Chapter 11

*Trigger Warning - self harm mentions/panic attacks*

"What are you wearing?"

Salma stood on the doormat, wearing some kind of sparkly top that reached mid thigh. She was also clad in ripped leggings and heels that she was having a hard time balancing in. Her hair was messy as if she'd just spent half the night partying, which she probably had judging from the frozen look of surprise and fear on her face, a deer caught in the headlights. My mother stood before her, hands on her hips.

I'd gotten up with a parched throat and was headed to the kitchen when I'd happened upon the scene. Glancing at the clock that ticked in the hallway, I noticed that it was almost 2 AM. Before I'd went to bed, my mother had turned as white as a sheet to discover that Salma was still out with friends. She'd silently taken a seat in the living room, clasping her hands on her knees and staring intently at the front door. She'd told me to go to my room, with a low, scary voice and I'd obediently done so.

"Mom!" Salma exclaimed, trying to pull down her insanely tight top.

"Salma." My mother narrowed her eyes. "You've gone too far this time. Look at the time! You know that you are not allowed to stay out this late."

"My friend's car broke down!" Salma pouted. "You can ask her!"

My mother neared the defensive girl and narrowed her eyes. Salma took a step back, stumbling on her heels. I crept slowly back into the shadows, my quest to get a glass of water, completely forgotten. I headed back into my room, inching the door closed so that it wouldn't make noise. I didn't want to be caught eavesdropping when they started their screaming match.

"You smell of alcohol." I heard my mother say.

I gulped and even though I couldn't see Salma, I heard her whimper. I quickly slipped into my bed as she exploded into indignant remarks about how her friends had forced her and everyone was doing it and the she would look stupid if she didn't have some. My mother was silent throughout the entire rant, and I strained my ears under my bedcovers.

"Salma, you know alcohol is strictly forbidden in our religion!" My mother reminded her firmly, imagining her finger posed in accusation as she scolded my sister. "How could you allow your friends to pressure you like this!"

"You won't understand!" Salma cried. "You don't know what it's like!"

"I don't know what to do with you anymore." My mother huffed, and my heart shuddered at the disappointment in her voice. "What will your father think?"

"Guess what, mom!" Salma exploded. "Dad isn't here!"

"Salma--"

"Dad isn't coming back!"

"Salma, how dare you!"

"Dad....is dying!!"

Salma was crying now, ugly sobs that rose up and down with each gasp that tore through her throat. I squeezed my eyes shut as if I could drown out her cries in the darkness of my room, but her sobbing grew louder before it finally died down, ending with a shuddering whine. I heard a loud slump, and it'd sounded as if she'd fallen to the floor. My mother was silent.

"Baba is dying." She whimpered. "Baba isn't coming back. Baba is dying."

- - -

Salma's eyes were puffy and red the next morning. I pretended not to notice her droopy eyelids as I poured her a cup of coffee and munched on toast while she stared at the kitchen table. Breakfast passed in silence, only interrupted by the loud chatter of the birds outside and cars honking as they drove past. It was a wet Friday morning, and the skies were filled with grey clouds. Raindrops decorated the window and from this I'd figured that it'd rained last night. My mother had already gone to work by the time I'd forced myself out of bed.

I'd slept horribly that night, because long after Salma's cries had died down, they'd continued to echo on in my mind. I'd been blind to my sister's suffering, I'd been blind to the signs. I'd been asking the wrong questions and jumping to conclusions. If that was how my sister had chosen to drown her problems, then it was no one's fault but mine for not being there for her.

The cup of coffee in front of my sister was being totally ignored. I watched as Salma's head slowly lowered onto the table, until her forehead rested on the cold surface, hair splayed out around her. Her shoulders rose slowly and then fell. She looked like she wanted to melt into the smooth furniture.

"I'm so tired, Abdullah." She sighed, her voice muffled. "I don't want to go to school today."

"School might get your mind off things?" I suggested.

"School is what I want to get my mind off of." She groaned.

"Skipping school won't benefit you." I tried, cringing because I sounded like my father and the last thing I wanted was to sound like my father.

"Shrek didn't need school." Salma joked and any attempt to engage in a serious conversation was gone.

I couldn't find it in myself to be amused at the joke, and if anything, it made me sad to realise that my sister and I had never really had a meaningful conversation before. We used sarcasm to speak, we poked fun and made jabs when we conversed. We didn't know each other's goals and hopes and fears and worries, because we never really talked about them.

"Ha ha." I rolled my eyes. "Come on, let's go. I'll protect you."

