Don't Remind Me

Chapter 3: The Chills

Then:
"IBSA's society launches are unnerving the freshman population it seems. This author saw no less than five freshie boys hiding in the water closet to avoid being made "Volunteers" at the launch ceremonies taking place left and right. A word of seasoned advice: The library is a more favorable hiding place. Nobody goes in there...."

(Nitty Gritty-Issue No: 322 Sept '14)

I know I'm dreaming.
I know this isn't real.
But it's too close, too vivid for my comfort.

"Lift your shirt for me." Musa's voice is soft. It is at odds with his rough hands. "You know I love you, right?" His reassurances do little to calm my anxiousness.

"Please. No." I try tugging my shorts up, but he is stepping on them, wrapped around my ankles. My throat is clogged with tears, and I know that this isn't right. But he is big. And he is beautiful.

So very beautiful.

"Everybody does this Layla!" He squeezes my arm as his hand gropes under my shirt.

"I d-don't like this Musa. P-Please don't! I-I'll tell Ruby. Or Mama..."

His eyes panicked for a second, before they narrowed wickedly. "But you said that you like me. Shall I tell your Mama what you said? Or your brother?"

"No." I gulped back tears, "I don't want you to tell them..."

I woke up panting, alone in my bed, I fought against the tears, and the violent shivers that always accompanied my flashback episodes.

I can still feel his hands yanking at my clothes. I can still feel the humiliation coursing through my blood, thick and tangible, as if it's fresh, from every encounter with him. This guilt, and self-disgust is something I wake up with everyday. It's like having braces you can never remove from your teeth. Or maybe a kidney transplant you can't undo. It's destined to be a part of you.

He is a part of me. My tormentor.

I shrugged on an extra wrap around my shoulders as I hunted for the Air conditioner's remote. The chills attacked me at odd times. I was probably the only person in sizzling Karachi city, who carried a cashmere with me, all year round. I yanked open dress drawers and book shelves to hunt for the damned thing. Maria often hides my A/C remote when she's hanging around my room. My sister is pretty much a polar bear when it comes to room temperature.

It's nearly 7 in the morning, so I trudge over to her room on the floor below mine, making my way towards her Princess canopy bed. My sister is sleeping on her side, arms tucked under her head, long auburn hair spread artlessly across her pillow. I simply stare at her perfection for a minute. Maria is a better-looking version of my drop dead gorgeous mother. Traditionally, she's the kid, other siblings are supposed to hate; the perfect one.

It's utterly impossible to hate my darling older sister though. Yes, she got the genetic lottery from the Hayat Gene Pool, but I don't begrudge her for that. In many ways, I have a lot of things she'll never have...

I try shaking her awake, she yanks away her shoulder to bury herself further in her pillows. It's no use yelling at her, so I pinch her ears next, and she hums in annoyance. I look around the huge girly room for inspiration. A grin spreads across my face as I spot the hand-held electric masseuse lying on one of her dainty, pink coffee tables.

Maria springs awake wildly when I touch the vibrating thing to her arm. Her huge brown eyes swinging wildly from me to the machine. She scowls adorably, bringing her hands up to rapidly sign at me, 'Are you sick?'