Warning (18+!!!) The chapter is dark and creepy don't start your day by reading this, and if you are, please don't blame me if you are traumatized towards the end.

Feel free to vote and comment. If the chapter reaches 100 votes, then I will update earlier.

Because of some offended anons in the ngls I have decided not to mention any political figures further in the book.

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My mother Zeenat Ahmed belonged to the Hayat family, grown up to be a prim proper lady, she expected the same from us. There was a certain way a woman was supposed to carry herself, walk a certain way, talk a certain way. According to her a person should be able to detect that you are a woman from miles way, that's how you should behave. She had a melodious voice so often she would sing us her favourite songs, while combing our hairs.

This was the only moment she showered us with love. When I was thirteen, something changed, she wasn't the same. She started talking to herself, getting obsessed with her own reflection and snapping for no reason. My father had tried to calm her down, told her many times that it was all in her head. But mother wasn't the type to listen, she had the power over him. Soon we started acting like we were the ones who couldn't hear the voices, she was normal we weren't.

When I was seven years old, I had suffered from chicken pox, my mother was convinced I was going to die. She dug my grave in the middle of the night, and convinced my father to bury me before they came for me. Who were 'they'? We could never figure that out.

Her illness only got worse as days passed, she would creep up on us sometimes, cry in the middle of the night and scream at some unknown person. My grandmother was convinced it was 'jinn', day and night she gave her holy water, took her to babas and muftis, but nothing gave her the peace.

It was the year 1967, I was fifteen years old, my father had started a business with my uncle Imran. Uncle Imran had his head deep within politics, all the black money that he had he skilfully transferred it all to my father's account. When the investigation was held, he used my father to get a promotion and blamed him. The money was found and he was thrown into jail.

I remember often crying at night for my father. Daytime was solemn and tense, therewas no question of laughter or fun, we had 'fallen' from grace.I knew it would be difficult for my parents to restart a life without official power, andthat they would have to live as ordinary people.Only my mother and my father's brothers visited him in prison. We children were not taken, perhaps because we could not contribute to the serious matters that were being discussed.

A news came one day, he had shot himself inside the cell. I didn't believe any of it, neither did mother. Before he had left, he had promised us that he will be back charge free, he had gotten some evidence against uncle Imraan, all of this was overwhelming for us. Mama passed a few days after due to a heart attack, I was crushed all alone when I was brought into the home of the man who had murdered my family.

It was more about survival than living, I learnt where to speak up and where not to. Arguing with my phupho was of no use, she had loved adding fire to every issue. All of my relatives hated my father's guts, they went on discussing how he had wronged them, or failed to help them. They didn't care that was my dead father, as years passed some of their opinions stuck on me, I started disliking my father too. For trusting these leeches, for never paying attention to any of his kids... he was too invested in my mother to care about us.

I craved his attention, his love growing up, his approval but got none. Still I couldn't help but miss him, he was a loyal man, a great husband. But not a good father..

My phupho hated germs, she was hypochondriac in a way, sometimes she would occupy the bathroom for more than seven hours, bathing, rinsing off the dead skin. We had to check in on her sometimes, if she was still alive in there.

I always hoped for her to lose her balance and die..

It was early Summer when Uncle Imran had left for the city, I had returned from morgue and laid on the bed when I realised there was someone else inside the room. The lights were still off, but I felt  on mine, for a second I thought maybe I was hallucinating.

But I wasn't... I felt the hands creep up on my waist and I screamed in fright rolling away and falling off the bed. I heard a chuckle, it belonged to Usama.

He grabbed my arm pulling me back, yanking me to him, "Marry me...", he slurred and I realised he was drunk, I struggled to loosen his grip on my wrist, the darkness and the entire situation was freaking me out.

"If not just entertain me..", he sang and I punched his hand away, where was my freaking chappal. His words drove me furious, he grabbed me by my hair as I tried to run again and this time his tone changed. The playfulness was gone, "I know only you can give me a heir".

I clawed, scratched and elbowed him, trying every means to escape. Fighting him off with any means necessary.

He leaned in closer, and whispered, "What are you doing to me?"

I cringed, almost barfed out my lunch at his face, he reeked of cheap alcohol and it made me nauseas.

"Fuck you!" I screamed out what could possibly be my last words because the next moment. I saw a bolt of rage go through his spine as he raised his hand.

"You don't obey do you?"

I felt a force and I lost consciousness.

_____

I don't wanna die so young...

That was the first thought that came to my mind when I saw the ropes around my wrist and legs. A foul smelling cloth was stuffed in my mouth almost suffocating me, it was hard to breath. My throat hurt, I tried to untie the rope of my legs but blame it on my lack of flexibility or short hand, I was unable to even touch my toe.

Was he going to rape me?

Where was that fucking coward?

He had to knock me out and tie me, to force me...

Or had he already done the deed?

My clothes were changed, there was no pain in my lower body as I had heard of. My forehead was swollen, he had slapped me pretty hard that I had fallen head first. Maybe I was suffering from a concussion because I felt emotionally numb. I had been bad situations before but this was the worst so far. My throat was dry, there were no tears in my eyes.

Hours passed as I looked around, bored, waiting for something to happen the bleeding on my forehead stopped. But I wish it hadn't, the pain was atleast distracting me from the constant boredom. I couldn't move, they had tied me so that I was in a sitting position with my legs streched.

An hour passed and Razia phupho finally entered the room, "Looks like maharani is finally awake?"

