"Sometimes, the most brutal chains are the ones that exist in the mind, and no matter how far you run, they follow you everywhere."
Unknown
I was eating my last piece of toast when I heard his voice…the voice of the devil.
Ibrahim.
I looked out and saw him strolling into the house, talking on his mobile phone.
How dare he show his face after the horrible thing he had done? I walked to the door and watched him as he talked and laughed so casually, not acting like he had the blood of six innocent people on his hands.
"zeynep, you look so beautiful this morning," he remarked as he got off the phone, a coy smile on his face. "I asked after you yesterday but was told you were…indisposed."
I glared at him, hating him with every fibre of my being, wanting to claw out his eyeballs. He knew exactly what had confined me there.
"Such a shame about that gardener
boy…Jason. Was that his name?" he asked, his smile mocking.
And I saw red.
I rushed at him, grabbing him by the shirt. "You are a killer! You are a cold-blooded killer! You're going to rot in jail for what you did! You won't go scot-free –"
In one swift movement, he pushed me, sending flying across the room. Before I could even regain my composure, he stormed over and grabbed me by the hair.
"Who do you think you're talking to? Have you lost your mind?" he shouted, his temple throbbing in his rage. "Is it because I've been indulging your sauciness, you think you have the nerve to talk to me like that?"
"Let go of me!" I screamed, struggling in vain to get out of his lethal grip. "Leave me alone, you monster!! Demon!"
His fist landed on my face with such force, it felt like his hand had passed through my brain. This was swiftly followed by another punch, and then another, and then another. I heard the sickening crack of bone and knew he had broken my nose…or cheekbone…or both.
I struggled, hands flailing as I tried to escape his attack, so reminiscent of old times…but yet so much worse.
When he let go of me, I tried to scramble to my feet so that I could escape his incensed presence…but my legs failed me.
"Look at this prostitute thinking she can talk to me anyhow!" Ibrahim said, whipping off his belt and lashing me across the face. "You filthy dog, sleeping with my father's gardener, you have the nerve to insult me? When you should be covering your face in shame?"
He kept on flogging me with his belt, lashing indiscriminately, not caring where his large buckle hit. "But what should we expect from the daughter of a prostitute? You would be turning tricks on the streets of India if my father and I hadn't rescued you from that life!"
As I screamed, I tasted blood, which was flowing freely from my nose and mouth. There were angry red lines all over my arms, and from the stinging on my neck and back, I knew those places hadn't been spared either.
" Please, leave her!" Fidelia cried, rushing out of the kitchen. She was the only one brave enough to confront him, as the others were cowering in the kitchen.
Incensed, he sent the belt flying her away, hitting her on the chest. With an anguished yelp, she ran back into the kitchen, shutting the door securely behind her.
Using this distraction, I tried to crawl to the staircase, but he grabbed me by my shoulders and dragged me up. With his hands digging deep into the back of my head, he rammed my face into the wall repeatedly. I could feel my strength dissipating. I could feel life seeping out of my body. I knew I would die if I didn't fight him. But I couldn't. I had nothing left in me.
" He will kill her, " came Madam Maria wailed, as she ran in from the back door. She dropped her bag of groceries and pushed him off me. "It's enough! . Leave this poor child alone!"
My relief was short lived as he released his hold of me and grabbed madam Maria by her neck, throwing her with such force, she crashed onto a nearby console, sending the ceramic table and its glass flower vase crashing to the ground. She lay on the ground, face down, and I was scared that he had inflicted on her irreparable harm.
I turned around to try to run away, but he grabbed my dress from behind, ripping it open from top to bottom. I gasped in horror as the destroyed piece of fabric fell off my body, leaving me clad in only my underwear.
"You are a public toilet! There is no part of you that is worth any form of decency. No part of you that the whole world has not eaten and spat out!" he snarled, tearing apart my bra from the bridge.
I stood there sobbing as the bra fell off me and did nothing to stop him as he did the same to my panties, tugging at them until the flimsy lace fabric dropped to my knees, leaving me stark naked in the hallway.
"Whore!" he spat at me, before storming out of the house.
I just remained there, crying, not even having it in me to run away to cover my shame, to hide my nakedness.
The kitchen door opened, and the domestic staff filed out, some of them to madam maria's aid and some to mine.
It felt like I was watching them from a faraway place, as a blanket was flung across my body. I was whisked to the dining room, where my wounds were cleaned and tended to. I didn't even have it in me to be ashamed of the fact that my nakedness had been exposed for the entire household to see.
Ibrahim had succeeded in killing my already broken spirit.
Flex carried me to my bedroom, closely followed by Sophia, one of the younger maids.
As we ascended the stairs, I saw that there were tears in the older man's eyes. Having been there when I was brought as a young bride from India, he was very protective of me, and I knew he felt helpless over not being able to save me from all the mess I'd had to endure over the years, culminating in Ibrahim's brutal attack on me that morning. But he wasn't the only helpless one. We all were.
"Rest your body," Sophia said, pulling my cover sheet over me after helping me into a nightgown. "I will check on you in a few hours. Rest, so your body can heal."
"What about madam maria?" I asked, my voice raspy. "Is she okay? And Fidelia?"
"They are both fine," Flex answered. "Don't worry about them. Focus on taking care of yourself."
They left shortly after, leaving me lying on my bed, battered and broken. I shut my eyes, but sleep would not come. And when my eyes were open, the pain I felt was overwhelming.
As silent tears streamed from my eyes, stinging as they made their journey down my face, I wondered why I had returned to this hell on earth. Yes, India had been bad…but it couldn't have been this bad. This wasn't life.
It was perdition.