Trigger Warning: Flashbacks of Sexual Assault
The sun lingered at its peak, the brightest it could be, yet he couldn't see an escape from his misery. His mind was disoriented, blinded by the darkness clouded over him. Suffocated from the desperate need to cry out, a scream bubbled, tearing his throat. The storm of erupting emotions swirled inside of him and snaked around his neck, tightening their grip as seconds passed. Yet, he couldn't utter a single sound. He trembled, his skin crawling. His heart pounded against his ribcage.
The blinds were drawn and had blocked out every speck of sunlight. His bleak room was shrouded with silence, like a shadow of death lurked over it. Saif sat motionless on his bed, knees hugged to his chest, as he listened intently to the quiet tick tock of his clock, as though he was solving a puzzling mystery. He seemed hypnotised by it, to the point he couldn't hear his own breathing in the lingering silence.
Tears glossed his eyes, and his eyelids felt stiffer, dark circles prominent. His mouth was shut in a tight, straight line as he stared at his feet. His nightmares had made it impossible to catch even a few minutes of sleep.
He gulped, clutching onto himself for dear life. He dug his head between his knees, his sight blurring.
Stop it.
He resisted the push in his mind.
Don't.
No—
—Saif was transported back into the past.
In that room.
Stuck with him.
He gasped for air as faint, piercing screams echoed in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, smacked his hand over his ears, and roughly shook his head. Copious drops of sweat dribbled down his forehead and he pulled onto his hair, eliciting physical pain – anything to divert his mind away from the past.
It didn't help.
No.
Please, I—I can't bear it.
Not anymore.
But, the torture was not over.
His sight faded in and out, and a mist appeared before him. It cleared, drifting away, to reveal his cowering body pressed against his desk. Those callous hands roamed over his private parts, tugging harshly. Saif's collar was undone, his shirt tattered as blood trickled from his nails digging into his skin. Saif shuddered, his body unusually cold. The poor boy pleaded, struggling to free himself from his iron grip as he sucked on Saif's delicate skin, leaving behind marks of his sick pleasure.
The knock on his door made him flinch.
Saif's eyes snapped open to face reality. Tears escaped at a relentless pace, and he pursed his lips to suppress the whimpers, his own voice floating in his mind.
Sir, this isn't right. Please . . . leave me alone.
Don't—don't come near me, or I swear I'll . . . ah!
Don't touch me. I beg you.
Please.
Please listen.
"Yes?" Saif called out shakily.
"Beta," his mother said, "are you okay?"
He cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Ma."
"Honey, it's killing me! You haven't been yourself recently. Please talk to me. Has anything happened? Did you get into a fight? I promise I won't be mad."
"I said I'm fine, Ma," he said in a firm tone. "Leave me alone." He added a "please" with a whisper.
Saif's heart sank as his mother's footsteps disappeared into nothingness, and he pressed his palm over his lips to hold back a cry, refraining himself from rushing after her, confiding in her, hugging her until all his fears disappeared. Until his mind felt at rest. After all, a mother's love could soothe any form of pain . . . right?
He punched his fists against his thighs. No, he couldn't—he didn't have the courage to. How would she react? She'd freak out or—or judge him. Even worse than that, she might disown him. And, what if this got out? What will people think? How will she face the selfish society, the one that already alienated her because she was a widow?
He couldn't take any risks.
Saif wiped away his tears.
Boys needed to be strong; they were not meant to cry. They were supposed to protect themselves—and their family.
And, yet, Saif failed.
He deserved it.
He deserved all the pain, because he was weak.
Saif had begged, pleaded, cried, shouted but he showed no mercy. That monster had stained his fragile, pure body with his dirty deed.
Forever.
Saif recoiled, feeling as if he would choke.
The part that killed him thousands of times every day, gnawing at him little by little? He was, in fact, Saif's teacher.
A man he had admired—a man he hoped to become one day.
A man he had trusted.
Whatever happened that fateful day was a secret Saif vowed to carry to his grave.
No soul would ever know of it.
For if they did, he'd lose their respect and more of his dignity.
