Flashback: Layla (Aged 8)

"Laylee, we need someone on the drums!" Zaif sticks his head inside the kitchen, where I am hanging upside down from the top-most dish-rack. Ruby has already given up on trying to get me to respect gravity. Zaif mutters something about monkeys, before dragging a chair to help me down. I squealed as the blood rushed back to the rest of my body. 

"You always put me on drums." I frown up at my brother. At 12 years old, he was obsessed with starting his own band, so when his friends weren't there to play the instruments, he'd ask me to fill in. Asking Maria was kind of silly, because she often ended up frustrated when she couldn't tell if her music was good or bad. 

"It's because you play drums the best." A laughing voice from the doorway made me perk up. 

"MUSA!" I screeched before launching myself into his arms. He laughed as he twirled me around before setting me down. I gazed adoringly up at his beautiful face.

A family friend, Musa was a year older than Zaif, but the two were really close. When Zaif started his informal band, "The Crazies." (cookies on the lame name), Musa was recruited as lead guitarist. Other members included some of Zaif's school buddies, and our neighbors. The band membership kept changing, as the boys often "had disagreements about the band's sound"...whatever that meant. 

"I suck at drums!" I declared as we entered our rec-room. Mic stands, drum-sets and a few electric guitars were already plugged in. I had absolutely no interest in this, but I wanted to be around Musa for a while. He told the best stories, and he was my champion. Even if he had to go against Zaif,to take my side, he would. He had to be the better-looking older brother I wanted; with his silky brown hair falling in his eyes, and laughing grey eyes...he was perfect.

I sulkily banged away at the drum-set as my brother attempted to butcher a Nirvana song. I cheered up a bit when Musa turned to give me a thumbs up for my noise. 

Maria walked in, just as we finished the track. She signed at Zaif, 'Mama saw your report card...'

He bit his lips worriedly. I just moodily kept banging away at the drums.

"Stop banging Layla!" Zaif muttered to me before signing back, 'Does she look mildly upset? or "Zaif is roadkill"-type upset?'

I kept on banging, now changing the tempo to an annoyingly repetitive one. 

Maria shuffled her feet nervously, 'Roadkill, bro. Definitely roadkill....'

Bang-bang-bangitty-bang. Bang-bang-bangitty-bang. Bang-bang-bangitty-bang.

 Zaif turned to me with ire in his eyes. He yanked the drumsticks from my hands, before throwing them away. "I told you to stop the freaking drumming! are you a complete moron Layla?"

I stuck my tongue out at him, "You're the moron Zaif! who the hell fails math?" I knew I was pushing it too far, with my jab at his grades, but I was annoyed at him doing this in front of Musa. Zaif's face turned red with anger at my words, and he yanked at the two ponytails sticking out of both sides of my hair. 

"Hey! what the hell! don't hurt your sister Zaif! That's not cool!" Musa pulled him away from me, when I started bawling my eyes out. 

"Ugh. Now she's gonna cry for hours." Zaif sneered as he stalked away from the room. Maria tried to hug me, but I just pushed her away in my determination to keep crying.

I loved crying. 

It was the single most sure-fire way to get attention around the house. 

Mama not looking up from her laptop?

Cry.

Dad not bringing me the Barbie Doll he promised?

Cry.

Zaif being mean to me?

Cry.

Things just get better when I cry. Fact.

"Hey, hey, don't cry! aren't you a big girl?" Musa crouched low to look into my eyes. I just sniffled, trying to stop my nose from running. If Musa thought I was a big girl, then I should act like one. 

"Want to learn the drums Layla? I could teach you!" His eyes gleamed as he wiped away my tears. His fingers trailing down to my neck. I felt so special in that moment. Because someone as big and beautiful as Musa was giving me the time of his day. He wanted to hang out with me! even when Zaif wasn't around. 

"Yes. I want to learn." I whispered back, imagining a future time when I can dazzle Zaif with my mad drumming skills, so he can never tell me to stop banging. I also wanted to stretch every single moment spent with my idol. 

Musa picked me up from my seat in front of the drum-set, before settling me back on his lap. I felt so important. I could now actually reach the corners of the set. He handed me the discarded drumsticks, before grabbing both my hands from behind. His breath was warm on my neck, and I giggled, squirming away, squealing about him being ticklish. He just laughed back.

