Chapter 2

KHADIJA POV

"Khadija, please let me help you! I have been raised to help and respect a woman especially. I can't watch this happen to you. Please." His voice cracked slightly and the facade he held so tightly was slipping away. His vulnerability was something I never really expected to experience. I simply said "then you of all people know how hard it is to trust. I cannot look at you in your eyes and say I can believe you will help me when my whole life I have blindly trusted people and only been stabbed in the back, while their smiles look genuine to me."

Such intensity was something I was accustomed to as soon as the devilish smiles came to my view, the barrier was broken and the fists and blood flooded through like an ocean. Bruises, battered and tears. Crying silently in the dead of the night. Vulnerability lit up by the moon. Patience. Fathers were always supposed to protect their children, not hurt them. Mine wanted to keep me as a prisoner instead. There was always a reason why I could deal with the manipulation and the bitter lies. The fact of the matter was that I am poison to him and he uses me as his own personal punching bag. The bruises are lit up on my skin, each scar ignited by the anger he held when he hit me. For me it was a regular occurrence, no-one would ever find out how much I was going through. Inhale, exhale, out of sight, out of mind.

For me the battle was far from over, in fact, it was only beginning. I had secret savings I could use that was a small amount but could help me rent a cheap room at a dingy motel. My room was awful with blood-stained walls and broken glass from the broken glasses and plates when I would speak out of turn. My dignity, innocence and voice were all stolen from me. The thief was someone whose blood ran cold through my veins and had a sinister smile comparable to the devil. The war was with me and the devil. He held my heart in his hands and he looked me in the eyes and crushed it without a second thought. I spit in his direction, shoving him out of the way. In a desperate attempt to get a word in I said in a deadly calm voice, "There will be a time when you are on your deathbed and the only person you will seek is me. So go ahead hit me one more time, curse at me more because you are eliminating the only person you have left in the world."

A week later, I had purple bruises littered all over my body. Dried blood on my face and emotional scars deeper than a cleaver. The only thing on my mind was how I was going to cover it this time. I had plenty of concealers, so I simply painted my mask in an attempt to hide the purple bruises gifted to me. I had a lot of practice hiding my bruises so it didn't matter too much to me that I didn't look attractive.

The bell rang and I rushed through the door muttering to the person I bumped into a quick sorry. To my dismay, it was Khalil. His towering frame was incredibly intense and as soon as he saw it was me he gently caressed my face almost as if he was analyzing the damage done. I should've known he was too intelligent and would've realized the damage done to me. Khalil grasped my wrist and took my bag in a rush and proceeded to plead in telling him what happened. I decided to just tell him quickly with as least emotion visible on my face as possible. Khaili surprised me with his glistening tears falling down his face. His small visible freckles that danced on his face were now drenched in tears. "Khadija please just stay with me, please!" The pleading tone in his voice made me contemplate whether I should just succumb to the idea of sleeping in an actual bed instead of my awful, dimly lit bedroom. Sighing deeply, I agreed. Khalil ended up taking me in his car to his apartment. The apartment was quite large with greenery and beautiful roses displayed at the entrance. Khalil clutched my hand as if he was afraid it would fall off. His protectiveness reminded me of a lion. A type of fierceness that was only ignited by such pain and pent up anger. Somehow I felt a strange sense of comfort with his hands in mine. Khalil led me into his apartment where he strangely didn't have any family present. I smiled softly at him when he offered to cook something. I laughed asking him if he genuinely knew how to cook. Khalil's face turned a deep shade of crimson, with his hand awkwardly placed around his neck, he sheepishly replied: " Well to be honest Mum cooks and sends me food usually." I snickered and offered to cook something quick and simple. I was accustomed to having to cook for my devil of a father so I decided to make pasta.

Seated comfortably on his sofa, Khalil proceeded to say my cooking was adequate. Laughing lightly I slapped his arm and said that I did it purposely. Khalil said he was joking and told me it was the best pasta he'd ever had. An awkward silence took after our laughter died down. Khalil looked over at me with such intensity and said I would never go back to that house again. I pleaded repeatedly saying that my father would kill me if I did that. The green-eyed monster said that it was non-negotiable. He had a spare room that I would use. I had a few clothes in my bag because of the blood leaking through my blouse. Khalil offered one of his shirts to me, to which I politely refused. I needed to protect my heart. No-one in this world was to be trusted. In the end, everyone leaves. When life is filled with sorrow and grief you will be shunned from society. Khalil dismissed my attitude and shoved me towards the bathroom. I scoffed, annoyed that he had the audacity to shove me like that. I changed into my clothes feeling relieved that I could finally treat my wounds. I started to dress some of my wounds and felt better. Khalil knocked on the door and wasn't phased when he saw that I was dressing my wounds. He finally understood just how independent I was. The only person I relied on was myself.

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door that startled me. Khalil proceeded to harshly whisper to be quiet. He locked the door and went to the front door and opened it. Zayn entered with a huge grin plastered on his face. "What's up, man? You literally look so scared." Zayn proceeded to guffaw, similar to a donkey. Zayn stated he was just going to wash up before eating, Khalil's eyes widened in panic and immediately darted towards the door where a girl was currently standing muttering angrily at her reflection. Zayn already knew what his friend was hiding, but he would use it to his advantage in an attempt to annoy Khalil further. To Zayn life was simply a breeze with such simplicity. Zayn leads an incredibly privileged life. His father was the owner of a famous Graphics business and his mother was a fashion designer and model for Dior. Good genes were something that blessed all of his family.

ZAYN POV

Khadija proceeded to stroll out of the bathroom in a daze with her face showing traces of tears. Immediately Khalil was there checking if she was okay. Khadija showed him the messages her father had sent her. Twelve missed calls, 13 frantic text messages cursing her repeatedly. Zayn looked at Khadija with concern etched on his face. I gazed at Khadija asking if she was alright. Khadija only then noticed me.