The Man I Hardly Knew.

Chapter six.

Three months later...

Wrapped up in scathing thoughts, dried up in scorching pockmarks, I lay about immersed in your scattering memories. As the rain drops rush down on my bruises pricking them brutally, I recall how your hands were authorized to leave their traces on my body today. The blush-like imprint of your hands can easily be pursued on top of my skin like a replica of designs through tracing paper. On my back, the shape of your newly bought leather belt has been flawlessly charted. The right side of my upper lips has slightly been remolded with a pale red scar in the form of a dispersed cloud. My cheeks look baby pink as though they have just been painted this shade after some tight slaps on them. I look feverish. I feel cold. Trembling like an unshielded victim in front of her monster like rapist, I cross my arms on my chest holding tight onto my clothes. I try to shun those wobbly hands and this frantic heart whose agitated beats resound in my ears. As pearls of tears run down my pale cheeks, I hear nothing but the drip-drip sound of the water stealing through a closed tap. The pathway of searing blood galloping down my veins is being crudely sensed, triggering the thought of how alone I am in this house.

No one is there to pat me a little on the shoulder and whisper that things are soon going to be fine. No one is there to hug me once but tight enough to make me forget about the pain of the day. I am all alone, drowning in your flaws, dying in my miseries. When I remember about how before marriage I had expected marriage to be and how my husband will be, I realize how you have murdered the innocent little girl with hopeful dreams who used to reside in me. You are surely not the missing part in the puzzle. You are just a misplaced piece, disfiguring the entire picture. Ripping everything apart, you whip my heart to particles, somewhat like blood on top of my skin. I hate you. I simply hate you. I wish I could tell you about how much you make me want to spit in the bare. I wish I could make you realize how unmanly you are. I wish I could speak. I wish you could hear my voice.

Sheraad enters from the door behind. Slipping an arm in his jacket, he stares at me from behind. If one does not know him, one will think he is maybe being nervous and thinking about how to talk to me again after beating me up over a silly reason. But he was no more completely unknown to me- the least that I can say is he just is not human at all. I can feel his eyes on me. He approaches a little. He takes a deep breath and says: "Come inside before I slap you again!"

Unpremeditated, I stand up and walk into the room from the balcony. Drenched from head to toe with my clothes stuck to the skin, I try to stand still despite those unintentional shivers- But fails. He walks up to me abruptly, looks at me dead in the eyeballs and pins me to the wall collapsing my head against it. I do not shout. The pain is there yet I stay silent. His eyes spell sins. The veins surrounding his eye balls accentuate to bold. And in the midst of the silence, he lets out his menace: "Try to touch my phone again without my permission and you'll see what I do to you!"

Seeing me way too scared to nod and way too panicked to react, he lets me go. Taking the keys of the car from the table, he goes out and slams the door behind him. It's nearly eleven o'clock at night and he is going out. Sheraad has constantly been staying out of home at night especially during the last few days and sometimes does not even come back. I do not bother to ask where he goes each night or more accurately, I cannot even ask. I cannot question him, I am not allowed to. The door opens right after. It's mum in law. She must have heard Sheraad's shouts or the bang of my head against the wall. She does not say anything either. She simply hands me some sleeping pills, band aids and some balm for the injuries. She looks at me in a way that can easily decode that she wants to say something but then holds herself back. I gaze at her still crying with the shrieks choked inside of me. That gaze of mine is meant to be everything I want to say. I secretly begged her to say something; just anything and not remain silent. Perhaps, she understands the gesture and yet does not want to understand.

She caresses my head. This simple gesture makes me tear even more. I swiftly hug her and cry silently in her ears. She pats my back. I cry. I cry. I cry. She makes me sit down, wiping my eyes.

"Shhhh... it's alright." She says.

"Anyways, I am here only to warn you not to go out without permission and especially not to your maternal house alone if you do not want any more trouble alright?" And she smirks indecently.

I raise my head to stare at her with a breath stuck in, tears dried out. All my body system goes unmoving again at the sound of these words. I swiftly remember the reason behind her warning. Recently, I had called my parents asking about their health. It had been weeks since I had last heard from them. But this act of mine did not quite please my in laws. The reason for their unpleasantness is still unfamiliar to me. They never explain or give a reason for their barbaric behavior. They always jump to conclusions and tell me about their decisions and rules. It all makes me sick. It makes me feel chained. I am primarily imprisoned in a house no less than a jail. It is a house- you cannot even call it home. It has not been constructed in a way to call it home. A jail without metal but invisible chains for the prisoners: that is exactly what it is.

I was right. I do not have any one here to call my own. I am all on my own, drowning in your sins, dying in scars.