He started by naming all the different parts of the drums. Every time he'd name a part, he'd lean over me, dragging my hand along to pat that part. 

"...This is the medium Tom. And this is the floor Tom." His arm brushed along my shoulder as he patted the drums.

"But this isn't even on the floor." I giggled at the floor Tom. I pointed at the largest drum settled on the floor, "This should be Floor Tom..."

"Well, it's not. It's the Bass Drum." Musa tickled my stomach as he teased me. I shrieked with laughter as I tried to squirm away, but he held me fast. "Aren't you a tickle-princess? Let's see if you're ticklish everywhere!"

I was so busy laughing, and trying to swat away his fingers, that it took me a while to notice his fingers touching me someplace very secret. 

But he's just tickling me! I laughed it away, even though something started feeling, just a bit...not okay.

"Musaaa! don't do that!" I giggled, kicking him in the shins in order to scramble away. 

"Oh! I'm sorry. It won't happen again!" He laughed nervously, playfully flicking my pony-tails.

.................

Present Time Layla:

"But it did happen again." I whispered brokenly to Azaan. "It happened again and again. And there was an unspoken understanding between us, y'know? That I'd never talk about this to anyone. And I didn't. I didn't say a single word. I wasn't sure What to say...I think for the most part, I didn't feel that this was real. It felt fiction, like something I was imagining, because it was extremely-I dunno how to frame it-but, it felt impossible, like playing Teacher, or Princess...I thought this was part of a fantasy game, and I was supposed to leave it there. Leave it someplace secret."

"Your family never suspected anything? Didn't they teach you about such things?" Azaan's gravelly voice pulls me out of my reverie.

"Why on earth would they suspect anything? Musa was practically family. He grew up with us. My Dad was friends with his Dad since forever! The two families often felt like one. If there was any happy or sad occasion, The Shah's were the first to know about it." I retorted, "In fact this was part of my inability to voice my misgivings. I thought nobody would believe me..."

"When did you realize that this was wrong?"

"I think I was almost ten, by that time...and I remember that our Quran lady left her position. She was moving town I think." I recalled it very clearly. The Quran lady was a learned Islamic Scholar my Mama had hired to teach us how to read and understand the Holy verses. She taught us the Arabic pronunciations, and made us memorize Surahs and even taught us our prayers (Salah/Namaz) I had almost finished reciting the entire Quran for the first time, when she left her job. 

Mama wanted to hire someone else immediately, to help me finish the recitation in time for a grand Ameen (End of Quran party of sorts) she had planned for me. 

So Mama hired a new Moulvi Saheb (Male Quranic Teacher) to help with that. But she had heard a lot of rumors about pedophiles posing as Moulvis and molesting kids during teaching hours, so she didn't trust him all that much. She took me aside, before I started my classes, and explained that I wasn't supposed to let anyone touch me at all. I wasn't supposed to let anyone make me feel uncomfortable in any way. 

"If he ever, so much as looks at you in a weird way, or it makes you feel uneasy, you're supposed to tell me, or Ruby. Or your Dad, if he's available." she looked into my eyes as she destroyed my childish innocence. At that very moment, I realized that she was too late. She was trying to protect me from something that had long since violated me. 

It didn't matter that Ruby always sat in on my Quran classes as a chaperon. 

It didn't matter that the Moulvi Saheb was very well-behaved and gentle.

It didn't matter that I now knew what had been going on.

It was too little. Too late.

"I didn't confront him then. Because I honestly thought he did it because I was special to him. He made me believe I was special to him." I murmured. "I actually confessed to him, that I really really liked him. And wanted to marry him. Silly child that I was, I couldn't imagine my life without Musa....If he liked to Play with me now and then, I wasn't going to complain, in case he started thinking I wasn't special anymore."

 "That Harami ..." Azaan gritted out.

"Then this one time, he went too far...."

He had accosted me during my gym hours. Telling me that he loved my leotard. When he started to take it off me, I panicked. This was the first time I threatened to tell my Mama about him, but by now; he had a bargain chip. 