She set down the tray of food, it smelled delicious but I didn't trust her. She must have poisoned it, she came closer and removed the dirty cloth from my mouth. I could finally breath.

"Ye kya harkat hai phupho? Mujhe aise kyun banda hai?"

She pursed her lips, making a sad face, "To tell you the truth I hate your guts..", she came closer to me and removed a five hundred rupees note to cast away the evil eye, "Magar na mere shahzadey ka dil aagya tujh par, ab majburi hai meri, tujhe jhelna teri zehreeli baatein bardasht karna".

"Kya matlab?"

My mind was actually working slower than usual, her words didn't made sense. Was she being sarcastic?

"You are getting married to Usama", she announced with a smile. The physical numbness finally disappeared as the fear took ever. My senses returned to me and I felt the headache. My vision blurred and the nausea kicked in.

I should have tried to escape...

I could have tried to cut off the ropes in the last two hours, I could have tried to roll of the bed or atleast attacked on the budhiya. Wait, I could still do that.

I could bite her, maybe I had actually lost my mind because as soon as she brought her hand closer my legs trapped and pulled her. I had gone rabid, I bit her, she screamed.

I was tied but my strength overpowered her, she was bleeding on the shoulder where I had bit her screaming in pain.

Tie me like a dog.. and I will bite you like one.

"Kuttiya"

She cursed loudly, running out of the room... then there was chaos.

I heard screaming, people shouting in alarm and footsteps, the door to my room locked shut from outside. And then they were gone.

Silence....

Another hour passed and I started realising the true consequences of my actions, the survival instincts had snatched away all of my human reasoning. The rage that had built in me for years, for whipping me, slapping me, starving me, and forcing me to marry her awful son exploded just a moment ago.

I had to escape before they returned.

I hope she gets an infection.

I hope the hospital runs out of anaesthesia and her arms are cut off.

The same arms that had slapped me...

Then I saw the end of the bed, it wasn't sharp enough to cut a rope but the knot was a lose one, I could insert the opening in the loop and loosen it up. So I inserted my tied hand around it, its grip around my wrist getting tighter. My skin was raw, burning.

Feeling the coarse texture of the rope against my skin, I searched for any give in the knot. With determination, I carefully slipped the end of the bed through the opening in the loop, inching it gradually. The rope tightened momentarily, my skin stinging, but as I persisted, the knot gradually loosened. I massaged my sore wrists and quickly got down to removing the knot on my legs now that I could bend my body.

Wait...

Why didn't I use my teeth to loosen the binding?

Now wasn't the time to overthink. I have to run and after this I could write a book on hundred-different-ways-to escape when-you're-being-forced-to-marry your-cousin. I looked around and saw the window. I could jump out.

It was the first floor, I had to jump out before they came back and shot me dead. Or worse raped me.

I tied the rope at the side table, and with that slowly slipped down. My ankle twisted as I landed, and I held in a scream of pain.

I looked to the left and right. And bolted out of there, limping almost. I had no idea how my body was still functioning so far, I was hungry, dehydrated, had a concussion. My leg was probably sprained and I was running for my life. I ran out of the gate, there was nobody trailing behind me, chasing me.

Hopefully atleast.

I saw Usama's toyota approaching, I wish I had killed this motherf*cker. I wasn't about to get caught, they will probably throw me in a dog house after that stunt.

I looked around and saw a house. The lights were off but there was a cycle. I heard footsteps behind me, I limped faster.

I was gonna die today.

I am done.

Dead for sure.

They were following me with speed as I limped like a fucking zombie. How was all of this fair?

I am just a nineteen year old girl, girls of my age group are romancing with their husbands not being chased after to get assaulted.

I didn't feel like a human, Razia Phupho had once warned me that she would sell me off at a brothel... this was worse than that.

This was worse than getting slapped or hit. Worse than being forced to clean dead bodies. The state of the used bodies were left in... traumatised me. It wasn't the fear of unknown, it was fear of the known.

I didn't wanted to to end up in the morgue as a dead body. After fighting, surviving with my relatives, dealing with the abuse, I couldn't die like this. With a broken ankle and an ugly bump on my head.

As I pedalled faster I saw Usama running behind me screaming, "Stop, Meerab you can't escape after what you did".

This motherf*cker was fast. Or my legs were slow because soon he started catching upto me, he caught upto a bicycle without cycling.

"Meerab you have hurt my mother, atleast apologize before you leave".

Was he trying to guilt trip me after almost assaulting me?

"You know what you did, she is in pain because of you", I couldn't help but laugh at the audacity, the gaslighting was worse than my mother's. How sick was he?  I didn't owe her an apology, he wanted me to turn back and apologize to his bitch of a mother. So they can go on and torture me for life.

"I will apologize to her dead corpse".

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This is the lighter version to read the darker one checkout Love 1971, May 1969.

Let's lighten up the mood, I know this chapter is too dark...

Some ngls that cracked me up:

Author's Note:

Now something I wanted to discuss a real issue, I know nobody should and will experience this... I always include abusive relatives in my books and there is a reason, personally we all donno each other so I can say this. I had been abused for six months by my aunt, she was never physical. It was more of a mental torture.

The point is, I have experienced this, when I revealed this to my family they didn't believe it until the cycle repeated and one of my other cousin came out with a similar story.

If you have kids in future don't trust your relatives with them. Because you never know what goes in someone's mind, be it your own sister, brother or mother. Protect your kid. This world is far from pure.