Chapter 12 - Trigger warning. Mention of rape/self harm

I was silent, when I get home that evening, dropping my backpack on the ground. I was silent when I staggered up to my room, sluggishly making my way up the stairs, my eyes fixed on nothing. Everything was a blur in front of me, I can't make out anything, but I recognised the shapes, the colors, as my hands reached for the doorknob. I was silent as I pushed my bedroom door open and stood in the middle of my room, staring.

I couldn't even hear anything, I was that lost. My throat was tight, like my body refused to allow in air, my hands were stiff and cold as they hung limply by my sides. I stood in front of my window, gazing out at the sky, so far away and free and bright and empty. I wanted to reach out like Nadia did that rainy day and hold that sky, that faraway sky, and let it shed tears on my open palms.

But then, I saw Nadia dropping to the ground, hugging herself. I no longer saw the sky, so white and empty. I saw blood dripping down arms, and fingers digging into skin and knifes painted with scarlet.

I cried.

-

My throat was sore when I walked into my sister's room, knocking lightly. The door was open and I saw Salma sitting on her bed, legs crossed, biting her lip and staring off into space. Her room was unusually messy and there were a dozen cups and dishes littering her bedside table. Her desk was the only clean space in the room, looking lonely and unused. Clothes were strewn about, crumpled, designer brands left to gather dust on her carpet. I paused for a moment, puzzled over the uncharacteristically messy state of her room.

She had been absent during that art class, and suddenly I felt a burst of anger and annoyance. She should have been there, for Nadia. She should have been there with me, as I helped Nadia to the nurse's office and sat there with her while she sniffled back sobs, pushing me away every time I tried to reach out to offer comfort.

I knew now why roses had thorns. Nadia was like a rose, beautiful and enchanting. But like a rose's thorns prick those who hold it, Nadia wouldn't let me help her. She had always been unimaginably distant, always closed off and hiding behind humor, never letting anyone see into her depths. Some may have thought she was unbelievably shallow, but now I realised how thought out her mask had been, how well disguised she'd kept herself aloof and untouchable.

Those thorns were protection.

"Where were you?" My voice was hoarse.

Salma jumped out of her trance, alarmed. The first thing out of her mouth was:"Is Nadia okay?"

"I said, where were you?" I growled.

"I was..." Salma trailed off, looking guilty. "I didn't want to go..."

"Salma," I said, sighing. "I know the last thing you want to do is go to school, but skipping isn't going to help. I get it. But can-"

"Do you?" She interrupted.

"What?"

"Do you get it, Abdullah?" She asked again, louder, voice cracking. "Because it looks like you don't care. You act like everything's okay. God, you do your homework and watch T.V and nothing bothers you and act like dad is still...."

"What do you want me to do?" I said, slowly, her accusation burning me. "Freak out? Go out and party? Drink?"

She stared, and slowly her eyes widened, the implication of my words setting in. Instantly, I wanted to take back my accusation at her broken expression, I wanted to snatch back my words and shove them back into my throat but it's too late. She slumped, slowly, heavily and averted her eyes.

"Nadia." She whispered, asking again, "how is she?"

I still felt shame churning in my stomach, but it is ignored when Salma brought up Nadia. Suddenly, I saw the dark haired girl, her small frame, shuddering. 

"She had a panic attack." I said, stiffly.

"Do you know why?"

Salma's voice was slow and careful, in a way that was more testing than worried and curious. The fact that she doesn't even seem to be a little freaked out, was also saying something. When I came into her room, she had already known about Nadia, but had done nothing but sat there on her bed. A shocking thought occurred to me: had this happened before? I wondered what Salma expected me to say, if she knew what was going on. She was Nadia's closest friend, after all. Surely, Nadia might have confided in her, before her breakdown.

"Do you know why?" I asked, instead.

Salma was silent, hesitating. I watched her fingers tap her knees, nervously. Her eyes were downcast, and I was unable to read her expression. I suddenly thought of Nadia's smile, and wondered which one was fake and which one was genuine. Or if I had even seen a genuine one. I wondered how many scars she had. I wondered if she went to sleep crying, waking up the next morning with ruined sheets, and a tear stained face. Salma was still silent, and she stopped tapping on her knees, as if she had decided something.

