Twisted
“Baba, I can file a case against you.”
“What did you just verbalise?”
“I need you to get her out of the room, anyhow.”
He dropped the call.
wounds heal with time, they said, but mine are like deep caves in perpetual darkness. Back then, I was the scapegoat child in the narcissistic family, and now, I’m the therapist my parents use to vent about each other. Mom and dad have been together through thick and thin, but I recollect optically discerning them blissfully once in a blue moon.
“You need to talk with your mom.”
“Is everything alright?”
“We just argued over something trivial, and she locked herself in the room.”
“Okay, I will call her.”
Traumatic memories flashed through my mind. They keep encoring again and again. I still remember those days of them finding something doltish to argue over in the middle of a trivial conversation. she would lock herself in a dark room for days. With a plate full of food in one hand and a glass of water in the other, I would beg her to open the door. But she would menace me with her words about hurting herself.
“Answer the call.” “Answer the call, mom.” I kept murmuring until she picked up and said, “Hello.” “Mom, what happened?” I asked. She raged, “Nothing, go to sleep.” She dropped the call. I could not sleep that night.
In the Morning, dad called me again.
“Hello, did you call her?”
“Yes, I did. But she did not talk with me.”
“Okay, please call her again after the class and ask her to eat something.”
“Sure.”
Time passed, but nothing changed. From the day they got espoused to the day I passed high school. He keeps torturing her, and she keeps tolerating them. “Why don’t you divorce him?” “why are you still with him?” “Let’s run away.” I keep insisting on her, and she keeps me denying it with the exact two words, “I can’t.”
I called her again. 10 missed calls then she received my ring.
“Hello, mom?” “Mom, Please talk with me.”
“What should I say?” “There’s nothing.”
“Mom, please get out of the room.” “Please eat something.” “I can’t see you like this.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Mom, what happened?” “Why are you doing this?”
After a few minutes, she whimpered, “He slapped me, pretty.” “He slapped me without my any fault”, She added. “He was full of hatred when I saw the devil in his eyes.” “If he had a knife in his hand, he would have stabbed and cut me into pieces.”
Within a minute, a thousand thoughts ran through my mind. I could not utter a word. A flood of tears gushed down my ashen cheeks. These words can only give a glimpse of the incident but can never express my unendurable pain. I felt like yelling my heart out, but I remained silent, trying to act strong and heartless. I found myself as helpless as a lamb in the hands of a butcher. I get paranoid. Sometimes, I feel lost in the middle of the day, at work, in class or in my room. I wake up for hours at night doing nothing and thinking aimlessly. I feel like stopping everything, the world, the people around me and my life. I feel numb.
“Why did you lie?” “It was not just an argument, right?” “Mom told me everything.”
“It was just a slap.”
“Just a slap?” “Baba, I can file a case against you.”
“What did you just verbalise?”
“I need you to get her out of the room, anyhow.”
He dropped the call.
After two days,
“Hello.”
“Why did you ignore my calls?” “where’s mom?” “Is she alright?”
“Yes, she is fine.” “She’s in the kitchen, I’m passing the phone to her.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear.” “How are you?”
“Mom, are you alright?” “What are you doing?”
“Yes, dear. I’m fine. I’m making dinner.”
I heard them chuckling in the background. I got a deja vu.
