MEMORIES FLOOD 3
Her innocence has been taken forcefully from her.
She woke up the next morning feeling disoriented.
Pain shot through her whole body. She tried to sit up but the migraine shot her straight back to bed.
Lying down, the events of the previous night replayed in her mind, after been forced to bed, everything else was bizarre.
She couldn't remember how it went but she knew fully well what had happened.
Hot tears streamed down her face.
The room was silent, hence she knew she was alone.
She resented everybody.
Her mom
Her father
Even her creator.
Her father had lied to her. He had managed to make that year the worst year of all.
Who can she say this to? ...that her father had offered her up to a pedophile.
She cried hard, pounding against her chest. The pain she felt did not come from the blows, but from somewhere much deeper inside her—raw, suffocating, and hard to breathe through.
She managed to drag herself up and started picking up her dress from where he had left it.
As soon as she finished dressing, a door she hadn't noticed opened gently. It was separate from the one she and her dad had come in through.
A young lady came in, dressed in the white and black plain uniform for maids.
"Good morning," she said softly, almost inaudibly. Her eyes were sunken, she looked like someone who has seen many things and knew many things.
Fatimah looked at her with red swollen eyes.
What was good about the morning?
She mumbled quietly to herself.
The woman, whom she later came to know as Dorris, knew better than to press her in any way.
She brought fresh new clothes and pointed towards a mirror, for her to go and freshen up. Fatimah looked at the woman then to where she pointed.
It looked like a very large normal dressing mirror, with its rectangular frame fitting into the walls.
Is she to look at the mirror and freshen up?
Just as she was still wondering, the maid picked up a remote and pointed it towards the mirror and in an instant, the mirror slid aside, revealing a large restroom,from where she stood, she could see the large bathtub in there, big enough to fit in multiple people. She thought to herself, someone could die in there and no one would know.
"Do you want to go out like that?" the maid's voice pulled her back into the room, pointing at her dress.
She looked down at the dress and noticed it was torn at several places. She had dressed up absentmindedly not noticing it before.
"Hurry up, My lady... the chairman wants to see you."
Anger built up in her. The chairman, yes she would see but firstly she really needed to change.
Uncomfortable pain shot through her from under. She limped into the bathroom and changed into the cloth the maid had brought.
The room wall was all-glass. She was just noticing it and from inside she could see what was going on outside but from outside noone could see the inside. Seemed it was a one-way mirror. She had no time to appreciate all these as her resentment continued to fuel her anger.
The maid took her through a series of hallways and they were soon at the elevator —the same one she had taken the night before.
The maid used an access card and pressed the 5F button.
They emerged at the fifth floor of the building.
Following the maid's lead, they passed through an office that indicated the receptionists'.
A lady was seated there, she just nodded at the maid and they proceeded into the chairman's office.
On entering, the maid alerted their presence.
Her father was standing, viewing the world below through the glass wall. Smoke puffed out, escaping backward towards them. He raised one hand to dismiss the maid.
Without a word, the maid bowed and turned to leave.
Fatimah watched as the maid left and turned back to face her father.
Smokes....
So her father smoked.
She had never seen this side of her father and was sure this was totally not the same person she had once adored and shared little secrets with.
Her father met her gaze and smiled.
Her anger boiled over.
Tears streamed down in fast currents.
Her chest tightening painfully.
"Dad, how could you do that to me?"
"Why? Why? Why?"
"I— hate— you."
All through her outburst, her father just stared coldly, his gaze uncaring.
Slowly he walked towards her. His gaze sent cold shivers down her spine despite feeling anger towards him.
She stepped back as he walked towards her. Soon he had her conered against the wall.
Slowly, he deliberately moved his finger from her chin tracing it to the back of her head before forcefully grabbing her hair.
Fatimah yelped in pain as she was forced to look up.
"Teemah girl—" he started menacingly. "—you ought to be a good girl and be grateful you were chosen."
Chosen....what does he mean.
The smell of smoke enveloped her making her coughed harshly.
He tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her to look straight back at him.
"—now, be a good girl and keep your lips tight. If you make mention of anything that happened here to your mother or anyone—" he paused allowing each word to sink in.
"—You should be ready to face the consequences."
He then yanked her to the floor.
Destabilized, her vision blurred. It took her a moment before she could process everything that just happened.
None of it makes sense.
This man was her father, the one she knew so well.
Or so she thought.
She raised her head to look at her father, he was behind his desk now —seated.
Fear gripped her.
Panic shot through her.
This man meant business with her.
He made a series of calls but they were droned out by her thought.
Her father had arranged for her to be sent home. A man clad in a suit was waiting for her as she left his office. He was to drive her home.
Fatimah followed him absentmindedly. She didn't know when they had reached the lobby. It was not as loud and crowded as the night before, not that it mattered to her. It was as if she was walking blindly, just following the lead of the driver ahead.
"Huhn!"
She groaned in pain as she fell to the floor.
She had unknowingly collided with a boy.
The boy stretched his hand towards her, offering to help her up.
She glanced at the boy. He was offering her a hand wearing a worried smile. The boy contrasted with everything she was feeling at the moment.
He was casually dressed and looked to be a little bit older than her. His presence spoke of subtle warmth and confidence.
"Are you okay?"
He bent low to her level and offered her a handkerchief.
She didn't realize tears had been streaming down her face.
She took the handkerchief and hurriedly stood up.
...
Her father's driver was by her side now.
"Are you okay Ms."
She ignored the man and wanted to utter thanks to the boy, but the driver hurriedly pulled her towards the entrance.
He didn't even give her the chance to return the boy's handkerchief.
At the entrance, she looked back and saw the boy looking at her too —probably wondering about what had just happened.
She mouthed —thank you, hoping the boy would hear her inauble appreciation.
She was then driven home —broken and more distant.
After the first time, it never stopped.
Her dilemma continued.