"Salma," I pressed, the need to know was so great that it was painful. "You must know something. You didn't see her today. She was freaked out by a video of someone cutting themselves. It wasn't just a panic attack with no reason. If she's....harming herself, then we need to do something."

Salma looked up to me, surprised. "Harming herself? I didn't know about that. She didn't tell me. How do you even know she is? She could have just been freaked out by the video. It doesn't mean she cuts."

"She was triggered." I said, firmly. "I know it. She was pulling down her sleeves and covering her body and shaking and panicking."

I stressed the last word, even though my sister's eyes were already filled with worry and unease. She looked torn between admitting something and keeping quiet and I realised that the situation must be serious if Salma knew what was going on but was still too afraid to speak.

"Are we just going to let her suffer, then?" I asked.

Salma's head dropped, and her lips quivered. "She told me not to tell anyone. She doesn't want help."

"She needs help, Salma." I said. "If she really is self harming, than she needs help."

"We don't know if she is." Salma whispered, hands curling into fists.

"But we know she has panic attacks."

"Do you think I don't know that?" She growled. "She doesn't want help. I tell her to talk to someone, but she's too scared and ashamed. She gets angry when I bring it up."

"I don't get it." I sighed. "What happened to her? Why does she choose to keep it inside? Doesn't she see that it's only harming her? How can we just ignore her problems without helping her?"

"I should have been there." Salma said, suddenly, sadly.

"Salma, if you know something then please help her, if you wont tell me." 

"I'm such a horrible friend." She went on, ignoring me.

"You wont be if you help her." 

"It's not something that can be fixed so easily." Salma said, her voice soft and sad. "She was.."

"What?" I pressed.

"She was raped."

- - -

Oh.

I was unprepared for that outcome. I was majorly caught off guard, horribly unready. When Salma said the word "rape" I thought of a cold, dark back alley. A shady figure, an unsettled woman, shrieks, the sound of clothes ripping and disturbed gravel and muffled whimpers. I screwed my eyes shut, not wanting to see the images my brain was rapidly producing.

Quickly, I turned on my heel and left. Salma didn't even look up when I exited her room.

It wasn't the same with Ian. I'd been bullied before. I knew the pain and suffering and agony that came along with bullies. But this was different, this was a whole other world that I would never be able to understand. It was violation. It was taking someone's right to live a normal life.

I thought of Nadia again, and see her slow, smile spread on her face. I wondered when.

My mother doesn't come home until late that night and I was, for the second time, still awake and watching T.V. There was a special airing on Aleppo, that evening. I watched, expressionless, as images of bloody children and crumbled buildings flashed on the screen. On the other side of the world, people are dying and there I was wondering what life would be like if I was never born. Before guilt and shame engulfed me, the doorknob twitched, and I heard the sound of keys being rattled.

My mother closed the door behind her and shot me a worried look. I felt a trace of amusement, that my mother only knew that something was wrong when I stayed up watching T.V until 2 AM, otherwise I acted as Salma had earlier described me: normal and uncaring.

"What happened this time, habibi?" She asked softly.

I thought of dad, in his hospital bed, and Salma with a can of beer in her hand. I thought of Ian and his large, watery eyes, his words, "you're just like them." I thought of late nights, staring at the ceiling waiting to hear my mother open the front door and wondering what would happen if she didn't. I thought of Salma, and her fake smile. I thought of Aleppo's bleeding children, imagined their desperate eyes, asking the world when they would be cared about, too.

I wanted to reply with "everything." Because nothing felt right anymore, everything was falling apart, crumbling to pieces. What had kept me going before? I don't remember. What had I looked forward to? What had I dreamed about? What had been my goals and plans for the future? Had I wanted to go into law? Science? How long did the doctor say my father would be in a coma before it was declared a lost cause? What had I felt?

"I don't remember anymore." I told my mother.

