𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐉𝐀𝐇'𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 / 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐈𝐄 𝐁

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟎: 𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐇𝐔𝐆.

The next morning, Khadijah just felt like utter shit. Her braids were fuzzy, and her face caked with dried drool as she swung her legs over the side of her bed. She stumbled once she finally managed to push herself onto her feet, gripping the wall for stability. She could hear her mother clinking around in the kitchen, moving out of her room and through the hallway slowly towards the living room and the kitchen.

Arion laid on the couch, long frame cramped up with a blanket thrown over him. He looked peaceful, and Khadijah's stomach churned when she thought about what she had said to him last night.

"There's some Tylenol and water on the coffee table," her mother called out to her from the kitchen and Khadijah swiped up the bottles with ease, popping two red pills into her mouth, "Shaah ayaan karsanayaa (I'm making tea), do you want some?" Timera asked, wiping her hand with a used washcloth as she entered the living room. Khadijah took a seat in the small space Arion left on the couch, while her mother kneeled on the rug by the coffee table.

Neither of them had the courage to sit in the lone armchair by the TV.

"So, will you tell me what happened last night? Why Arion was slamming doors in my house like he pays bills?" Timera asked her daughter pointedly, folding the rag in her lap.

"Hooyo waan khalday (I messed up mom), I keep messing up," Khadijah mumbled, feeling Arion shift next to her in his sleep, "I'm—not okay. You're not okay. We're not okay. It's hard." Khadijah confessed. The anger that coursed through her veins last night was gone. Khadijah felt like skin that had been rubbed raw, just exposed and aching for everyone to see. 

It was humiliating.

Her father's death had impacted her in ways she couldn't even begin to describe.

"Khadijah," her mother sighed, looking at her daughter with tired eyes, "your aabo (dad/father) was our strength. I know that—without him—I feel weak." She smiled slightly, mouth turning upwards but not quite reaching her eyes. "I cried and cried and cried and felt sorry for myself until I remembered I have a sixteen-year-old daughter that was also grieving, someone who was feeling the same pain—who also needed me. Waan ka xumahay (I'm sorry). I'm sorry for not being there for you in the beginning—I'm sorry if you felt as though you couldn't depend on me. You're right, it's hard. I'm not okay, and you're not okay, but we will be. You have so much people in your life who care about you—me, your aunties, Kevin, and Arion. We are here for you, but what I will not allow you to do is hurt the people around you in your grief."

Khadijah furrowed her eyebrows.

"Ha samayn taas (don't do that), the guilt is written all over your face, Khadijah," her mother shook her head, "your friends do not deserve your anger. If you need to fight and scream—do it with me. Don't do it to Arion. That boy—he's—" Timera laughed partly in disbelief, gaze resting fondly on the teenager sleeping on her couch, "he's a good kid. I didn't want to believe it before, but I see it now. He cares for you so much Khadijah, the moment I called him, he came running to look for you. He worries about you—just like I do. I don't agree with his lifestyle, but I adore and admire him for the way he treats you. For that, I will always give him his flowers and he will always be welcome in my home."