Disturbance

  It isn't out of the ordinary to hear stories about people who sit for long minutes in toilets. They could be reflecting, sick in the stomach, or just falling asleep all over again [in early morning cases]. That's what I was doing on a hot, typically predictable day of July. Friday, 1:30 P.M.; "The day he loses it" my sisters shared a smirk. It was not a joke though. A joke's supposed to be funny.

  Now that he had collected enough of my slip ups through out the week, he would be embracing that theory of "the only way to make a good girl out of me" all over again. He had forbidden staying up late, but he woke up the night before this to find me laughing my a*s out with my MSN buddies. Yes. that was the point that helped make things worse. I stay up late and what do I do with all that time? "shaat o maskhara (chatting and crap)" he used to yell. I've long given up on the idea of explaining to how close and real my relationship was with these MSN buddies. He wouldn't even try to grasp it. He never had any web friends. "He was lucky his father could afford a T.V" I'd mumble, "Whaat!?" Mama would glare at me, obviously having heard what I said.

  Taking hours in front of the mirror, while he stood downstairs boiling, his sneers of emptying patience echoing up to my bedroom, we had to be somewhere, and I was the reason they were late, skipping classes, talking back, yelling, or arguing with Mama, Discussing topics he generally dislikes [Pets, Emo kids, my friends, more electronics "PCs are headacheful enough", homosexuals, and...Guys -no, duh-], just some of the MANY slip-ups throughout the week.

  "This isn't right..." I whispered, leaning on the white sink, my hand over my eyes, the water running down in waste...His volcanic eruptions never failed to get through the stairs, up to my bathroom, through the half disjoint, but thick wooden door. I could interpret some words of his faraway voice blasting from the kitchen. "You failed at raising them. You're good for nothing. And I've been aware of that ever since I married you..." Mama came first as a victim of my intelligence. "WEIN RAFEEF!? (where's Rafeef)" Next, my siblings. Once again, they got blamed for MY doings. I considered rushing downstairs as soon as I heard a cry of protest from one of the girls. I could probably handle the talking...the scolding.....and the--His voice -again- interrupted my train of thoughts "WAllaahi la khalles ah-leiha (I swear I'll finish her off)" he yelled. The phrases of madness were clearer and louder because HE was getting closer, stomping his feet up all the way upstairs, intentionally announcing his approach. His heading up to look for me meant one thing: If he slammed my bedroom door open I wouldn't be there. It was okay, I was hiding safely in the devils' crib [Muslims' alternative term for bathroom] but boiling up to a higher degree upon finding that out, he'd place his eyes on the most precious thing I owned. My book, notepad, radio, T.V, museum, favorite virtual hangout. My Asylum. My World...all in one machine; [My P.C.]

  I challenged the clock arrows to reach my room before he did, unlocking the bathroom door, getting closer to losing to time as I pulled the stuck doorknob hard. The wooden rectangle was freed. I stepped out onto the bathroom mat, wincing at the light rays from the windows between the staircase. "kharah...(s**t)" the curse froze in my throat as my olive green eyes met his dark brown, insane ones. He had already reached the end of the staircase to our floor. Time stopped as I ran out of escape plans. Escape? Now? Forget it...it's over, I thought, his eyes were still locked with mine, the fact that I was perfectly conquered and in his reach didn't seem to make the white in his eyes swell less. Should I have shouted out "Here goes nothing!" and run for my life?

  The moment that came by next had decided my awful fate. I uncontrollably made that 'taunting smile'...I could see the serious red shade on his face and the more serious redder shade in the white of his eyes. His feet moved towards me in a speed I can only imagine seeing in Road Runner. I squeezed my eyes shut. He dragged me to his bedroom. I wasn't in pain yet...but I protested and tussled anyway. His anger was over-controlling I wasn't even sure he was in his right mind now. I halfheartedly folded my arms before my face like a shield. He never took long to bring me to scream in tears...The way he twisted my struggling arm, slammed the palm of his huge hand against my face, and the actual amount of hair he tried to pull out of my skull with his free powerful grip...That didn't hurt. Most parts of my body went numb as soon as he approached me. It's the fact that what was done was being done by HIM, no other, the humiliation of being physically attacked by the person mainly responsible for my existence, that's what made me grit my teeth in agony.

  My shield of numbness and tolerance was smashed in mere seconds as he would be getting ready to let go and stomp away. I would break free from his grip and randomly punch his abdomen with weak lose fists, shrieking, cursing, and briefly scanning the actual stability of my mental shape. I barely noticed anyone else's presence until too many voices were compressed in my ears, my two-year-old brother and eight-year-old sister watching the horror as they stood in the middle of the room, confused, and scared, Mama rushing through the corridors to break us away after having begged and pleaded him to just leave me alone. "Curse be upon Satan, that's all his doing." she said still pleading, squeezing one of his shoulders and gently pulling him backwards. "Leave her alone, she didn't understand it was that wrong, She's still young." She wrapped her body around mine once she realized he was not listening. He had almost lost it. "You're a lunatic, a retard." I said in between the pathetic sounds of crying and uneven breathing. He tried to grab my hair again. Pain shot in her wrist up to her arm as Mama put all her might in her hand and shoved him away, beginning to freak out as well. He stared at her deep, disgusted frown and his eyes opened wide as if he had been slapped in the face. He turned around stomped away in silence. I dropped down on the floor, my face buried in my hands, shivering in hate. It wasn't him I hated. It was someone I've been cut off for more than four years. Myself.

  The rest of that Friday -similar to every week- I locked myself away. Mama tried getting into the room to "tell me something". I didn't let her. I stared with half-open eyes at the moving doorknob on the locked door and pushed her away with a bitter tone. He lied down sobering up and soothing the violent shiver in his spine.

  A few hours later I heard him joke around with my little siblings. He had come back to the world of Sanity. He couldn't walk to my room and knock for permission. He knew I wouldn't grant him that. He couldn't send for me. He knew I wouldn't come. I filtered what was left of the salty drops through hollow green eyes. I shifted on my bed from side to side, ignoring the setting sun and falling darkness. My head felt heavy and my spirit was in the phase of surrendering to a sleep not so deep, but needed. My phone buzzed out of somewhere in my room. I had only got a few friends and they were generally too lazy to even think about texting or calling me. It was probably a service message or a preset alarm.

  I groaned sliding down the bed onto the floor and pushed half of my body underneath the bed. I patted blindly around the dusty marble until I felt the plastic rectangular object, still vibrating in my hand. I sat up on the floor and shot the black cover up. A small lit screen opposed the dark scene of the room. 'ONE NEW MESSAGE' I clicked it open and read through the thing not even pausing to see the identity of the sender:

"My beloved daughter, only deep inside you such an ability exists: to find me an excuse for my doings. Forgive me. Just like I forgive you."

My eyes glittered blurring the lit screen that held the message. Did he really feel bad? My emotions would have burst again, my mind sharply protested. The dark side of it worked right now. It translated the message into a serious alert of mental disturbance, pain, and the pitch black impulsive need to smash a fist against the mirror beside my head. "Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate.Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...Love. Hate. Love. Hate...."

Author's Note

Comments and suggestions are appreciated.

Reviews

[Jonathan De Elvira]

The ending seems to be sweetly disturbing...yep, I always heard that kind of whispers though, thanks for sharing...

[Miss Coral]

While I thought this was a good piece, with well described emotions, I thought that the ending was a bit odd. Also, I think that it could be retitled, as to be more appropriate to the actual piece, and so it doesn't sound immature at first glance.