DAULAH

A Tightening Regret

Ya Allah! Accept Our Prayers, Make What Is Coming Better Than What Is On Ground For Us, Open the Doors Of Success, Allow Us More Opportunity For Greater Things Ahead. forgive Us and Grant Us Paradise As Our Permanent Home In Hereafter!
Juma'ah Mubaraq .

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MUKHTAR

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I release a long sigh for the millionth time and the time on my wrist watch read 8:00 pm, that means I have been sitting in the car idle for thirty minutes now, and there still is no answer to the one question that is puncturing my mind like a bug sucking at my life; What is happening to me?

My gaze shifts back to the hospital where the girl still lying, sick, regret tightening its grip on me. I can't believe I did that to her, I can't believe I could ever hurt anyone and especially a woman, a defenseless girl who could never bring herself close to matching my strength. What in the life in me is wrong with me?

Aggravated, I rub my palm across my head, like I am racking it for the answer, and when I am certain that there is none, the steering wheel bears the brunt of my turmoil as I strike it with my palm, releasing pent-up of unpleasant emotions running through me, frustration, confusion, fear, and a pang of overwhelming guilt for what I did to her.

I know she came off as daring and disrespectful, but that would never justify my action and so I did not even try to convince myself with that as a reason. I would never, could never, should never hurt a woman.

I thought talking and apologizing to her would alleviate the burden of guilt weighing me down, but it did nothing. It remains oppressively heavy in my chest and I do not know what to do with it. I do not know how to overcome it. I took another long breath and start the car to go and do her bidding, it's the very least I can do even though it will not begin to rectify the smallest fraction of the regrettable incident. The pain I inflicted upon her has only one recompense: it manifests as a relentless force, making me feel utterly wretched. And I know this remorse will persist, tormenting me for a considerable time to come.

I drove straight to the villa and hopped out of the car to walk into the house. I am familiar with every nook of the almost always empty house because Alhaji Mamman has on a good, day decided to give me a complete tour of it, and I happen to have a retentive memory.

Her room, among the countless others encompassed in the mansion, stands in the turret of it, and even though we did not go inside when Alhaji Mamman was showing me around, he emphasized that it is specially designed for her, and I understand why now that I take a step inside.

The first thing to notice is the size of the room, it can fit a whole house and I can only wonder what someone will do with all that plenty of space. The walls are painted in a soft beige, the floors a light wood, and large, airy windows adorned with heavy gold curtains. A kingsized bed occupies one corner, complemented by a sitting area featuring a velvet sofa and two matching armchairs.

Where is the vanity?

I thought because that is the only piece of item I am interested in the room and I turn around to find it at the farther end, must be a journey walking to it. I went over to it and the phone lay there. I took it with me and got out of the house.

Another thing I have in mind is her medication and if it is already dinner time, it means she needs to eat before taking them. I have some leftover spaghetti stir fry from earlier in the food warmer and I go back to my place to get it, ignoring the mess that I made of the house and shutting the thoughts out of my mind because it will only take me back to the question of what is wrong with me and I have come to terms with I have no answer for it. The food is still hot, evidenced by the steam when I open the warmer. The pepper soup in the pot just needs a quick reheating, which I do, and then take a few minutes to prepare an orange juice. Pouring it into the storage can, I grab a glass cup, completing the items in the food basket before heading to the clinic.