Soiled #ProjectNigeria ✔️

Chapter 44: Speaking Up

"Hello."

She smiles at me again and settles into her seat after shaking my sweaty hands. She's been smiling a lot since I walked through the door.

"Welcome. I'd love for you to be at ease. Okay?" I nod stiffly and play with the straps of my Chanel handbag.

"What is your name?" I stare blindly over her head. The words there have struck a chord in my heart. Life isn't always going to be smooth, sometimes you'll iron the rough edges out.

Is that what I'm doing now? Ironing my rough edges? Have I been sleeping, eating, praying with such deep pain in my heart? Have I been letting the pain Nadir caused me play a huge part of my life, is it becoming an impediment to my moving forward?

She repeats her question and this time I can't feign the words flew away.

"I'm Nabeela Abdullah." After a heartbeat, I add "Hassan." She nods and jots something down.

"What do you think brought you here?" I eye her lightly, if I wasn't troubled, would I be here in cold terror.

"I lost my baby nearly three years ago and I can't seem to stop having nightmares about my ex husband." She nods and relaxes into her chair.

"Are you married again." I nod.

"Does your husband know?" I nod and shake my head at the same time.

"Yes or no?" I sigh and look at the words over her head again.

"He knows, but he doesn't know all of it." She sinks back into her seat and links her fingers.

"What doesn't he know?" I stare at her.

"He doesn't know that I have nightmares." She frowns.

"What is your sex life like?" My hands and eyes go back to my bag.

"I should assume nonexistent?" I nod timidly. I can't even remember when last I had sex.

"That's why he doesn't know?" I nod again.

She sighs and looks at her watch.

"We'll do this next week same time." She opens a drawer beside her and pulls out a bound leather book.

"I want you, Nabeela, to write all of your night mares in this book. That is assuming you have any before next week." I nod again. I seem to have lost my voice.

I put the journal into my bag and stand, eager to leave the stifling office.

Once I get into my car, I bring out my phone to text Umm Fawad about how it went. But a series of text messages and missed calls from my father stops me. I type back a message and his reply makes my heart beat faster.

I'll see you in thirty minutes.

*******

I drive into the Father's compound and put my car in park, I sit in the car still to steel myself. Nabeela, you will not be used as a rag doll that anyone can stick pins into. Not anymore.

I adjust my hijab and refresh my lip gloss before getting out of the car, I shut and locked the car with sweaty hands.

The door is open and I simply push the knob to get into the hallway. I look around, there have been little changes since my last visit. Mother is always changing one curtain or paint work in the hallway.

I walk faster to squat in front of my father. "Baba, good afternoon." He replies in Hausa and I sit on the floor, pulling the ends of my gown underneath my legs quietly.