I wake up in a pool of my own sweat, my clothes scattered all around my bedroom, my windows shut close, the air conditioning is also turned off, and the door to my room is locked. I'm trapped in my own thick duvet, steaming in the heat like a Sunday rice chicken.
"Why in heaven's name is this place this hot?" I say, stretching as the headache hits me with full force. Owwwwww, hangovers! I hate this so much! How did I get here? I don't remember anything at all. I pull off the duvet from my clothless body, flinging it to my bedroom floor as I walk into the bathroom. The light from the bathroom window hits me as I quickly bury my face in my palms, totally not expecting the brightness; my room was very dark. I turn on the shower as the cold water pours all over me, from my head all through my body, washing away the stench of sweat mixed with weed and alcohol.
I wear my bathrobe, put on my slippers, and head downstairs. My mum and dad pay no attention to me, ignoring my presence, almost like their disappointment has further grown to nonchalance. At this point, I think they've secretly decided not to care.
"Mummy, good morning. What are we eating?" And of course, I was ignored.
My brother walked in, handing me a plate of fried eggs. "There's bread in the fridge; you know where tea is or chocolate; that's what we are having; and why are your eyes red?"
I rolled my eyes at him, taking the egg and walking past him to the fridge, ignoring his stupid question. After eating, I walked back upstairs to my room, taking painkillers and jumping back into my bed to get some actual rest.
I woke up by 3 p.m., feeling hungry again. As I was about to open the door to my room, my brother knocked, "What!?" I opened it and asked him.
"Some guests are downstairs for you."
What? Me? Did those stupid boys dare to come to my parents' house? I quickly ran downstairs, but I stopped in my tracks as I met some really unfamiliar faces.
I was ushered to come into the living room properly by my mum, with a smile spread across her face. My mum's smile to me always comes from either her pretending or her proposing something I hate. Just like the time I was introduced to the psychiatrist, and the woman said I had schizophrenia because I said I was being instructed to do certain things by a voice. I almost believed it, even if the voice kept laughing at my stupidity. I wanted to get rid of it. I was taking all the medicines—so many pills that didn't work. At some point, my parents claimed I was getting rid of the medicine. They hardly ever believed me, but you won't blame them; I don't have the best past record. They had to do a test, and it was all in my system, just not working, so I had to stop. I even did CBT therapy. That's the bigger joke.
I hope they didn't invite another stupid doctor here or scammer in the form of a religious person claiming to have the cure to my madness. At this point, I can only assume it's a village person who is doing this to me. I know I am not mentally deranged; the voice is real.
I greet everyone in the living room as I stand at the side, listening to whatever has led these unknown people to be gathered in front of the living room.
"So this is Mr. and Mrs. Benedict; they run a special programme where they take in troubled teenagers and correct them. They run a correctional facility, but they don't like to call it that."
I could feel the rage build up in me. "What the fuck is wrong with you people? I am not troubled; nothing is wrong with me. Why do you guys hate me this much? I don't even know these strangers who you want to send me to!"
My mum stands up calmly; I can see the tears forming in her eyes. She slowly and gently holds me, pulling me close. "My baby girl, it's for the best; you know we love you." In anger, at this point, I think this was just anger from me; I pushed her with all the hatred and anger in me. It forces her to almost slip.
"No, you don't!" I yell at the top of my voice. In one swift motion, a loud, stifling slap lands on my face. "Are you stupid? Go upstairs, pack whatever you think you need; you're leaving with them."
I laugh out loud, "See what I'm talking about? I don't even want to fucking live here! So I'll be doing that with every pleasure in me!"
My dad gets even more pissed, and without all my essentials, I am chased out of his house. Not even my phone is lucky enough to go to this weird place with me.
Zimbabwe POV
This one is totally not my fault; this is what I say about her growing wings. See how she disrespected her parents. I like this place! Now we have to go to some farmland owned by weird-looking people, tagging it as a correctional facility. I look at the coupled face, and there's this mysterious look that I can't quite put a conclusion to. They look weird; am I the only one seeing this? Something is weird about these people, and I am not liking it at all. I watch as Malaika enters the car seat, and they give her this smile that doesn't come off as anything pleasant but more of a mystery. And as usual, Malaika rolls her eyes. I tell her that something is weird, and she just yells, "Shut the fuck up, you put me in this mess," and I get pissed off. What does she get for being so disrespectful? I've had enough of this shit; we are going through an ongoing battle in our heads, and the crazy correctional facility ladies drive full force into a pole. What the actual fuck! Another accident, and all goes pitch black.