"Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)[a] is a mental and behavioral disorder[7] that develops from experiencing a traumatic event, such as sexual assault, warfare, traffic collisions, child abuse, domestic violence, or other threats on a person's life or well-being.[1][8]" ___ WIKIPEDIA
Chikamharida's POV.
For a second everything appeared opaque—the vein underneath his skin to the sound of our beating hearts and the rush of blood through our arteries. However, none of them were able to beat our situation- my allegation, because from the scrunch of Henry's eyebrow and his scoff, he was making it out to be just that, an allegation.
It started with his body going taut, then a shake of his head, a searing look filled with disbelief aimed at me, then a scoff and another look, this time searching.
You could feel the humor meter dropping in value.
"What?" he asked. "Are you serious Harida? You think I'd bring you all the way from Nigeria to come murder you here. Please, stop joking."
"I'm saying the truth Henry. What other way could you have convinced me to leave the nanny job if not bullying? You are the one who brought me here, so you're the only one who knows most of my info. Can you belief she also mentioned my accepting the nanny job?"
"Who's this person Harida?" he asked. His voice was so calm, a precipe to unleash deeper and more threatening emotions.
"Maley-"
The sound of skin on skin was so audible; he had his palm to his forehead as he struggled to control his breathing. "I should have known," he muttered. His frustration as evident as a turbulent wind.
"You know what," he said, after a minute of staring out the window, "we're leaving right now. Get dressed."
"Why? Where are we going? What's happening?"
"Nevermind," Henry said, probably having thought of how the elephants would have been birthed a triplet by the time I'd gotten dressed. "We'll go like this."
"Where are you taking me?" I asked as he pulled at my arm.
"To the hospital Harida. That's where injured people go. I'll carry you if you can't walk."
*****
"Just a few broken ribs, a dislocated nose and ankle. The first aid was quite effective in disinfecting her injury and stopping excess blood loss. No internal organ was pierced, luckily. A week should be enough for her recovery."
After a beat of silence.
"Alright. Thank you doctor," Henry said, and I heard the doctor's receding footstep as he left and the door shut behind him.
I wasn't dead.
I could hear the sound of the monitor chirping, and the soft whoosh of the white linen curtain by the window. My olfactory lobe was also working perfectly; the scent of disinfectant and chlorine permeated my senses.
Bright light; brighter than my destiny could ever be crashed with my eyes and bombed my retina. I had to shut my eyes before opening them again to wash away the haze.
"You're awake," Henry said, sparing me a glance and then returning his gaze to the television. I refused to speak. I still didn't trust him.
"You passed out when we arrived and you have been out for more than three hours."
I thought about the doctors note: few broken ribs, a dislocated nose and ankle; and a week on bed.
I still refused to say a thing.
YOU ARE READING
Shy Girls Also Dream Big
General Fiction«Even with all the dust, the flower still outshined the sun» ~~~~ Meet Harida Bick, the product of an unwanted relationship and also Adele Jones, a teenager in another country subjected to same design. When both girls began living together through...
