Did Yazeed hurt you?

Yes.

How so?

What do you mean?

Physically?

Never.

Sexually?

No. We've never had sex.

Emotionally?

No.

Then how?

He broke everything inside of me.

How?

He knew, and he never said a word.

What did he know about?

Everything.

What is everything?

Everything.

***

Loneliness is an odd feeling.

You're never constantly lonely but when you feel it, you feel as if you can't breathe. It suffocates you. It kills your very soul knowing there's not a person in the world that you can talk to. Your chest burns and your eyes water because you need to let it out but there's no one to catch it.

So, you learn to catch it yourself. You learn not to lean on anyone. You learn to stand on your own two feet and when you do, you're the most powerful person in the world. There's no one that will have enough power over you to let you fall.

You'll never let yourself fall even if your fingernails begin to bleed. You'll never let yourself fall because you know that there will be no one to catch you and you'll shatter.

***

My mouth tastes sour. I hate the taste of the stale alcohol that still lingers in my breath. And I hate the smell of the breath behind me. The stench is overwhelming.

I look down at the pain between my legs.

What the fuck?

I'm bruised everywhere. I can barely see my skin beneath the mottled blue and black lesions. I don't even remember what in the fuck happened the night before. My eyes pinch close as I close my legs together to take a step. My gait is slow, careful and it takes me longer than imaginable to walk to the bathroom.

I look up in the mirror. My appearance startles me. I look like absolute shit. My lipstick is smudged over my lips and my eyeliner rims my eyes, making my skin look pale and sunken in. I wash my face, shivering at the cold splash of water before I brush my teeth. I don't hear him walk up behind me but I feel his gentle hold around my waist.

"Did I do that to you?" His voice is ridden with guilt as his fingertips graze my sex. He pulls back when I wince, but he doesn't move away from me.

"I probably asked you to do it." I don't remember but I know he wasn't as drunk as I was. He knows it was me and not him.

"You did." He nuzzles into my shoulder, cupping my breasts in his hands.

"What did I ask?"

He refuses to say, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath my ear instead. "Why don't you shower, and I'll make breakfast for you."

I lean back against him for only a moment before I step away. I turn my back, waiting for him to leave before I lift the lid on the toilet and sit down. I know it will hurt. I won't be surprised if I find blood when I wipe because I feel torn deep inside. My knees shake as I pee because it pains so badly. My ears tear up and I know I've ripped something.

 I reach for my compact once I've washed my hands but I'm hesitant to look at myself- to look at the damage I've done.My thighs quiver as I spread them and lower the mirror to have a look.

Fuck me.

There are deep bite marks embedded into my skin- deep enough that he must have drawn blood. I count almost three separate indents along my inner thigh and one right along my centre. I snap my mirror shut and walk into the shower.

I no longer cry. I can't cry, but I allow my eyes to close for just a few minutes as all the filth washes off my body.

My only penitence.

***

"Hey, you okay?" Nombi asks as she walks into my office.

"Yeah, why?"

"You look..." she struggles for a euphemism, "off?"

"I'm fine, thanks." I muster up a smile but I know it looks fake as shit.

"Okay." She sucks her lip into her mouth, put out at my tone. "There's someone here for you though."

"Who?"

"He says he's your brother."

He wouldn't fucking dare.

"What's his name?" I stand up, picking up my jacket from the back of my chair.

"Ammaar."

Oh.

"I'll be there."

She walks away.

"Thanks, Nombi."

She turns her face to smile at me and I know I'm forgiven.

His back is turned as he watches the traffic outside. "Ammaar?"

He turns quickly, caught off guard. "Hey Amaani."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." His smile is small and hesitant.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, uhm..."

"Do you want to go into my office to talk?" He's shuffling about on his feet, scratching his neck as he follows me into the room I had just vacated.

"I haven't seen you in a really long time, Amaani." He says as he closes the door.

"Yeah, since... Ahmed was born." My voice catches on his name.

"Are you okay? I know you and Muneer were really close."

"I'm fine." I turn my back to him, busying myself with my coffeemaker. "Do you want something?"

"Whatever you're having is fine."

I nod my head, making him a cup of plain black coffee.

His footsteps are dulled on my carpet, but I hear him getting closer to me. "You're not fine, Amaani. Your mum phoned me. She's worried."

"Why did she phone you?"

"She didn't know who else to phone."

"But you're not even my step-brother. You're his." Why doesn't that nosy bitch just keep herself out of my business?

"You still know me, and I know you kind of like me."

My lips tilt upwards.

He's right.

"I miss him too." His hand is warm on my shoulder. I turn around, breaking the contact as I hand him his cup.

"You were close." It's not a question. I know Muneer loved Ammaar more than his other step and half siblings.

"Yeah. He was my brother. Not my step-brother. He-" He sits heavily in his chair. "I feel lost. I don't know who else to go to."

"He was amazing, wasn't he?" I haven't allowed myself to think about him in the longest time. I smile remembering our better times.

"He was." He opens and closes his mouth a few times. "I- Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah." I shift in my seat, looking up at him over the rim of my cup.

"I hate his bitch wife. I'm happy she's dead."

I smile into my cup as I take a sip. "So am I. Greedy cunt."

"Yeah, exactly." He sniggered. "I've never wanted to tell anyone that before."

"Because people are pussies and they're too worried about feelings."

"Something like that."

I hate awkward silences. I want to tell him to fuck off if he can't think of anything to say but he's too sweet for me to hurt.

"What did my mother really tell you?"

He downs the rest of his coffee before he wipes his mouth with his hand. "She's worried that you don't talk to her and she's worried about-" he scratches his neck, unwilling to say the rest.

"Worried about what?" I prod, staring at him till finds the balls to answer.

"She's worried about the bruises she keeps seeing on you."

I shake my head at her impertinence. How could she make my fucking business his business.

"Tell her not to."

"Okay..." He's unsure of himself. I can see it all over his face.

"Tell her I love rough fucking and that's why I have all those bruises."

His eyes widen, and he can't reply.

"You'll do that for me, won't you?" I ask him, watching him over my cup once more.

"Uh huh." He puts the cup down but he's too nervous and he tips it over the table.

"Do I make you nervous?" I'm toying with him.

"No." He shakes his head vigorously before he bends down to pick up the broken pieces.

"Are you sure?" I walk around the table to where he's bent over and trail my fingernails over his neck.

"Yeah, really sure." He refuses to look up at me even though there's nothing left for him to pick up.

I walk away.

I'm playing with fire.

But when have I ever been afraid of getting burned?