img President's Son And I  /  Chapter 4 3: His Dumpster | 57.14%
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Chapter 4 3: His Dumpster

Word Count: 2564    |    Released on: 08/08/2022

A

t to yell at him to get the hell out of my sight. But damn it, I respected him a lot to only stop at acting annoyed and bored of what he was s

he umpteenth time and I wonder when he would stop blabbering about this thing and let me rest in pe

ll be bothering me with this, despite knowing that I'd never do what you want me to do...” He sighed and s

is tone. He rarely accused me or tried to judge me. But whenever he did it, I’m

into a slight accident that involved a girl and a baby-that’s what he told me, at least. And now, he was angry that I didn't get to see the lady that b

probably wasn’t paying attention when I was talking,”

g with you, Zafir, but this is what you said last year. The year before that, the year bef

own and stared at him. He was angry, at me and what I've turned myself into. If only he knew how angry at myself I was, too. He didn’t know

nting to see the expression that would spread over his face. I rarely acted this way

d them to get out. Rather, would be thankful that I didn’t yel

yourself.” He said through gritted teeth and I didn’t ope

ore even the traces of the insignificant goodness in me; which I only showed to Jamal or in better words, which only Jamal brought out in me-kept vanishing the mo

bottle and instantly, the world began to swirl around me. This was the feeling that was second to none for me. That feeling of floating atop th

d it. It was my escape route, the one that had never disappointed so long as I'd stay inebriated.

pray them back when I'm sober but it wasn’t like if I prayed them on time. And today, I didn't just loose Subh in the morning, I ended up loosing Zuhr, Asr a

ained seated while I said out my supplications. I've been in my prayer mat for so long that I didn’t stare

silently. If not for Daddy, I wouldn’t have been working. Because right now, all I wanted from li

like, drink the whole beer in Nigeria so you won’t be able to attend the Juma’at prayer. That way,

e cared. And he didn’t want anyone to find out about what I've been doin

I don’t know what to eat. And about that,

these days in this mess without it actually irritating me. But most of the times, I wasn't sober enough to even notice the things going around me. I called the kitchen and had them make

d me of the incident that forced me to stop taking a maid because I didn’t trust anyone in this Villa. I can’t remember much about the incident but

hand and he glared at me. I stood and walked towards him

you starved,” he said, eying t

e. “I'm sorry for doing that, forgive me, will you?” The only person I ever apologized to in my lif

is eyes at me and kept the takeouts on the dining table the had the plastic ja

e if he were a good wife, he would’ve cleaned the apartment but we both were good for nothings when it came to cleaning and I didn’

owed him inside with a sheepish grin. “What have you turned into, Zafir?” He aske

an edge to my tone to show him that I didn’

be over a thousand workers in this Villa and the only son here wo

I tried to say but he ignored me a

or a minute. “I can’t always be taking care of you, Zafir. You should get married if you don’t want a maid you can’t trust, not that your wife

said and tried walking out of the kitchen bu

ould be a time when I wouldn’t even be safe with you.” His voice had an edge that tried so hard

me to this and if there was a way he could help. He had used the words directly to ask me, but it wasn’t like I was an easy huma

ey see it. You need help, Zafir, from yourself first and then to whatever the hell it is that’s ki

everyday but please, I can clearly take care of mysel

ch and acting like the madman you badly want to turn yourself into!” He thundered and I stared into his

s with me, just because I t

d?!” I stopped breathing for a minute. Jamal had never, not for once, spoke to me about how evil I could turn into when someone di

in a clipped tone with a wa

our own freaking self! Just look at the pit you’re living in. Should I even refer to your life as living? Because damn you, you’re merely breathing in this world!” He t

ent. And now, I knew it wasn’t just a silly fight we’ve had. This was a fight, sizzling and brewing with thousand of unsaid words and

te this life in its entirely, but look at me now. I had no difference to them. I practically live

d-I drowned my sorrow in another bottle of beer, yet again. That was my escape route, the only

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