Without You ✔️ (completed)

VIII. persecution: ستم

Eleven Years

She knew exactly how long each second and each minute felt of these eleven years, but did he? She removed the duppatta and hung it on the bathroom hook. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she pulled the strings that tied the back of her short shirt. The beaded strings fell apart taking each flap with them, putting the angry scar on show.

This wasn't her scar of battles she won. This was a scar that reminded her of one night that wrecked her world and left her paralyzed. This was a stamp of the night when she was left alone in the hands of the monster. This was the reminder of that man whose heinous hands snaked her and squeezed her as he shattered her bones. So much that she could still feel the slither of his hands on her broken pieces.

"I'm going to rip you apart so filthily that pretty boy won't dare to touch you."

Her back hit the door as she saw eighteen-year-old Ayla come alive, begging for mercy. Her body slid to the floor as she saw him rope her pastel purple hair around his hand, pulling her up from the corner. Pain splitting within her as he pulled on her hair. The cigarette breath fanned against her skin as she tried to hide away, but the pull on her hair only made her scream more.

"And that brother of yours... he's going to kill himself when he knows what I did to you."

She pulled her knees to her chest as the memories coiled around her like a tornado. Her courage, her healing, and her facade, all obliterated in it. She wrapped her hands around her head as the screams became louder. 

"Asfi Lala!"

She screamed.  Maybe if she screamed louder her brother would hear her. Maybe he'd come. He'd save her as he saved her last time. Maybe he'd cover her exposed body with a blanket. Maybe he'd finally kill the man who was suffocating her soul. Maybe, just maybe.

"He's never coming back, little girl!"

No, he has too. His sister was dying. He couldn't leave her like this. How could he? This monster was ripping his sister apart in shreds. Her screams pierced that night of December. The birds flew from their trees of the window as they heard her pain. The moon cowered behind the clouds as she mourned the death of her favorite child. The clouds thundered and roared, trying to wake up the world, but the world stayed asleep as an innocent soul was persecuted.

While the pretty boy on the other side of the town bought roses and a necklace chain without knowing that those same roses would vine around his neck and take his breath away.

She pulled on her hair as the sharp edges of her memories twisted within her gut. Stop. Please, stop. Her breath coming in pieces. Breathe, Ayla. She rocked herself back and forth. Don't let him win. She pulled on her hair again. Breathe. She curled up as she put her head on the cold marbles. you're not there. The coolness brought her back second by second. She was miles away. She was many years away. She locked the purple-haired Ayla somewhere again, letting her scream in the corner of her heart, but she turned a deaf ear to her harrowing sobs just like everyone else did.

She ripped away the clothes from her body and stood under the shower. you killed him. It's okay. She scrubbed that night away from her body. You survived. She scrubbed her skin raw and red. You survived. She stood there as she reminded herself again and again that it was over. She stared at her wet hair in the foggy mirror. They weren't purple. She sighed in relief. you're not her.

"Happy Eleven Years."

She stared at the destroyed woman that she hated in the mirror. She took the toothbrush holder, clutching her hand around it. Then smashed it on the floor. She took the makeup palette and smashed it against the marble. Her breathing became normal with each crash.