WRECKED 13 12

The first thing she noticed was the light—bright light, into her eyes, which were closed. Her mouth was dry; she could not open it at first.

Have I been asleep? She thought.

For a moment, she could not feel her arms, then she realized they were tied behind her, tightly. Everything from her shoulders to her fingertips ached, suddenly and powerfully.

Handcuffs.

She forced her eyes open, panicking now, to see that she was lying on her side, the side of her face pressed into a carpet. New flowered carpet, familiar. Their bedroom.

She twisted her face around as far as possible but she could not see much. It took a few moments for her to remember where she had been going, and what happened, and when she remembered, it came like a crushing, weighty blow. She had been going to escape. She had been…so…close.

There was no sign of him in the room, but she knew he could not be far away. She had no idea how long before he came back, so she forced herself to think.

Her head hurt, she could not tell, at first, if it was because of lying in such an unnatural position for long, or if he had hit her. Every thought felt laboured and painful.

She had no idea what the time was, and she could not even tell if it was still daylight, because the overhead light was on, the heavy curtains closed. Tears rolled from her eyes to her nose, dripping o the end and unto the carpet. She heard sounds—the shoes clicking on the floor, the sound she remembered from lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, waiting for him to come into the room, wondering if he would be in a good mood and if he would leave her in peace. She heard the key turn in the lock and felt him pulling at the back of her head. She felt him grab her wrists and unlock the cus, the rasping rattle as they came away. Her arms contracted and she cried out with the agony of the sudden movement.

"Shut up," he said, his voice calm. She tried to sit up, to raise herself on one elbow; the room swam. She could see her arm and wrists now, the skin grazed and raw where the cuffs had chaffed.

He waited there, patiently, watching her while she struggled repeatedly to sit up. When she managed it, and looked at him, he was sitting on the floor with his back to the door, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked pleased with himself. Her head really thumped. He must have hit her somewhere to knock her out.

"You tried to leave me, Hauwa." He gave a short laugh, clapping his hands and shaking his head. "This was the second time. The third, I'll kill you." She was completely unprepared for what came next—his st coming toward her face with speed—smacking her cheekbones and propelling her backward, the back of her head, already fragile, hitting the wall as she fell.

She could not move for a moment, stunned, but she did not have time to contemplate a move anyway. He took hold of a fistful of her hair and hauled her back to an unsteady kneel, before hitting her again, harder. This time his st connected with her nose and she felt blood start to pour out of it, watched through dazed eyes as it formed a puddle on the carpet. She gagged, sobbing, retching.

"Shut up, Hauwa!" he yelled.

"Let me go," she said, quietly, pleading.

"I don't think so. At least not yet."

This time she winced before it hit—her right eye, the bridge of her nose. She watched him as he reached for a razor blade on the table and began to shave off her hair. She bit back a scream, the pain going through her like a slice. "No, please, Abdul. Please don't." She raised her head. She wanted to see his eyes. She tried as hard as she could to focus on his face. The leer. He really was enjoying himself.

When he was done, he took a step back and surveyed her. "You're ugly," he said, a smile in his voice.

"Yes," she said. She felt it.

He turned with a satisfied smile and left the room.

****

She didn't know how long she lay on the floor. He was in the room for over five minutes before she was fully aware of his presence. She steeled herself for another hit. Then she heard his sob. She pulled herself gingerly up to a sitting position.

"I'm sorry, Hauwa. I don't know what came over me." She looked at him. He was actually crying. He slid to the floor and Hauwa inched herself to him, every bit of her sore. As he cried, she found herself sitting next to him, the wall for support, and slipped her hand around his shoulders. He put his head against her neck, the tears from his face sliding down her skin.

"Shhhh! It's okay." Her voice sounded distorted, her lip split and swollen.

He cried against her for a long time, while she held him and wondered whether, actually, she was going to be alright after all. "Don't leave me, Hauwa," he said, his breath coming in rasping sobs, "or I'll kill myself."

"No, I won't," she soothed. "I will stay. We will be alright. You and I."

"Really?" he looked up at her like a child. Is he stupid? She wondered if he could even see her ravaged face. Did she look suitably comforting? How could he possibly imagine that anything was going to be alright?

She had to continue down this path – it was her only chance. "You'll have to let me clean up a bit, please."

"Of course."

To her surprise, he led her out of the room to the backyard. She washed, then stood still, seeing the blood diluting as it washed down her body. She looked at her tummy, the slight bulge indicating the presence of another. She would have to stay alive. They had to survive.

He was in the bedroom when she arrived, cleaning the final trace of blood. The happy little domestic scene, after what they had gone through hours ago, was peculiar. He gave her a smile. She managed a smile in return, the cut on her lip splitting again as she did so.

"Are you okay?" he asked her when she winced.
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She nodded. "Yes, just the cut on my lips. Are you?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"I know."

They went into the living room and she lowered herself onto the couch gingerly.

He sat in the armchair across from her, giving her some space. She felt that all the anger had gone from him.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

"That's good," he smiled. "That's really good."

Silence.

"Hauwa, let me tell you about Zainab."

****

She didn't sleep much. She was so cold. No position was comfortable; every part of her ached. When she saw the light behind the curtains, she realized she must have slept a little, but she did not remember it.

She sobbed, quietly, for the person she had become. She had lost the will to live, to fight. She wanted to give in now; she wanted it all over with. She felt ashamed. And now, as if things weren't dreadful enough, all she could think about was Zainab.

"Zainab?"

"Yes. Zainab was a source. She was married to someone we were after. I recruited her—sweet-talked her into working with us. Her husband was the leader of a notorious robbery gang. She was going to feed us information so we could bring him down."

He looked down at his knuckles, the bruising on them, flexed his fingers and smiled. "She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I fell in love with her, when I was supposed to be working on her. The other officers didn't know, of course. I slept with her and after that, I couldn't control myself. She was in my head, like a drug. I was going to leave the job; I was going to get a house far away; somewhere she'd be safe from that shit of a husband."

"What happened?" Hauwa whispered.

He looked at her as though he had forgotten she was there, exed his fingers back into a fist. "She was playing with me. All the time she was giving me information about what he was up to, he was busy telling her what to say. I was stupid. I fell for everything he said."

"Maybe she was afraid of her husband," Hauwa said, thoughtfully.

"Well, that was her mistake."

Hauwa considered this for a moment. "What happened to her?"

"There was an armed robbery, just like we'd been waiting for, except we were waiting for them on the wrong side of town. We were all sitting there packed up like idiots, while jewellery stores got robbed and a shop owner got his skull open with the butt of a gun. Just when I was wondering what had gone wrong, I got a text from Zainab asking to meet me. I went to the usual place, opened her car door, and there inside was her old man. He was having a good laugh about it. I had served my purpose, he said. They'd both completely messed me up."

He sighed and relaxed his head on the chair. "A week later, I had a phone call from her. She was in tears, told me a lot of rubbish about him putting her under pressure, how she was scared, wanting to know if I meant what I'd said about getting her away from him. I told her to pack her bags and meet me at the usual place."

"You helped her escape?"

He laughed derisively. "No! Of course not. I cut her throat and left her in a ditch. Nobody reported her missing. Nobody even looked for her."

He stood up, patted her head and stretched as though he had just told Hauwa a bedtime story, opened the front door and walked into darkness.

Hauwa thought about Zainab and wondered how long she had left.

Chapter end