The Wrong Number

32

11:34 pm, Ruhan: I need to see u

11:35 pm, Ally: it's eleven thirty. And have you met my good old friend 'Curfew'?

11:35 pm, Ruhan: NO I NEED TO SEE YOU

11:35 pm, Ally: what happened?

11:36 pm, Ruhan: I just need to fucking talk to you please

11:37 pm, Ally: what happened??!

11:38 pm, Ruhan: I need to talk. I can't text it out.

11:38 pm, Ally: should i call?

11:38 pm, Ruhan: yes

~~~~~

Ruhan woke up the next day with sore eyes. He would've slept an aggregate of one hour the previous night. He'd hung up after talking to his anonymous text buddy at around three, after which he proceeded to toss and turn in his bed. How restful. He knew that if he spoke, his voice would come out crackly and sore, like an old radio. One of the things that happen after you cry.

When he called his text buddy, he had his mind made up to calmly and rationally explain everything that had happened, and to ask her for comfort. However, when he heard her pick up, all his resolve not to cry disappeared. He broke down and spoke to her in a blubbering mess of words. He could tell she was shocked, and his sudden burst of emotion had taken her by surprise because for the first few minutes she could hardly form words; she was stammering so much.

Twenty minutes into his conversation with her his whispers turned unintelligible whimpers. His stories spilled out, and she was a good listener. She had a way with words.

He'd never told anyone about this before, especially someone he didn't know. What is 'this' you ask?

His parents.

They must have been a time when they loved each other, but what they used to have had broken over the years. The first time was when Ruhan was in fourth grade.They were all sitting on the sofa watching some TV together, and his parents started yelling at each other. He was too young to understand what it was they were fighting about, but the screaming frightened him. He went to bed listening to their muffled yells down the hall.

A few years later, he came home from school to see them at it again, and the fact that he understood what they were yelling about made it scarier this time. His father had a wild look about him, like he had had a little too much to drink. He ran away and spent the rest of the day walking down MG Road, and only came back at night. The next morning he'd stared wide eyed as his mother made him dosas, nursing an ugly bruise on her cheek.

Last night he'd gotten caught on this middle of it.

His eyes stung at the memory, and when he scrunched them up he winced at the pain in his eyebrow. He sighed and shuffled to the bathroom. "Wow, I have my work cut out for me," he croaked when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.

*****