"Broken wings fall from my back."



27

"Sorry for the unannounced visit again, I just miss you."

We recently arrived at my mother's place and sat in her beautifully polished backyard. The colourful flowers surrounding were reflections off the sun letting all the greenery bloom. I sat soaking in breathable fresh air and the scenery, while the heavy load of what is my life seems far too evident to me.

"Why apologies? It's fine, Reign would you like a drink? It's fresh juice." I looked to the ground trying to avoid his hard on and off glares.

"Sure I appreciate it." He was sat beside me a little cold. The atmosphere was odd, being in my mom's presence almost seems temperamental.

She nodded turning to me, "perfeita, Amina come help."

Without hesitating I followed her into the house for the open kitchen, she came to a halt stopping me in my tracks. My mother faced me holding my arms tightly and concern crossed her.

She hummed sighing, "Are you okay?"

I flinched a brow aiming to hold my facial exterior together, "Yes?"

My mother is not stupid. She shook her head not buying my failing attempts of being in denial.

"I might sound louco (crazy) but I have a-ah feeling it's not good." She glanced behind me where Reign is seated outside. Her notion reeks. Once she's able to spot signs of guilt it will forever be one of her priorities.

I dodged her eyes moving around to grab cups, "What do you speak of?"

"Maybe I am louco, but ah- is this relationship going good for you?"

My only wish is to share what's going on, but I choose to keep her in the dark than have her murdered because of me. For that reason I will continue to suffer in silence, and pray a day of peace comes.

I kept my head down, filling the glasses with juice. "Of course I'm okay. You know I'm just... I don't know—" My words trailed off, lost in the moment.

I found myself mesmerized by the steady stream of juice pouring from the jug. Some things, you look back on and smile. My mom used to bake and make fresh juice after one of the intense fights with my dad. Animosity had a home in our house, lingering in the air at unspeakable levels throughout my entire childhood.

I set the jug down and, unable to hold it back any longer, threw my head back, letting a tear or two slip free.

"All I want is the best. Your dad was not good at sharing feelings but we both are proud."

"I worked so hard. I suffered, trying to be the perfect daughter, only for him to die without ever truly noticing me. He passed, and then you left me, too. You can walk away and have nothing more to do with him, but I still carry the weight of being his daughter—burdened by all these built-up feelings!"

The words hit me, and for a moment, I felt something shift inside. My body felt lighter, as if a part of me was finally being set free. In that instant, I saw him through my mother's eyes—but also as his daughter. A young girl, desperately yearning for her father's attention, pleading for him to show up at her ballet recital, heartbroken when he never came to her graduations, never even glancing at her report card.

We both no longer love my father, and damn I'm angry that I'll never get my childhood back.

Feeling defeated I sighed, "He mentally fucked me up."

She raised her hand for her heart, "I am sorry but I can't accept regret. I wouldn't have you, você é inteligente e estou orgulhoso de tudo que você fez (you're smart and I'm proud of everything you've done)."

"I want for you to find love and be happy." She sadly smiled.

I choose not to be weak. "He's a complete monster."

I felt her worry when she begun to walk on egg shells, "your dad ma—,"

"FUCK HIM!" I screamed grabbing a cup launching it letting the glass shatter against the wall. I aggressively pointed to door, trying to keep my voice down, "He's the devil."

"What happened." She tried to keep some peace, but this is no tranquility when comes down to how he lives his life.

I shuddered lowering my voice but still enraged, "T-this is far worse than a nightmare. He is violent, a ticking time bomb when disrespected. He is beyond possessive so much as if he doesn't get his way he becomes explosive. Reign killed a girl with a bullet to the head. I was pregnant..." She was looking off at something until that called for her.

You could tell she was terrified, but beneath the fear, there was an overwhelming sense of misery and guilt in her body language.

I broke down, my face wet with fresh tears that slowly began to trail down my neck. "I had no other option but to have an abortion. Mom... I've been kidnapped, held against my will."

The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken between us for a long moment. I was panting, trying to catch my breath as I wiped my face, still reeling from the weight of what I had just confessed. My mother was silent—mute, almost as if frozen in place. She quietly reached for the glasses, refilling them with a practiced calmness.

