Chapter One – Ibtisam
Tossing my car keys to the butler, I walked toward the building with hastened steps. In my dishevelled state—mud-drenched Doc Martens and ripped jeans—I approached the bane of my existence: a place often called home but holding no fond memories. Snapping out of my trance, I tugged at my headscarf, tied in an aggressively tight knot at the nape of my neck—evidently the only survivor of my perilous twilight endeavours.
Beads of perspiration clouded my already creased forehead as I heaved a sigh of frustration, realizing that getting to my room unnoticed was a near-impossible feat.
My heart raced as I crept up the stairs. It was pitch black at 1:00 a.m., and the entire house of Senator Abubakar was pin-drop silent.
"Strange," I muttered under my breath. My legs quivered with fear as I moved swiftly, avoiding creaking floorboards, clutching my phone and bag tighter as I raced up to the fifth floor—admiring the stealth I'd acquired through continuous practice and dread of being caught.
I slipped into my room, careful not to slam the door shut. I stalked to my bed and landed on the lush duvet with a gentle thud. Wiggling my sore feet out of my crusty boots, I fished out a translucent bag from my jean pocket. Emptying its contents onto my palm, I snorted the white powder and soon drifted into an uninterrupted slumber.
I woke up to my blaring alarm clock. Dragging my battered body off the bed to turn it off, I stifled the rising urge to toss it out the window. But we wouldn't want that, right?
My stomach rumbled from neglect as I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth and perform ablution. I struggled to reel my senses back into place, but I was too hungover from last night's dose. Lightheaded, I paced in search of my hijab, which was right in front of me. Furniture blurred around me, and I lost my balance, feeding my insanity by calling out to no one in particular. A shadow—obscure, cloaked in darkness—whipped by. Or maybe not. I've had trouble deciphering reality lately. Relying on lethargic reflexes, my head met the ground with a resounding thud, which drew out a groan and a string of curses.
My phone chimed atop a black ottoman just out of reach. I groaned, pushing my weight onto my elbows, and scooted closer to retrieve it. Frustration melted as I scrolled through numerous messages from Saal. As much as I try to detest my stepmother's son, he always finds annoyingly affectionate ways to lower my guard. Something akin to a smile tugged at my lips as I read his messages—informing me of his mother's displeasure evidently a result of my unexpected visit and asking where I was, if I was okay.
Choosing to leave his messages unread, I sealed the momentary breach in my emotional barricade. I returned to the main reason I wasn't curled up beneath my blanket, blissfully oblivious to the demons that plague my reality.
After observing the obligatory prayer, to assuage my deviance from my religion's ethics, I decided to read a translated version of the Holy Book. During my recitation, my room door flung open. To the intruder's surprise, I paid no attention. My eyes remained glued to my business despite my awareness of the rhythmic tap of flip-flops against the floor.
Ignoring the intense aggression radiating from the feminine figure towering over me, I heaved a sigh of satisfaction and shut the book with a gentle thud. My subtle act of indifference was rewarded with a tight slap across my face.
I winced slightly and tilted my head to meet the gaze of my stepmother—her eyes brimming with hate, nostrils flared with fury. A clear contrast to her usual cheery façade, one that never cracked in my father's presence.
Our gazes clashed—a kaleidoscope of unspoken words. Consciously faint from the substance still rippling through my bloodstream, I chose silence. The slur of my voice would have betrayed me. But my silence seemed to exasperate her even more. Panting heavily, she descended on me, raining heavy blows with such revulsion that I could taste it.
The pain started to seep into my subconscious state. Prying her off with ease, I released myself from her flailing grasp. I stood up and stalked toward the door, ensuring I picked up my phone in the process. Wrapping my calloused palm around the doorknob, breath tense, I was suddenly pulled back by my flowing dress.
Spinning on my heels with sonic speed, I knocked her off her feet—unintentional, yet well deserved.
Slamming the door shut, I silenced her stream of curses. I raced down the stairs, pushing the sycophantic workers out of my way. Grabbing a random car key from the display in the hallway, I pushed the button with a fraction of my bottled anger. An Escalade winked in the distance—I covered the gap in a few strides, pried the door open, and ignited the engine. Then I sped off into oblivion.