chapter 9

Chapter 9

" Only our pillow knows the amount of emotions we hide from thr world"

: unknown

"I've had thousands of women, but that was, without a doubt, the best ever," he exclaimed. "I've even had virgins before, but none of them felt as

good as that!"

I lay on the bed, immobile, staring at the ceiling, wishing my life away.

He stood and pulled up his jeans. "I don't have to tell you this stays between the two of us, right? The consequences will be dire if you tell

anyone about this."

I shut my eyes, not saying a word, not even caring about what he did or didn't tell his father.

My life was over. A monster had just stolen my

virginity.

Nothing worse could happen.

Except it could.

"I'm not sure you know this, but I'm the one who is handing your brother logistics in India to study medicine," he continued talking. "I'm the one who's been liaising with the doctors at the Specialist Hospital over there in Jalandhar.

I'm the one who controls the payments. So far, we've paid for the preliminary exams still being carried out. When that's over, I'm the

one who will approve the payment to the school, as well as for the procedure itself. And then there's the all important after-care."

I sat up, the impact of what he was saying hitting home.

"I'm glad I finally have your attention," he laughed. "The bottom line is, if you tell anyone about this, I'm going to pull the plug on your brother's education. Do you understand?

I turned my swollen face to the corner.

How do I explain my face?" I asked, my voice almost inaudible. I couldn't see the extent of my injuries, but with my eyes so swollen I could barely see through them, I knew I looked almost as horrible as I felt.

"You fell in the bath. Be creative," he answered, with a sly wink.

"What about when your father finds out I'm no longer a virgin? What should I tell him?"

"That you lied, of course," he chuckled again.

"That one of your father's friends had already sampled you. He'll be angry but I'm sure he'll live with it."

I looked away, feeling dead inside.

He was empowered because of how high the stakes were. If I talked, Farhan's education would be jeopardized. It was that simple.

"Looking at you is getting me excited again," he said.

Panicked, I looked to see him staring at me with renewed desire.

"Take off your nightie." My eyes widened in terror, not believing, not accepting that he planned to

repeat the assault on me again.

"Take it off!" he bellowed.

With shaky hands, I pulled off the chemise, leaving me fully naked.

"Lie down with your legs apart," he said, his voice thickened by his rising desire.

I did as I was told, his threat to stop my brother's education hanging over me like a noose, like a gun being pointed at my head. I watched as he took off his jeans and mounted the bed again.

I shut my eyes as he straddled me again, the experience no less painful than the first

He didn't leave my room until it was almost dawn, before which he had raped me at least six more times. After he left, I just lay on the bed,

motionless, unable to move.

The warm rays of the sun hit my face, I lay on the bed, immobile. The Wounds on my face stung from its intensity, and my swollen eyes ached

from the heat impact, but still I lay there, receiving it like some sort of punishment.

I was good for nothing, damaged goods, deserving punishment, deserving nothing but pain.

Not even the rumbling in my stomach nor the stickiness between my thighs were enough to rouse me.

I shut my eyes several times, wishing the angel –

no – the demon of death would come and take me away.

Hell could not be worse than the perdition I was already in.

There were times when I would drift off into spells of shallow sleep, but anytime my consciousness returned, the ache deep in my soul was the

a painful reminder I needed that what happened had been no nightmare.

It had truly happened. Ibrahim had raped me.

The sun had begun to set when there was a gentle knock on my door.

"Zeynep ? Est-ce que ça va ? Are you okay?" came the head maid.

"You haven't been down today."

I tried to answer that I was fine, I tried to tell her I wasn't hungry, but the sound of my voice couldn't even carry beyond the pillow on which I lay. I

couldn't even raise my body enough to lock the door nor clothe my bruised, naked body.

Not hearing a response, she opened the door.

Jesus! Jesus!" she exclaimed, running to me. I tried to wrestle as she grabbed me, but instead she held me, tears pouring down her face as she

looked at me.

