***
Eyes flying open, I bolted upright in bed. My heart raced like I'd been in a marathon. Dreaming of that woman's death had become my alarm for the past six months.
Somehow, she'd managed to survive the bullet. Ever since, she'd been confined to her room in the hospital. Although I'd never visited her, Raheem made sure to keep me updated on her recovery, even though we both knew this was the last piece of information I needed.
I couldn't get past the fact that she'd haunted my dreams again. Hadn't I been clear enough when I prayed for a peaceful night rest, with no nightmares of any kind? One would think by now I'd already realized that my prayers were marked as spam.
Once, Cinderella had referred to a dream as a wish our heart makes when we are fast asleep. I could see the truth in this. Whenever I closed my eyes in sleep, my heart made a silent wish that death found that woman somehow. But this would conflict with my original intent for her to stay alive so I wouldn't be alone in my grief.
Six months had passed, and my wish hadn't changed. She had to stay alive and burn in the fire of grief and devastation.
Raheem's face skid across my mind. He would be so torn if he knew the thoughts I had for her. Every day, I tried to understand why he'd developed an interest in her. But nothing made sense.
The hospital had become his second home, a sanctuary where he'd run off to after school. He'd even made several failed attempts to soften my heart concerning her.
Every day, I asked myself why he'd chosen to support her. Even after I'd told him everything, from the map of scars on my body to her two attempts to kill me, he cared for her no less.
Daylight peeked in through the curtains. With school on my mind, I sprang to my feet and rushed through my preparation. I would not go back to being the chronic latecomer that woman had molded me into.
I'd barely even touched my breakfast when someone knocked at the gate. Sighing, I gulped down my cup of tea, strapped on my backpack and dashed outside to meet the driver.
But I found Raheem instead. "You? I mean...what are you doing here?"
Raheem smirked, his trademark expression. "Hello yourself."
I turned away, scanning the street. Why hadn't the driver come yet?
Raheem seemed to hear my unasked question. "Apologies, my lady. But Peter won't be showing up today."
"Why?" I asked.
"Day off, I guess." Spinning his car key around his pointer, he gulped down a chuckle and tilted his head toward his car. "Shall we?"
I dragged myself behind him, thoughts swirling around my mind. He'd contacted my driver and asked him not to show up. His smile gave this away. Obviously, this was his way of getting me to talk to him. Lately, I'd built a bridge between us, because he steered every conversation toward my stepmother, and how he thought it best to go see her.
He held open the door for me to climb in. A transmissible smile crept across his face. And although I wasn't thrilled with his intention of talking me into letting that woman into my life again, I could feel a smile tug at my lips.
Once I'd settled in my seat, he shut the door and moved to his side of the car. Simultaneously, we fastened our seat belts.
For the first few moments of the drive, he kept silent. Although I knew I would soon run out of luck, I said a silent prayer anyway. I prayed he somehow became oblivious to my presence and stayed quiet all through the drive. But as expected, luck deserted me.
"I've been wanting an opportunity like this," he said. "To talk to you."
I looked over my shoulder, and then, back at him. "Where's Farah?"
A near-frown tightened his face. "Will take the bus."
"But why?"
"Is this you trying to change the topic, Victoria Brown?" he asked.
I made no attempt to answer. I drew my gaze to the window, pretending to enjoy the sight of buildings, vehicles and pedestrians blurring in and out of view.
"I thought as much," he said.
I glanced at my watch. Time seemed to be on his side. I'd only spent three minutes with him and it felt like forever. Did we really need to have this conversation? He'd tried over and over in the past, but this topic never got us anywhere.
I could already predict how this would end. It would be no different from his other attempts. He would try to talk me into forgiving her. I would tell him over and over again that I couldn't. I'd remind him of the many times she'd hurt me and how she'd tried to kill me.
Our conversation would end with mutual frustration. Seething, I'd walk away without saying goodbye. Why was he so bent on acting this drama all over again?
"For how long will you keep holding a grudge?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes. "There we go again. I mean...do we have to go through this every single day?"
"I guess it goes on till we are on the same page," he said. "But you just keep fueling your grudge and bitterness. It breaks you. And it breaks me to see you like this."
I made a mental quotation mark around his last two statements. I had gotten myself the perfect Romeo. But with our never ending disagreements, I feared our love story neared its end.
"I'm not holding any grudge," I said.
"Really? Last time I checked, you hadn't even tried to see how she's doing."
"Sorry? Am I supposed to care? Six months ago, I ripped out the part of me that handled emotio..." Pausing midsentence, I clapped an invisible hand to my lips. But the harm had already been done. Eyes drooping, Raheem looked away. His Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to swallow his hurt. With my thoughtless words, I'd driven him to question the genuinity of my feelings for him. Great, Victoria. Just great.
"Your mother is in very bad shape," he said.
"Don't call her my mother," I said. "My mother was nothing like this creature. Oh, and the woman, that beast you're referring to deserves no less. In case you don't remember, she tried to kill me. So don't even ask me to forgive her, because I never will."
My voice had a tone of finality. Couldn't Raheem see that there was no room for softness in the heart I'd spent the past six months hardening?
"I'm not asking you to. I just-" He scratched the nape of his neck, an indication that he'd soon run out of words. "Have you read the letter?"
How could he even ask me that? I'd made it clear from day one that I would not be reading the letter that woman had written just before attempting suicide. But Raheem believed it contained some vital information. Believing I'd let curiosity take the best of me, he'd stored it in my dresser drawer, underneath my mother's letter.
"No," I said. "My time is way precious to be spent doing worthless things. I'm not interested in whatever that woman wrote, and I don't think I ever will be. I haven't even touched that letter. Maybe it's even a time bomb, who knows."
"You should put away your stubbornness for once and just read it," he said. "Maybe it can help you see things in a different light. I'm sure she wanted you to know what drove her to want to take away her own life. Isn't that worth knowing?"
"What makes you think I'm not okay with my view of things?" I said. "That woman deserves neither sympathy nor consideration. She got what she deserved, and I really don't care what happens to her. To me, she died six months ago."
Raheem pulled his car into his space in the school parking lot. His eyes pierced through me as I undid my seatbelt. "Is this really who you are or the you you're forcing yourself to become?"
"This is who I am," I said.
"And the girl I fell in love with?" Raheem asked. "Where is she?"
His question hit home, sending tears to tease my eyes. I could feel him slipping away, losing faith in me, in our love.