"You could have changed the curtains." I nodded at the darkest of clothes covering the window, heckling any light to trespass after the death of her elder son-my elder brother if I could call him that anymore. Gulping the taste of betrayal at the back of my throat, I tried to decipher her face, if she knew what he had or was she the fabricator of this. She never liked Kiara-too consumed by the hatred of the community she belonged to. "It has been four years."

"Yet the mother grieves," She whispered, eyes cast down to the sky. "Allah sees everything." I didn't say anything and sat down on the velvet clothed seats to remind myself of the legacy I belonged to, but yet, none of them offered any warmth. She was my mother. She wouldn't do this, but would she?

My eyes skid to the opposite walls, begging me to rise from the slumber and carry my feet to the unknown rooms of the past. For I was a slave to the moment, I stood up from the seat and trudged to the brownish wooden door, placed my hand on the knob, and with little hesitance, twisted it to the opposite side.

I shouldn't have done it.

I wasn't ready to see the memories, but none of my pleas worked as I step the first foot in the room and drank the similarity of four corners. Nothing had changed except the bedsheets. She should have changed it.

"Water," Her whisper came from behind. Instead of turning and grabbing the glass, I bit my lower lip and gazed at the creamiest ceiling-wondering how the times have changed. "Abeer."

"I had a son," The words felt more real than the fight I had a week ago. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Yes," Her reply didn't hurt.

"You knew Uzair was responsible for the accident?"

"Yes," She sighed, her hand touched my shoulder to remind me she was here but it would change nothing.

"He killed my son." I closed my eyes to swallow back the bile rising in the middle of my throat. "He was after Kiara. He was the one pushing me to drugs every day, slipping it into my food, and yet you did nothing. Why?"

"Abeer-"

I swirled, broke her grip on my shoulder, and shouted, "Why, amma? You knew I love Kiara. She was my wife and I was going to be a father-a better father than baba."

"I couldn't tell you. Your drug problem-"

"Don't put it on me. You and Uzair did this to me." To my surprise, I was calm. I didn't desire to scream or say anything anymore because deep down, I was aware Kiara was my responsibility. I should have been careful. I should have been with her. "I dropped to give you something back."

I nodded at the back to the suitcase placed in the middle of the room. The house wasn't warming anymore, the air didn't feel the same, the life I had seemed broken in a single crack.

Nights I would toss on the empty bed, wondering if it was possible to despise the dead and express your anger but yet no emotion passed. I felt confused as to what to say or confront the reality being shoved up in front of my face. I could deny and move past the ugliness of the relationship I shared with him, or I could resent him.