But she said nothing.

Not even when she went to the adjoining bathroom and returned with a small towel and a bowl of warm water, nor as she cleaned my bruises did she say a word.

Her only communication was in the tears that flowed down her face.

She looked at me like she knew something.

But I didn't care

After cleaning up my face, she helped me to my feet and led me to the bathroom where she proceeded to bathe me.

I winced as the water introduced me to new injuries I hadn't even realized were there.

I tried to prevent her from washing my nether regions, but I hadn't been strong enough to struggle, so I'd let her wash away all the blood and semen from my thighs, crying in renewed memory of my assault.

She dried me and dressed me in a fresh pair of cotton pajamas and sat me on the sofa while

She made the bed.

When the bed was ready, she led me to it and covered me with the duvet.

But still she said nothing.

Even though Ibrahim had admonished me not to say a word to anyone, I desperately wanted to talk to someone.

I wanted my ummi.

My heart wanted to tell her about what he had done to me, but my lips were heavy. If only she'd at least asked me what happened, but she was nowhere to be found.

The only person in front was a middle aged woman that held pity in her eyes for maybe I could have been brave enough to talk…but she

didn't, so I wasn't.

"What do you want to eat?" she asked when I was well settled. "bread? Rice? Plantain? Tell me anything you want, and I'll bring it for you"

The part of me that wanted to sulk wanted to rebuff this offer, but the part of me that had been starved for nearly 24 hours finally found a voice.

"Anything is fine," I managed to croak.

She nodded and walked out of the room, but not before I saw new tears pool in her eyes.

That was when I realized there was nothing neither her nor anybody could do for me.

There was a fear for Ibrahim that defied all explanation.

I had seen it in all their eyes the very moment he arrived.

He was untouchable and could do anything he liked.

The headmaid returned with a large tray that had almost everything her hands could put together; fried plantain and eggs, roast chicken, soup and

scones, corn and grilled veggies, and a bowl of pineapples, watermelon and paw paw.

She was trying to console and heal me with food.

On a good day, I would have asked her to take away most of what was on the tray, but I simply looked on at the overloaded platter.

It was probably just as well, considering I had no intention of going downstairs ever again.

Headmaid i said, looking deep into my eyes. "Lock your door!"

And that was the only exchange we needed for me to know she knew what had happened, and it broke her heart not to be able to do anything about it.

I nodded, wiping away fresh tears. She hugged me tight, before pulling away and scurrying out of the room.

After she left, I picked a little at the plantains, had a spoon of soup, a bite of the scone, and nibbled at the fruits, but it all tasted like sawdust.

Struggling to my feet, I carried the tray to the other side of the room and placed it on the small coffee table, with plans to eat its contents the following morning.

I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror and gasped.

I knew I looked awful, but seeing the swollen-eyes, puffy-faced girl looking back at me reminded me of my father, i thought it would get better

My light skin was bruised purple in several places, and it would have been a tough sell to convince any logical thinking person that the injuries had come from a domestic accident.

I was still staring at my face when I heard footsteps approaching.

Remembering I hadn't yet locked it, I ran to the door…only to realize there was no key there.

My heart started racing in my panic, and I leaned on the door in some desperate attempt to keep anyone from gaining entry.

But it was too little too late.

The door almost opened, and I pressed my weight on it more.

"What are you trying to do?" came the voice I had grown to detest.

"Is this a joke, or are you actually trying to keep me out?"

"Go away!" I cried, pressing even harder on the door.

In one swift movement, the door was kicked open, sending me sprawling to the floor.

"You're really funny," Ibrahim chuckled, strolling into the room like he owned it.

"Trying to stop the door with your weight. How comical! You probably weigh just as much as my little finger. I know you father hardly feeds you"

I remained on the floor, sobbing. My nightmare was about to continue.

"Wow, so much food!" he said, stopping at the tray and taking a bite of the scone.

"Someone has no plans of leaving this room any time soon."