Deviant Fixation

by Valencia Carmelita

  The familiar scent of extravagant cologne and aftershave wafted my nose. My eyes blinked open under a vengeful looking blue gaze.

  To say he looked like a demented psycho was an understatement.

  Deathly, blood thirsty and fiendish wouldn't even come close to describing his appearance in those moments.

  Vladimir's disquieting eyes bored into mine without blinking. He threatened in an icy low voice, audible enough for me only. "Think you could fūck around with my family ? I know who sent you, perhaps it's been too long that your master has forgotten what I'm capable of."

  What is he talking about?

  I sobbed and shook my head at him in denial but that caused him to firmly jab the gun against the side of my forehead. My teeth had begun clattering and I stifled a shriek that wanted to let loose from my throat. My vision had blurred from the excessive overflow of tears.

  "If I so much as find out again, that you are seen even within 10 feet of my family, I will fūcking slaughter you and feed you to my pet wolves." Those were his final bone chilling words to me, before he whisked the gun down.

  He strode away, coat whipping in the wind, leaving me tumbling to the ground in complete terrified state of shock and agonized despair.

  Quite suddenly I had felt a pair of hands on my arms yanking me to my feet. Unable to see through my blurred vision and not being able to contain myself any longer, I had let out a blood curdling scream.

  Yet I heard shushing and words of consolation from the familiar voices belonging to Huxley and Serge.

  Instead of being comforted, their words only stabbed at me like a thousand knives.

  I continued to sob, my brain began throbbing and thrashing against me in nerve splintering fear.

  Before I knew it, a piece of cloth pressed to my face and my world blacked out yet again. Next thing, I awaken in Serge's car.

  ◆◆◆

  "Please try to forget about whatever happened, I'm sure it's difficult to forget but it's something not worth fretting over. Mentioning this incident to anyone won't help either." Serge implores of me.

  My brows crease in vexation at his absurd request. Forget?

  As if it's some casual event in my life?!

  However I was fully aware that no one would believe me if I were to reveal of my abduction by the Mafia.

  I would have totally brought my case to the authorities had these men not appeared so potent.

  I knew too well from television documentaries that Mafias could possesses power beyond the police and even branching as far into a nations government.

  They are mass scale criminals. They corrupt whatever they touch.

  "Easy for you to say, I'm sure it's just another regular day for Mafia members like you..you know drugging, abducting, killing and God knows what else abominable deed-yup just a regular day." I fire back at him, unable to contain myself I pin him with an accusing glare.

  He flinches at my words as his grip tightens around the steering wheel. His eyes briefly flicker towards me before returning their focus on the road ahead.

  Although his face is still set in a grim expression ever since I witnessed it upon my awakening, yet his eyes reveal complete hurt.

  "That's not always the case, most of the times we are only involved in trade business exchanges and agreements. But along the way unmistaken enemies are created, and as far I know this is the first incident where someone completely innocent-you I mean have had the misfortune of landing for short amount of time under Vladimir's suspect-"

  "I don't care!" I cut him off with an aggravated tone. "I don't want to hear you conjuring up pathetic excuses in order to absolve your criminal organisation! I don't want to hear his name. I don't want to come across you people ever again!!"

  Promptly, Serge allows the look of complete crestfallen guilt wash over his face. He inhales deeply and then heaves a weary sigh. The entirety of the car ride is enveloped again by heavy silence.

  My eyes have halted from producing anymore drops of salty water to express the emotional agony within. I've cried till I couldn't cry anymore.

  ◆◆◆

  "Who da fuck that was dropping you off in the driveway?" Imran's seething question greets me as soon as I unbolt the front door and step in.

  He is pinning me with an incensed bloodshot gaze full of suspicion.

  Has he been drinking again or recovering from a hangover?

  I am rooted at the spot in trepidation and fear. I slump my shoulders forward and my head cast down in brisk consideration.

  Was he watching for me through the windows?

  In a fraction of a second my mind blanks out since I don't contain a believable answer to provide him.

  It's beyond obvious he would display complete lack of conviction over the truth.

  " I see you've been whoring around already huh" He spat as he trudges towards me. "Just as I suspected, you're a fūckin whore in hijab!"

  Instantaneously I whip my head up, my brows knit in umbrage from his resentfully dirty slander.