I watched her carefully, unsure of what was going through her mind. She placed the glasses on a tray and took it in her hands, her movements slow and deliberate. I stood there, confused, unable to read the expression on her face, wondering what she was thinking.

"This did not happen yes?" She was stern as if she couldn't look at me, but for a second I caught her glimpse of reassurance. I held on to the small hope of her understanding. "Go, dry your face I will bring this outside."

Mom turned her back to me walking off like I didn't just pour my entire energy into being vulnerable.

I made fists wanting to smack my head feeling stupid, merely frustrated I unclenched them taking deep breaths going for the bathroom. I put my face under the cold water letting it run.

I picture dividing into sea but having no interests in swimming.

What was that about? I should know screaming hasn't done much anyway. I wanted to believe today called it quits for me entirely. If this wasn't dangerous before this is severely life threatening.

There comes a point where I feel like I'm waiting for something that isn't going to happen, like my freedom. My efforts of wanting to feel normal or making something of my situation is tiresome. I patted my face dry to see my tired reflection how depressing I looked it was awful.

Deciding to let myself silently cry in the towel, all I wanted to disappear off the face of the earth.

After a long while, I found the strength to lift my head, and immediately the smell of something burnt hit me. For clarity, I sniffed the towel again, confirming it wasn't just my imagination.

I tossed it in the laundry, not giving it much thought. But my mind was racing, overwhelmed by a flood of unwanted emotions. As if the weight of it all wasn't enough, I unexpectedly opened the door—only to be met by the terrifying sight of cackling flames, glowing ominously before me.

Smoke rushed to the ceiling as the flames climbed the walls, a chaotic dance of destruction. I stood frozen, hearing the groans of the wood, its desperate cries for help filling the air. My mouth hung open in disbelief. There was a fire, burning fiercely inside my mother's home.

What have I done? The thought echoed in my mind, each word heavier than the last.

My back hit the wall until I fell against it. The fire progressed the smoke grew immensely. The smell so strong its burning my nose targeting my throat, my skin hot from the heat. I blinked away the expanding fire, but it was inevitable—I was here in a burning house no clear way out.

I tried calling out for my mother and Reign, but it was pointless, inhaling such toxic chemicals became damaging. Time slowed, and the darkness began to close in on me like heavy curtains.

•••

My eyes snap open, darkness flooded in, I knew something was wrong because I got binocular vision, dark around the edges, two circles of vision in the centre peaking through thin lines. Nausea swarmed my senses in clots making me dizzy all over again, I held back my vomit.

A chill breeze cut through the air, making every inch of my skin shiver uncontrollably. I was naked, my body weak as I thrashed helplessly, trapped in what felt like a tall, confining locker. My shoulders pressed tightly against the cold metal walls, unable to move. My hands were bound with rope, tied in front of me, restricting any chance of escape.

The weakness in my knees ached, a dull reminder of how long I'd been standing. Time had lost all meaning, and I couldn't tell how much had passed.

"I was getting lonely," I heard his voice, unmistakable and chilling, though I couldn't see him. I squinted, trying to peer through the narrow gaps in the cage. I was painfully aware that I was trapped in a tall, narrow prison, just barely fitting inside its cold metal confines.

My throat still burned, a lingering reminder of the smoke. The images of the fire rushed into my mind, suffocating me.

Mom!

"Reign m-my mother is s-she okay?" I winced at the pain of my voice.

"There's a thrill in you Amina, you thrive off testing my fucking waters, and luckily for you I enjoy teaching. Your mother was a nice lady, it is sad I didn't get to try her freshly squeezed juice."

I'm exhausted, would time be to so kind to rewind. The echos of loss started already taunting me. To weak to scream I can't continue to bare this unimaginable pain from betrayal and hurt from humans.

I've been spiritually stabbed multiple times, I'm suffering. My head losing balance smacking against the metal wall. Silent tears fell from my desperately squeezed eyes. My words no longer have meaning it turned into breathy moans until it became unrecognisable, my breath starts to hitch.

"Here I thought you were smart." My chest heaving, my knees burned I can't move I'm physically and mentally trapped in a cage. "You should know what happens when you disobey me."