- - -

When I woke up the next morning, the clouds outside are grey. For a moment I enjoyed the complete silence, sinking into the feeling of nothingness. It occurred to me then that I hadn't heard my blaring alarm, and I shot out of bed, scrambling for my phone. By some miracle, I've only overslept by half an hour but this still resulted in my late arrival to school.

Salma was weary as we entered the Art room, twenty five minutes late. The teacher shook her head and gave us a warning as she marked us down tardy. I barely paid attention because I was too busy searching for Nadia. Salma flew to her desk, while my eyes landed on Nadia's figure, standing by the shelves where we stored the our assignments. The fear of facing her after coming to know about her rape left me when I realised that she was staring down at her self portrait, the one I had almost finished.

I was surprised to see a small trace of a smile on her face. She was looking at the back of the portrait where I had scribbled a sappy quote the day before. Horror and embarrassment flooded me as she looked up, meeting my gaze and breaking into amused laughter. Her reaction was more welcome than scorn or disgust so I smiled back in relief.

"This is so dumb." She laughed. "Did you make this up?"

"Ah..." I tried not to blush. Somewhere, a cherry was probably jealous of my complexion. "Yeah."

"It's dumb but kinda cute, then." She grinned.

I remembered all the times we joked and laughed and even subliminally flirted. How much of that had been genuine? How many times had she made a joke while trying to hide her hurt, how many times had she laughed while thinking about crying? And most of all, I desperately wanted to know: was she doing it now, too?

Was she still hiding her pain behind her well practised smile?

Perhaps I didn't respond with my usual snarky reply and my goofy grin, because her expression wavered. It was as if she suddenly remembered the events of the day before all at once, because her smile disappeared and she stared at me. I suddenly couldn't read her face at all, and I was lost, not knowing how to act or behave in front of her.

She dropped her eyes sadly. "You're wondering about yesterday?"

"I'm wondering about," I said plainly, dropping the jokes, leaving the humour, and diving into complete sincerity, "you."

"What about me?" She whispered, almost afraid.

I wanted to know everything about her, and for a moment I realised that I didn't know much about her. I'd always been the genius, the know-it-all, the nerd who aced test after test. And there I was trying to think of her favourite color, or if she preferred cats or dogs, or if she had allergies, or when she had been sexually violated. However, with that thought I wondered if I perhaps knew too much. It was disgusting how I knew a dark secret about a girl I liked, but not much else.

She silently looked on, traces of worry in her face. She probably had no idea that I knew her secret. I suddenly felt unworthy of holding such information, I felt like I had no right to know such a thing about her, without her permission. I was glad she does not meet my eyes because I would not know how to face them.

"Well, I'm still wondering," I said, lightly, and turned to gaze out the windows where a small ray of sunlight pierced through the rumbling clouds, "if you prefer sunshine or rain."

From the corner of my eye I saw her visibly relax as she turned to peer out the window. She raised the self portrait, and I caught that same tiny amused smile grace her face as she read my stupid quote again.

"Definitely sunshine."

We stood there for a moment, watching the sun push through layers of dark skies.

__________________________________________________________

Well, now we know what's up with Nadia. ;-; That girl needs hugs and loves. If you can relate to her, than know that you are so very strong, and never, ever be afraid to speak about your problems. Honestly speaking, there are people out there who are ready to help you and care about you. And if, for now, you cant find anyone, there is always Allah who is always listening, always caring. 

"I swear by the morning hours, and by the night when it is still; your Lord has not forsaken you, nor is He displeased. And surely what comes after is better for you than that which has gone before. And surely your Lord will give you that which will make you well pleased." Quran 93: 1-5  

"The sun doesn't stop shining, even behind the rain clouds." - is the quote I would imagine Abdullah had written onto the back on Nadia's portrait. He is so, so whipped haha.

Also, keep Aleppo in your prayers. Donate if you can! Make dua, raise awareness, speak up!  "Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented!" - Elie Wiesel

"O ye who believe! Stand firmly for righteousness. And let not your personal enmity prevent you from being just. Surely! Justice is the nearest to piety. Indeed! Your Lord knows all that ye do" Quran 5:08