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“Self-harm is not a disease. It’s a spell that is cast on us in the weakest moments.” [Jacqueline]

….

[Jacqueline’s pov]

Sometimes I love that time pa**es. That it won’t stop for anyone. Because sometimes getting through a night alive is the most audacious thing. Like last night I felt the need to just kill myself. The need to remove the pain of these sufferings. Is death that horrible? Or is it because people have never been able to get through the real hidden secret of it that they blubber against deaths. Have you ever felt that? The feeling of just get the day over. So you won’t have to stay in the same place that is hurting you? Huh. What I am even asking, everyone, does feels that. Not just sometimes. But various times.

After I returned home, I found Daddy hitting Mummy again. Her cries in agony pierced my heart. Her tears doing nothing just shattering my heart.

‘Does anyone deserve this? Even if she had mental disorders. She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.’

The thoughts lined up in the back of my head and I clenched my fists. It seems the few men I have had the pleasure of having in my life had a knack for violence. First my dad and then Jaan and then Rohan.

“Please Stop punching her dad. Why are you hitting her?”

He turned around, his black eyes blazing in fury and I drew in a sharp breath to maintain the facade of courageous girl. A word that has nothing to do with me. While in truth I was too scared to even match his glare.

“She had cooked this egg curry instead of vegetables, and on top of that, she had screamed her lungs out that I have swapped her cooked dish with someone else. This crazy s***ty woman.”

“She is ill dad. Please leave her.”

“He had swapped my dish with a neighbor Leila  I swear.”

I ignored her a**ertion. In schizophrenia, people create their imaginations which lead them to believe in it.

“Shh. Please mo. I mean Aunty.”

“Aunty?” His angry voice reverberated through the yellow walls of the verandah and I shivered.

“Please, Dad. Stop it.”

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are you calling her

“Dad, please.”

my face and I tumbled down on

to raise your voice on me? I am not paying for your a**

I bit my lip to

living on his money.

too tired to speak, he ordered me to fetch a gla** of

that one silent person beats hundreds.’ And I did for the first time in my life I won

home maybe for eating food

had an abuser in their home will agree with me, that when they leave home it

was hungry. She nodded her head and

all the crying while she hiccuped

threw it on the road, before he. He started hitting me. And I think the utensils would still

Visibly surprised I walked to the door to check if it was

coloring the road in yellow. While a few dogs were eating up the eggs

up. Tears falling from my

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throw the curry here? Or

the tears from my sleeves trying to control my

tall form towering above mine, yellow street light shining on her square-shaped face. The backpack behind her told me

was surprised that

she stepped towards me. Her

God Jacky! Did he

want to speak because I knew

Mumbling a small no.

and her I retired to my room. I wasn’t hungry. Not even a bit. Hah! Who would be? If they are slapped a

was too busy to answer

to beat me almost every day without a concrete reason. Because she was mentally unstable. And then to my father when he used to beat us for every single thing that happened badly. As if we were responsible for his misery. The thoughts of self-harm consumed my mind and for a moment

am only going to suffer? Maybe death would make me feel peace! Maybe I will be happy there. Maybe everyone’s sufferings will end! Maybe dad will finally realize to never abuse a woman without a solid

I picked up the fruit knife on the table wanting to slice