Salma looked up at me, and for a moment I thought she would sneer at me or laugh at my cliche statement. I watched, my fingers tightening around my mug of coffee, as she broke into a small, surprised smile. I saw the hesitation in her eyes and then, slow, miraculous consideration, and finally, a silent welcome. My words may have came out dumb and cliche, but she'd somehow accepted them and joy surged through my veins.

-

At school, Nadia was already in the Art class, perched on her seat with her legs propped up on her desk. She was chatting on her phone, snickering behind a manicured hand. I sat down beside her, eyeing her from the corner of my eyes, and trying not to think of the tears rolling down her cheeks from yesterday. She seemed to have recovered, and was in a better mood today, but I didn't miss the way she uncharacteristically chewed her nails. She would often complain that the nails she wore were more expensive than textbooks fees.

When the bell rang and the teacher glared at Nadia, the green eyed girl reluctantly put away her phone. Salma was notably absent and I inwardly slumped, wondering if I should have a word or two about her for skipping class but not wanting to resemble my father in all his strict and outrageously unforgiving form. Mostly, I was just offended that Salma had still chosen to skip, even after my vow to protect her. As the teacher addressed the class and reminded us all that our portraits were due next week, I moodily glared out the window.

By the end of the class, I'd almost finished the portrait of Nadia, and sat back to examine it. Her eyes were the most detailed, a vivid green with gold specks, that had taken an hour to get right. Her lips were posed in a small smile, and it'd taken various shades of red, pink, peach and brown to get right. All that remained was her hair but my hands were covered in paint, and I decided to wash it off and call it a day.

Meanwhile, Nadia was leaning over her desk, chatting with a girl beside her. Most of the students were beginning to put away their things, and the girl who Nadia was talking to had her laptop opened on her desk. We were allowed to refer to online sources for help, which was great because the teacher either snored or texted throughout the entire class. A boy came over to look over Nadia's shoulder at the computer screen and as I went back to my desk after washing my hands, I saw that they were on YouTube, looking at dumb videos of people pulling cars with their nipples and harassing geese.

"Woah!" Nadia's friend shrieked, clicking on another video. "This guy scaled a building without using his hands!"

"No way." The boy scoffed. "That's impossible."

"Ew!!!" The girl shrieked, already on another video, because no one could pay attention to anything while YouTube featured related videos on the side. "Look at this girl pull out her own teeth."

I shuddered, opting not to look at a girl pull out her own teeth, while people crowded Nadia's friends, all of them shrieking in horror and disgust. The teacher promptly ignored us, too absorbed in her phone judging by the way she was furiously texting and I wondered if she was probably fighting with her fiance again. I was beginning to get bored and annoyed, feeling ignored.

"Oh my God!" Someone gave a loud yelp of surprise. "This girl is, like, cutting herself on camera!"

"Holy shit." A boy smirked. "What the hell."

"That's freaking crazy, man." Another kid said, in disgust.

"Let me out!" A girl yelped, and through the mass of amused and horrified teenagers, I saw Nadia pushing people back as she struggled to break out of the people crowding around her.

I was shocked to see her face, which had turned as white as paper. She breathed heavily, as if she'd ran a marathon and her hands trembled as she fell to the ground. I shot up out of my seat and ran over to where she'd fallen. My hands reached out to her, as I dropped to the ground beside her, my thoughts scattering. I didn't know what to do.

"Nadia." I whispered. "Are you okay? What happened?"

I put my hand on her shoulders but she jerked back, wrapping her arms around herself, as her hair fell to cover her face. Gasps escaped her, erratic and muffled as if she was trying hard not to cry. I looked back to the crowd of people who were staring at us, surrounding a laptop which still played the video of a girl cutting mercilessly into her arms, blood dripping down her wrist.

Oh.

I looked back at Nadia, her face still hidden behind her hair. But I didn't miss the way her nails dug into her arms, or her long sleeves, always long, always covered even though she wasn't a hijabi and often wore short skirts and showed off her legs but never her arms. I felt my eyes widening, as the realisation set in. 

How could I miss something like this, I thought. How could I have been so blind? 

She wasn't just slightly disturbed by the images of the video. She was trembling and crying and holding back pained sobs, and I was hit with a wave of deja vu, having heard the same miserable sounds from the night before. My heart ached.

She was having a panic attack.

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If you or anyone you know self harms please talk to someone about it and get help :) We love you and want the best for you, wallahi.

Also, Allah is larger than all of your problems and worries. Turn to Him, for surely He responds to those who call upon Him :)