  I end up revealing the reality albeit in shaky tone than intended. "I-I was a-abducted by dangerous people, t-they were holding me at g-gun point and-"

  "You were fuckin some pig, just look at you all disheveled'n shit!" He indicates acrimoniously. "You think I'm fūckin stupid'n shit?"

  "I swear, I was abducted!" I protest, as I try to step aside from him.

  My eyes search frantically around for Mr. and Mrs. Mirza or Khalil, they're house servant.

  Where was everyone else?

  "Bitch you callin me a liar ? You fūckin know what taiiime it is ?" He howls ferociously while blocking my way again.

  My gaze anxiously flickers between him and the clock on the wall-6:47pm.

  Oh my God, I've been absent since 7:30am...nearly 12 hours!!

  "I'm telling you the truth! Where is Mister Mirza ?" I demand, completely miffed.

  The sound of a loud deafening smack echos against the walls. Before I have the time to register what's happening,

  I tumble backwards from the searing blow and land on the hard marbled floor with a painful thud.

  Immediately the familiar metallic taste of blood from the newly formed gash on my bottom lip seeps into my gaping mouth.

  I stare up at Imran in horror and disbelief for what he's done.

  He's breathing lividly hard as he lowers his hand down slowly by his side.

  Droplets of blood start dripping down from the bottom of my nose and onto the floor.

  My hand reflexively reaches up to cover my chafed nose and lip as I am shrieking from agony.

  My eyes catch a glimpse of two spiking bronze rings on his index finger from which he violently backhanded me.

  "Shut the fuck up!" He roars as he strides towards me.

  I hastily crawl back in mortification yet not quick enough to get to my feet and run.

  Within a matter of seconds, he grabs ahold of my hijab and tears it from my head to discard it aside. I began screaming for help as my arms flail out to push his hands away.

  But to no avail, his grip ensnares a fist full of my hair and hauls me up by extreme brutality.

  "Nooo! Please, stop!!" More shrieks escape me in response to the searing torment of my hair being nearly pulled out of my scalp.

  My agonized plea and cries only incense him further, he yanks my hair tightly and starts dragging me by it towards the direction of the stairs.

  In between my wails of anguish, I strain to pry his hands off from my hair. From him this earns me a forceful shove against the staircase wall, my head crashes violently.

  The affliction of such a horrid impact causes a wave of vertigo and gruelling pain to wash over me.

  Scorching flashes of white blind my vision as my head spins when I feel my skull being slammed against the wall repeatedly.

  More waves of dizzying torrid pain shoots down from my head to my spine, getting intense.

  By the time he halts crashing my head against the wall, my arms are no longer flailing
to escape. They feel immensely heavy as I try to bring them up against my skull.

  But they fall flat against my sides. My legs have gone unresponsive like the rest of my body.

  They weigh me down like blocks of lead as I'm being dragged by my hair up the stairs.

  I slip in and out of consciousness, feeling the cold floor scraping against my bruised and battered body while I'm dragged finally into a bedroom.

  Suddenly I'm hauled up half way by the collar of my blouse, as I witness the blurred image of Imran yanking open what seems like a closet door.

  Without warning, he shoves me in and slams the door shut with bolts-encasing me in complete terrifying darkness.

  My blood curdling screams and incessantly hysterical poundings at the door brings him back a while later. As soon as he yanks the door open, I lose my balance and fall at his feet sobbing.

  He fists my hair up again and tosses me back viciously, my head hits the wall of the closet with a final thud before my vision darkens and my body goes numb.

  ◆◆◆

  "Sanam jaan...Sanam jaan." A familiar sweet lilting voice drifts into my ears.

  "Mom ! Is that you? Mom!!" I cry out, my gaze frantically searching around me but I see nothing. There is nothing there, just absolute darkness engulfing everything.

  "Where are you mom? I need you mom." I call out to her in painful desperation.

  "Sanam jaan, it'll be alright soon." Her voice sweet as honey echoes in response.

  "Please come back mom!" My pleading voice cracks as my throat constricts from the sobs wanting to escape.

  "I'm so lost without you mom." My voices gives into the muffled sobs and I began to rock back and forth like a little child crying. "I'm so lost mom, I'm so tired...I'm so tired..."

