Chapter 17
"No lover leaves a rose garden without blood on their hands"
Mitch Nihilist
"zeynep!"
it was a noun, a verb, and an exclamation all at once.
I looked away, unable to face him, unable to look at the pained expression on Yusuf's Face.
"And there you were planning to drive all the way to India to see her," Ibrahim chuckled. "Looks like you've saved a trip!"
"You're my dad's wife?" yusuf's voice conveyed every emotion he must have been feeling; shock, pain, disappointment, and confusion.
"You're the one who married my father?" He glared at Ibrahim before turning back to look at me. "And you're sleeping with him?"
"Let me leave you two lovebirds to catch up," Ibrahim sniggered, putting on his shirt. "I'm sure you have a lot to 'talk' about. And apologies, dear brother. I couldn't deliver all those letters you sent to her, for obvious reasons."
"Was this why you had me come home before dad ? So I would see you with her?"
"Like I said, baby brother, I only wanted to save you from an unnecessary trip to India," Ibrahim answered, barely able to contain his satisfaction.
"And I wouldn't nurse any ideas of getting a share of the pie, if I were you. Dad and I have a difficult enough timeshare as it is."
Ibrahim's evil laughter rang in the hallway long after he'd left.
If I had a knife, I just might have stabbed him in the chest, with a special focus on his vile heart.
"This has got to be a nightmare!" ibrahim said, still transfixed to the spot.
"This can't be real. Since I left home at the beginning of the year, all I've been dreaming about is returning to you. All I have thought about is you. All I have longed for is coming back home for you."
"yusuf…"
"And then I come home to see that you are the teenage bride my father has taken," he continued.
"How could I have read you so wrong?"
"I swear, it's not what you think," I said, getting out of bed, using the bed sheet to cover my nakedness. "I had no choice. My mother died, and my family was... We were sinking when your father came with the proposition to help us but only on the condition that I married him. I truly had no choice ."
"Is that right?" he remarked sardonically, his eyes hardening. "And what about my brother? What reason do you have for having him in your bed?"
I stared back, not able to tell him about the circumstances that had indeed led Ibrahim to my bed, unable to tell him how he had not only raped me but stolen my virginity, unable to say how I'd been forced to continue sleeping with him because of my fear of being thrown out of the house or, worse, my brother's education being stopped.
How could I articulate all that into anything that was sensible to say?
But my silence proved detrimental.
"I thought you were an angel from heaven, a spotless jewel," he finally said. "Do you know how many letters I wrote you while I was away? Forty-two. I literally wrote you a new one every week.
I had them sent to Ibrahim, as he was the only one I trusted to give them to you," his eyes hardened.
"He's been 'giving it to you' alright."
My nostrils flared, and I found myself suddenly angered. I straightened and looked him in the eye.
"Don't talk to me like that!"
"I'll talk to you any way I want, zeynep !" he retorted. "You're nothing but a dirty prostitute. A dirty animal. A dirty rag."
My fingernails dug into my palms in my fast escalating anger.
How dare he just stand there and throw nasty words at me? He didn't know even half of what I'd had to go through.
"Welcome home. I hope you enjoy your holiday," I managed to say, before stepping back and shutting the door firmly in his face, locking it securely.
"zeynep! Zeynep m, I'm not done talking to you!" he shouted, pounding on the door.
I ignored him and returned to my bed, pulling the sheets well above my head to drown the noise.
I already had more than enough gloom to wallow in.
I didn't need to add another layer to it.
Eventually, the knocking stopped, but sleep could not find me, no matter how hard I tried. It was the cruel end to one of the fantasies I'd been secretly nursing; of yusuf, my love, rescuing me like a knight in shining armour.
I used to dream of him coming home and being so angered by what his father and brother had done to me, that he would engage them in a duel, before whisking me away, far away from here, where we would live happily ever after.
Not in one of those fantasies had he caught me in bed with ibrahim.
I knew his anger was valid, especially if he had been thinking of, and longing for, me for as long as I'd been longing for him.
But the situation was what it was, and I was sick and tired of being branded the harlot responsible for it all.
Eventually, I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, not rising until it was well past noon. I had a shower, dressed up, and went downstairs to see what I could find to eat.
As much as I dreaded the thought of seeing Yusuf again, I was not going to remain cooped up in my room because of him.
I was ready to allow whatever that was going to happen with him being home for the holidays, happen.
"You're finally awake," madam Maria remarked, walking into the dining room. " How are you feeling?"
I shrugged, knowing full well what she was referring to but never again wanting to acknowledge it.
The abortion was something I never wanted to remember, let alone speak of ever again.
"Do you want to eat something?" she asked. "We still have some akara from breakfast, but I could also dish you some rice I just boiled for lunch."
"When did Yusuf get home?" I asked, wanting to know how I'd missed it.
She smiled. "You've met him? What do you think? Much better than that nasty Ibrahim, abi? Yusuf is a darling boy. A real gentleman!"
"When did he get home?" I repeated my question, firmer this time.
She picked up on my tone and gave me a quizzical look accompanied by a shrug. "Late yesterday. He said something about Ibrahim asking him to get here so they could go somewhere important today. The minister will return later today."
My mouth formed a grim line, the realisation that Ibrahim had set the whole thing up. He knew about everything.
He set it up for Yusuf to catch us in bed red-handed and got exactly what he wanted.
Thankfully, madam Maria didn't persist, and when she left to get my food, I couldn't help but be angry with myself.
Madam Maria herself had told me they would be home for Christmas, so I too should have been on my guard, expecting their arrival any minute.
But I'd let my despondency not only let me lose track of time, but also make me sloppy.
It would have been much easier justifying my marriage to his father, but explaining why Ibrahim and I were in bed together would be a very hard sell.
But there was no more point in that.
After eating the very delicious meal of boiled rice and native curry, I decided to return to my bedroom to read a book or something. But as I walked past the living room, a pair of strong hands pulled me inside.
Was this finally death?