After swallowing 5 pills, I was hit again. The torture never seemed to end in this house. Every one of them loved abusing me as if it was some sort of sport. Maybe it gave them a sensation of thrill, or maybe they just loved seeing me hurt. It's not as if I could do anything anyway, all I'd have to do was cope until it's all over.
My brother, Mike, walked in with a stern look. "Did you clean my room?" He asked quietly as he stared down at my short frame covered in a tattered dress. At 5'5, I had nothing on him, he could pick me up and fling me across the room. Something that had happened before, and I tried to avoid.
I gulped harshly before finding the voice to speak, "Yes, I did." I hid my hand at my back, picking at my thumb's cuticle with my pointer finger. "It doesn't look clean," he marched forward, pulling my hair back and forcing me to look up at him. "Go clean it again." He bellowed, he was scary when he did that.
"Bu-but, I spent all my time this morning cleaning it," I murmured weakly as my heart sank to my stomach. Before I could comprehend what was happening, a palm struck my cheek brutally. I winced in pain, staggering backward as I cupped my cheek with my hand. It felt like the heat of a thousand suns was pricking at my skin, as tears slid down my face.
"Go. Clean. My. Room." He stormed off, his fists clenched, a telltale sign of his dastardly anger.
This always happened, I'd be pushed around like a mutt, like a slave. If I don't do what is ordered of me, they resort to hitting me. My mum, dad, even brother.
I slipped out of the room, taking a look at my reflection in the corridor's mirror. My cheek had turned a dark hue of red, and there was an obvious palm mark on my face.
I trudged to his room, sweeping it clean and re-organizing the things he had scattered. By the time I came back out, he was in the corridor and entered his room. I paced around in front of my bedroom door, to see if he was going to come out again, but after 5 minutes of waiting, he didn't show.
Just before I slipped into my room, I heard the front door of the house open. It was very creaky, sitting on its hinges for a while now, and certainly loud enough for the whole house to hear. The house itself was rickety and old, falling apart at the seams, just like my life…
It was a foreign voice, deep and husky. I didn't want to peep, that would've been rude of me and would warrant punishment, but I couldn't help it. Making sure the coast was clear, I tiptoed to the edge of the living room's door, pushing the door slightly open. The strange person immediately caught my eye. Though he was sitting on the couch, I could tell he was quite tall. He wore a fancy, navy blue suit and spoke calmly. His voice seemed so soothing that I could listen to it all day, I didn't even focus on what he was saying, but I caught a few words, like 'sell' and 'money'.
I might've stayed at the door too long because the door swung open in full force.
"Oh!" Mother looked surprised before her expression changed to one of softness. I was confused since anger was one of her main expressions towards me. She ushered me away from the doorway and into the living room, "Just the person we were looking for…" She smiled gently, as I sat across from the handsome man.
"Ali, this is Zahra, my lovely daughter." Mother said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder affectionately. My nose wrinkled in annoyance, as I glanced at Father relaxed on his resting chair.
So, his name is Ali.
It sounded so nice, and he looked so dreamy.
I timidly looked into his eyes, pitch black. The way he looked at me, he was literally staring into my soul. I looked away, still confused as to why Mother called for me.
"Zahra, he's here with a proposal." Mother squealed in delight.
"What is it?" I asked, an eyebrow raised.
"He wants your hand in marriage."
Wait, what?
"Huh?" An expression of confusion spread across my face. Marriage? Already??
I smiled silently at Ali, as I clenched my hands together in my lap, picking at my cuticles once again. I had peeled them back so hard that pools of blood had started to form beneath my nails.
Maybe he was my Prince Charming, my escape from this terrible, horrible house. I wanted to escape, I wanted to get away, and maybe this was my chance.
Thank the Gods.
Ali stood up, straightening his suit, and smiling warmly, "Lovely to meet you."
"Pack your bags and we shall be on our way."
I rushed into my room and frantically threw clothes into my luggage box. Underwear, dresses, skirts, even my tattered shoes. Once I was done, I made sure I packed up my diary, and other essentials. The suitcase was filled to the brim once I was done with it, but I managed to zip it up by sitting on it to compress it.
I dragged my suitcase into the living room, as Mother, Father, and Ali conversed along. I was glad I was leaving. Good riddance to them all…All the torture I'd endured would finally come to an end. Maybe this was going to be my happily ever after.
As they ended their conversation, Ali took my hand gently, grabbing my suitcase with the other. "Shall we?" I nodded, opening the door and stepping outside.
Freedom. That's what it felt like. I inhaled deeply as I took a step towards the luxurious car, parked in front of our not-so-elegant house.
This wasn't home. I was going home with my Prince Charming, unaware of the consequences that I would face.