Strings Attached

~Chapter 14~

But apparently, he isn't done. "As much as you'd hate to know, it is my business." He pauses for effect, I don't reply. "I don't think you've made any money. Nobody will have a boy like you working at their place."

"I don't give a f*** about what you think," I inform him, indicating my disgust of his thought process. "And I'm glad to know I've finally found out where my worthlessness comes from. Like father, like son."

And saying this, I'm off, leaving him speechless.

_____

As soon as I reach my room, I shut the door. Throwing off my shoes, I take to the bed, my hands reaching for my hair and clenching them hard. But the pain isn't bitter enough. His laugh did me more damage than I'd care to admit.

Why does he have to be this way?! I've asked this question to myself oftentimes enough. Needless to say, I still don't have the answer.

I know mum's death affected him more than it did me. Because, not only did he lose his wife to a heart attack, he was guilty of bringing her to that state too. How? I don't wanna recount.

And yet, instead of atoning for his mistakes, he acts as if he was never at fault. He revels in his prosperity, that of getting rid of his lawfully wedded wife. As if, no reckoning will ever come for him.

And then he goes and laughs. A genuine one too. And just the sound of it makes my blood boil. It keeps playing on a repeat inside my head, amplified by the pervading quietude. And I clamp my ears shut to stop the din.

But when have I succeeded at anything in life? No, shutting my ears to the chaos won't bring me peace. Though I know the very thing that will. I don't know why I didn't think of it before! It's not a permanent solution, nor even a recommended one, but who cares about the blabbing of that crappy counsellor.

I quickly grab a key from the lowest drawer of my study table. It's a very small key, not bigger than the smallest finger of my hand. Inserting the key into my cupboard locker, I extract a medium sized, brown, leather bound journal and affectionately run a hand through the surface.

And before I can hold it back, a da*ned tear escapes my eye and lands on the cover, pausing a while before resolutely taking the downward path towards the floor.

"Oh, mum!"

_____

January, the tenth, 1996.

I'm happy for various reasons today. My baby gave me a punch to the stomach, for the first time. It was painful to say the least. But I couldn't help laughing in pure bliss.

Hasan must be thinking I'm going mad. He's such a dear about everything though that I can't help but tell him all of my foolish thoughts. And what's worse, he keeps encouraging me to go on. Oh, I love that man too much!