THE DEGREE OF HAPPINESS

25

NB: Self harm chapter ahead!

Mom didn't even speak to me when we got home. Not even to pass the jug at the dinner table even though I was close to it. 

After dinner, I washed and stripped off my clothes for a grey T-shirt and a pair of three quarter trousers before heading into bed. I didn't read salah....didn't have the strength to. I just didn't have the strength to do anything and salah was further on the list.

There was a reddish filter in my vision. The field my dream took me was large and green and open to the sky. The scent of apples wafted in the air, though I could not find the source. I tried to rise but found myself bound. I glanced down. 

I was tied in the chair. 

"Hey, rose," Ali's voice called.

Ali walked up to me, taking slow, deliberate steps.

He smiled at me widely, as he took the baseball bat and raised it.

Soroush was a few meters away from me, with his bike, which was parked next to a large, white Mazda. I tried calling out to him but couldn't. My voice had died in my throat, refusing to come out.

He was chatting with his father, a large man that dominated wherever he went. He shared just his skin color with his son and black hair; the rest differed from Soroush for he had slanted eyes, the light brown inside of them reminding me of a snake.

He was staring at me whilst Soroush was animatedly talking to him, a large grin on his face. 

"Like mother, like daughter," he chanted, "Like father, like son."

This is a dream. A dream. I should be able to get out of this. If only I wished hard.

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on getting out.

Ali laughed and my attention snapped back to him.

"My rose," he called. He raised the bat. I tried to scream. The bat made an impact against my skin and....

I woke up screaming from my sleep, but quickly muffled it by biting down onto my pillow. 

Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.

This was my first dream in a while, my first lucid dream in an even longer time, but Ali had to ruin everything. 

The darkness in my room seemed intimidating. I fumbled for the switch and turned it on.

Crap. There was no electricity. 

I grabbed a hoodie and put it over me, feeling the cold of the night searing into my skin and headed upstairs to the terrace and sat at my usual spot. Only, I turned around so my legs dangled from under the railing as I watched the street full of cars. Heading back home. Or going somewhere nice.

My bare legs were freezing, my fresh cuts slightly stinging. But the chill was somehow welcoming, a kind of punishment.

I checked my watch at 11:00. An hour after I had climbed into bed. I looked down at the cars again. At the little dots of people far away. 

What would happen.......if I jumped?

I shook my head. This was wrong. This was horrible. This was haram.

But what if I did jump? I wished I could jump, envied the people that died. 

I was supposed to be the brave girl. The girl with all the answers. The girl who asked. The girl who annoyed people with her questions. The girl who would stand up against wrong if it happened right in front of her eyes. The smart girl. The chatterbox girl. The girl whom parents dreamed of having.