"He said he'd tell everyone that I liked him. That I wanted to marry him." I swiped away at an errant tear leaking out of the corner of my eyes, "I was such an idiot. I genuinely thought everyone would ostracize me if they knew what I'd said. He made my words out to be much more terrible than they actually were. I was scared."

It becomes very difficult to talk about the story now, because things just went downhill from that point onwards. 

I quit gymnastics, even though it was my life. Mama tried a million ways to get me to rejoin the practice, but I just couldn't bring myself to wear that filthy leotard again. 

I was nervous and jumpy around everyone, even my own family. I thought someone would find out about me and Musa, and I'd be scolded. 

I would hide when Musa came over. It puzzled Zaif for a while, because he never understood my sudden aversion to be around my favorite person. 

The worse part was Musa's nonchalance. He was so utterly bold and shameless about his actions! He had the nerve to keep visiting our house, almost everyday. To sit in our living room, and watch movies. To eat our food, to laugh with my brother, and still torment me. I started avoiding going to his home like I loved to. 

I started avoiding males altogether. I genuinely thought that all of them were like Musa.   

"I started having these nightmares, that I still have, to this day. In my nightmares, Musa never stopped. He just kept violating me. Even if I screamed. In my nightmares, I told my Mama what was going on, and she laughed at me, telling me that I was being silly...."

"Holy crap." Azaan mutters back, cracking his fingers threateningly. "Ho-ly crap..."

"It went on for three years. Before it finally stopped."

.......

It was a mirror that saved me. 

I was practicing a speech in the mirror. 

A speech that I had prepared for my tormentor. 

A speech that would hopefully, compel him to stop.

"Musa. I used to really like you. But I don't anymore." I stared at my 11-year-old reflection in the mirror above Mama's vanity table. It was the biggest mirror in the house. "My Mama says that it's not okay for anyone to touch me where you do. And it's not okay for anyone to take my clothes off, without my permission...unless they're a doctor, and I'm bleeding badly or something..."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my trembling hands, holding the piece of paper I had scrawled the speech on.

"I know I said that I liked you. And that I wanted to marry you. But that's just not true anymore. You scare me. You're not the same Musa anymore, and I definitely don't want to marry you. You're EW! I also hate your new haircut! but most of all, I'm telling you all of this because I want you to stop touching me. And even talking to me. Because I will tell my Mama now if you do! I don't care if you---if you tell her about what I said. I think I'd rather have her mad at me, than you being creepy..."

"Oh my Allah!" I heard a choked sob from the doorway. 

My heart seized, and I dropped the piece of paper I was holding. 

Mama was standing, just beyond the entry-way to her room. Her hands were clamped over her mouth as she heaved violently. Her new prada bag hit the floor before she threw up on it. An anguished scream came her mouth as she sobbed. 

I started crying too. 

"My Laylee..." Mama kept crying. She couldn't even look at my face. 

I have never seen my Mother cry like that, before or since. It was worse than the time when she found me hiding in her closet. 

 Nothing was the same anymore.

.............

"It stopped then. Somehow. I have no idea what went on among the elders, but our friendship with the Shah family soured. We didn't even mention them around the house anymore. Musa and Zaif broke up as friends, and we avoided their company at all costs. "

Later on, I realized that it cost Dad his alliance with several strategic political figures, because Khadim Shah (Musa's dad) was a very prominent parliamentarian at that time. 

It also, inadvertently led to a deepening rift between my parents. My Mama became withdrawn (more than she already was) and she channeled her passions into Hayat. It became the one thing in her life she could control entirely. 

And I...I became a symbol of her failure as a mother.

That's the only explanation I have for the way she dealt with my pain.

She told me to never talk about this event. She told me that everything was hunky-dory in my world now, and I was supposed to move on and forget it ever happened. I have never even spoken to Maria about it. The only outlet I had was my therapist lady. A professional who could help me cope with my emotional scars. Make me whole again.

 "Tell me someone killed the fucker. Please do..." Azaan's harsh tone stuns me.

I shake my head ruefully, smiling tiredly at that. "Ha! you know Azzy, It's kinda hard to murder the Prime Minister's son, and get away with it..."

Author's Note:

Please COMMENT PEOPLE! I seriously need feedback about this story! Is it meaningful?

Is it disturbing? Is it meh?

Please please tell me your candid thoughts!