  "Shhh" I hear her say and feel the gentle caress of her hands stroking my hair. "I know sweety, I know."

  "You're not lost when you hold tight to the rope of Faith." She whispers near my ear.

  Her motherly presence engulfs around me, I breath in her lovely scent. Blinking away my tears, I see bright light radiating all around.

  "Sanam hold fast to that rope." Her voice now feels like it gone several miles away again. But yet she feels so near.

  Quite suddenly I feel a cold splash of water across my face.

  I gasp in mortification as I shudder awake and I'm no longer basking in that radiant light just moments ago.

  Instead I'm greeted by a glowering Imran surrounded by the walls of a bedroom. He's holding a plastic cup suspended over my face.

  "Listen up you bitch, if you ever speak of this incident to anyone I will personally get my gangster friends to ruin your life." His tone as indignantly malicious as his threat. "I will fuck your life up so bad, you won't wanna live anymore. So keep that ugly mouth shut."

  Chapter 6

  "Sanammadam." Khalil's muffled words emanate through the door of the guest room.

  I was initially unaware he's been knocking at the door softly for 5 minutes. Until he finally decided to address me by his voice.

  I shift away from the window by which I was gazing out absentmindedly. Taking tentative steps, I halt at the door.

  "Yes, Khalil?" I ask in words barely audible, a ghost of a whisper. But he manages to hear me.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you, but Anwar sahib wishes to see you in his private study room right now." With that swift reply, I hear his feet scuttling away into the corridor.

  I heave a dismal sigh as I sluggishly grasp the doorknob and drag myself out into the drafty corridor. Peering both left and right cautiously for Imran or Mrs.Mirza to pop up from around any corner or behind a door.

  I have been taking careful measures in order to avoid their adverse countenances. They don't appear to be home right now.

  Mildly content with their absence, I trudge forward in the direction of Mister Mirza's study room.

  I wonder what he wants ?

  I've never been in his private study.

  "Come in." I hear Mister Mirza's voice from behind the door after I knock twice with my knuckles.

  I turn the knob and enter into a cozy room. It's unlike the rest of the home, instead of modernity there is much more of an old fashioned touch here.

  In the very center of this homely room, is a large dark maroon desk on which sits a switched off green lantern, carton of pens, stacks of books, and scattered sheets of papers and envelopes.

  Behind the desk, reclining on a rotating maroon armchair is bespectacled Mr. Mirza.

  He hasn't given a me a glance yet. His fingers laced under his chin with his elbows propped up on the desk, staring down solemnly at his notes.

  I come to a quiet halt a few inches Infront of his desk, awaiting him to address me for whatever reason.

  "Words of advice for a man nearing his death bed ?" He questions in an equally solemn tone as his solemn expression, without looking up at me.

  I stare at him blankly for a couple of seconds for I'm puzzled by this question.

  Why is he asking me this for ?

  "To please his Lord as much as he could before departing from this world." I say in a hesitant tone before adding. "But such an advice should be heeded by everyone because none of us can guarantee our life is long."

  "And how should he please his Lord ?" Mister Mirza's lips twitch at the corners as he continues looking down.

  I weigh his question in my mind. I want to provide an eloquent answer but I'm not very gifted with words.

  So I say what I can in simplicity and to the point.

  "By commiting good deeds, and having good intentions according to Islamic principles." I answer before quickly adding. "Which are from the Noble Quran and the Sunnah.

  The corners of Mister Mirza's mouth tugs into a wistful smile. He turns his face up, looking me in the eyes.

  " I knew I could entrust you with all that I leave behind." He affirms softly.

  My brows knit in perplexity.

  What is he pertaining to with such cryptic words ?

  "I don't understand what you are alluding to, Mister Mirza."

  He leans back in his seat and exhales a weary sigh without shifting his glance from me.

  Then he motions with a sweep of his hand towards the empty armchair near the bookshelf and says "Have a seat child, I will explain it all today and as much I could."

  I promptly recline on the armchair and expectantly look towards him.

  " I know Imran has hit you, Sanam." He reveals in a concerned tone.

  For a split second my breathing freezes. I end up squeezing my eyes shut before hesitantly reopening them. My shoulders have stiffened as I cross my arms around my waist.

  It's been three weeks since that terrifying affliction of my physical abuse at the hands of Imran. My bruises had faded by now.