"You will stay here and you won't make a fucking sound." He whispered and then he was gone soundless.

The silence is torturous, standing shoulder to shoulder in a locker for hours felt death sentencing. He's keeping me here to live in my head about how he set that fire killing my mother in the process.

If things couldn't get any worse I couldn't catch my puke this time, my built up insides fought its way past my lips landing everywhere. The vile smell reached my nose making me gag more. A prisoner standing in her own filth, and death as her thoughts. I squeezed my face sobbing striving to empty my mind.

I need a miracle, I'm passed broken.

•••

I've never been good at leaving things behind. I tried, but I always left fragments of myself in the past, like seeds scattered, waiting for the chance to grow. That wasn't the last conversation I wanted to have with my mother. Our relationship had been strong before she left me for Brazil, but now... it felt like I had lost something I could never get back.

Life is a strange thing. You meet people, love them, lose them, and sometimes, you never see them again—whether it's because you part ways or because they're gone for good. And sadly, there's nothing you can do about it. Love... love is the most painful kind of hope there is. In the back of your mind, you hold on, hoping they'll love you back, hoping it's enough. Hatred, on the other hand, would be easier. With it, you wouldn't care. There's never going to be enough time had with the ones you lose. I don't think I ever truly felt lonely until now.

I painfully twisted my body, my knees were sore my joints felt numb. My hands are restrained together, I hissed at the sting from the rope, I was desperate to sit down. Unaware of anyone being in the space the door to the cage opened, my eyes squinted at the small amount of light.

"Step out."

I tried to move, but my frail legs betrayed me, trembling uncontrollably. I humiliatingly collapsed face-first onto the ground. My body was a mess, shaky and defenseless. Saliva slipped from the corner of my mouth, and I was still covered in dried-up vomit, the disgusting remnants of my own weakness.

I never imagined I could feel so revolted by myself.

"Why must you not listen?" Reign's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. He helped me up by my arm, lifting me with surprising ease. I felt like I weighed nothing as he guided me into a seat, forcing me to sit on my heels with my back to him.

I wanted to sleep for a thousand years, to escape the humiliation, the exhaustion, the despair. But I knew I couldn't. Not here. Not with him.

I tried to plead, but my voice was nonexistent it's still sore. I flinched once I felt his hands move my hair to kiss my back, one after the other down my spine, but little did I know he was preparing me for his wicked wrath.

"Hold your breath baby."

My back was struck once by something leather, the sting settled, then another, and another.

I squeezed my eyes jumping forward weakly bracing impact. It kept going until his panting ceased to low. I lost count after twenty one. I couldn't beg or plead for mercy, I don't have the strength to use my voice. I breathed through the bruises and pain. Trembling from head to toe throughout the sadistic process.

Snot crept from my nose, mingling with the tears I couldn't stop. I could feel the rawness of my wounds, like they were opening up, fresh and unhealed.

The inability to move was suffocating, my back stinging as though I'd been lying on hot charcoal, or like someone was twisting a screw deep into my spine. The pain was so sharp, so relentless, it sent a wave of dizziness through me, triggering a pounding headache that made everything feel like it was closing in more so worrisome.

The brutal action finally ended, and the heavy weight on my chest shifted, morphing into a raw power I hadn't known I still had. My piercing scream broke free, a release of everything I'd been holding in, as I cried my heart out.

So this is my life now, and I no longer have to wonder how or why. I've stopped trying to figure it out. His lips kissed me from my neck down to my sensitive back like he was rewarding me.

I sat limp from the beating, my body too exhausted to resist. My head began to spin, the world around me tilting with every breath. A string of spit hung from my bottom lip.

I imagined a light beginning to flicker behind my eyes, a soft, distant glow that felt like an escape. To think I had just lost my mom—it felt easier, somehow, hopeful to join her. If that's where I'd end up, maybe it would be better than staying here, trapped in this pain.

Gladly, my lights went out. The darkness was a relief, a quiet result from the overwhelming pain and confusion. For a moment, there was nothing—no fear, no suffering, just an emptiness that felt almost peaceful.

•••