BEING YOURS

CHAPTER SEVEN

He brought his fingers to the scruff of his neck and blew out some breath.

Relax, Ali, do this calmly.

Lawrence was the first to come with the clips and as he tried getting it into the lock did he realize he needed a hammer first.

Just then Sani came hurrying up the stairs and jogged to them.

He straightened the clips with the hammer then put it into the keyhole. When he couldn't get it, he guessed there was a key on the door.

"Damn!" He hissed.

He took the screwdriver, positioned it in the keyhole and kept bashing with the hammer. It took forever but the lock fortunately went loose.

He walked into her sitting room then to her bedroom and behold, she's seated by the foot of her bed, her head on the mattress. Her body was clad in a short and tank top and the room was quite disheveled.

He turned to the men behind him. "Leave! And shut the door behind you."

They left and he took tentative steps closer to her, he had an inkling of what was wrong with her but he had to be sure first.

"Amira," He called as he crouched besides her but she didn't respond. He held her shoulder and shook her slightly which made her groan, hitting his hand away. Her breath became quite hasty and he hated that his suspicion was becoming true.

Gosh, how could he have perfectly forgotten about this?

He went into her bathroom and made wudu', fetched a little water in a bowl and went back to her. He recited some verses in it then sprinkled the water on her.

She groaned again and fell prone on the floor.

Seeing her like that worried him and his thoughts went back to their wedding night. Why her?

He kept the bowl aside and picked her up to the bed, she didn't react. He then placed his forefinger and thumb on her temples and moved his lips closer to her right ear.

As he began reciting ayatul-kursiyy, she turned her head, squinting her eyes but he only held on tighter.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to pull it away but he caught it with his free hand and clamped both her hands down.

A cry broke out of her lips and she started squirming on the bed, trying to get free from his hold but he kept on reciting, verse after verse, the mu'awidhatain, suratul-ikhlas, suratul-baqarah, even the adhaan.

She exploded at that and let out a sharp shrill, his fingers loosened on her and she quickly turned away to lie on her face and as he extended his hand to turn her fidgety body around, his eyes fell on her bare back.

Apart from her dazzling five layers waistbeads, he could see the scraggy scabs on her back which were clearly caused by whipping. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach and a tight knot lodged in his throat.

Nobody needs tell him he's behind it. Nobody needs tell him the pain he's caused her, the tears he's made her shed, the scars he's planted in and on her. It's too much, too much for an innocent soul like hers to bear.

How much of a monster he's become. When will he ever do things right? Without causing someone else pain? Without breaking the hearts of those who cherish him?

What was he even thinking when he did this to her? How much pain did she have to go through just because of him? He despises himself. He hates having to take his next breath. He hates every part of him living.

His fingers shakily worked up to her top and made to pull it up for a better view but a horrid grunt drifted his attention to his wife, rephrase that, this isn't his wife.