37
Nesrin
The Past
When I open my eyes, I hear a noise downstairs, but confusion makes me peek over the covers. It’s not morning yet, because the sun hasn’t come up, but I can hear my mother speaking. Her voice carries up the stairs to my bedroom. The door is closed, and I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she sounds angry.
I don’t like when Mom is angry. My stomach turns in knots, like when I’m meant to do my speech in the front of the class. I never liked people looking at me, and the kids at school aren’t friendly.
Another shout comes from downstairs, and I push off the bed, padding barefoot to the door, I slowly twist the handle and pull it open. Her voice is clearer now, and then I hear Daddy, too.
He says something, but his voice sounds like a growl. I’m scared when I move closer to the stairs to try to see what they’re doing, but even from the landing, I can’t.
My heart is beating so fast; it’s making my ears beat like a drum of my favorite pop song. I know something is wrong because my mom is crying now.
“Please, Mark,” she says to dad, but I don’t hear him answer her. I tiptoe farther down the steps, and that’s when I see them in the living room. Mom’s face is wet, her makeup has made stripes down her cheeks as she looks at Dad.
He looks at her but doesn’t hold her. Growing up, I always remember him holding her tightly when she was sad, but this time, it’s different. In the next second, her hand comes up and smacks him across the cheek so hard, his head snaps to the side.
I stumble back, falling onto the carpet on the step.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he says to Mom, and I can hear he’s angry. I’ve only heard him shout a few times, where I would hide under my bed out of fear, and this is just like those.
“You fucked this up!” Mom’s scream is so loud, and I have to put my hands on my ears. “You’re a fucking lying asshole!” I’m sure the windows will break each time mom shouts at him, but they don’t.
Glass crashes onto the floor. Tears burn my eyes, and I stand quickly, racing into the bathroom and locking myself inside. My heart beats so loudly in my ears, I can’t think about anything else. But nothing drowns out the sound of my parents’ rage.
I’m scared.
My tears fall down my cheeks.
My chest aches from the anger I hear in their voices.
My stomach twists from the fight that seems so much worse than anything I’ve heard from them before.
Everything hurts because I wonder if it could’ve been something I did. Perhaps it’s all my fault. Maybe they don’t love each other because of me.
Another loud crash comes from downstairs, and I run to the toilet, just in time to puke up my dinner. My hands shake, as I hold onto the white bowl, the tightening becoming worse. When there’s nothing more coming out of my mouth, I try to stand, and my legs wobble.
I open the tap. While rinsing my mouth, I see my dad’s razor on the counter. I think about the first time I experienced calmness. When it happened; it was by mistake. An accident with a glass.
But now as I make the choice, I know it’s more.
My fingers shake when I lift it, unlatching the silver blade and holding it between my fingers. I turn, slide down onto my butt, and lift my shorts. I close my eyes after I press the silver metal to my skin and press it hard.
The pain makes me shiver, and more tears fall down my cheeks, but the moment I open my eyes and look at the blood, I can finally breathe again. It hurt, a lot, but I do it for a second time, two small lines on my tanned skin, the red staining my fingertips and the sharp object.
My chest doesn’t feel tight anymore.
My stomach isn’t in knots.
And I can finally feel my lungs inhale deeply.
As I close my eyes, all the fear and worry eases, the pain brings about serenity.
And I know this is the only way I’ll ever find calm.
38
Damien
The Present
I promised her we’d go. My fingers are laced with hers, as we make our way up the stairs. She’s quiet, contemplative, so I don’t say anything, because I need her to make sure this is what she wants.
When we reach her bedroom door, I stop, waiting for her to say something, anything. I will walk away from Thorne Corporation if it means having her with me. I don’t give a shit about the company if I don’t have Nesrin.
“I want to run,” she tells me, but she doesn’t meet my stare. Her hand on the doorknob tightens because her knuckles turn white. She’s tense, nervous. Her body trembles, as she stares at the door, instead of looking at me.