## Chapter 7: Aftermath

Fatima's eyes slowly opened, her mind foggy and her body heavy. She was met with an unfamiliar ceiling, and for a moment, she couldn't remember where she was. But as she looked around, memories came flooding back. She was in her bedroom, in the mansion that Lawand had provided for her. And the events of the previous night came rushing back. She felt a wave of panic wash over her, her heart racing as she tried to process what had happened. Lawand had taken her without her consent, had violated her in the most intimate way possible. Fatima's mind was a jumble of emotions, her thoughts racing with fear, anger, and confusion. As she lay there, she couldn't shake off the feeling of violation. She felt like she had lost control, like her body was no longer her own. The memories of Lawand's hands on her, his body pinning her down, made her skin crawl. She felt dirty, used, and discarded. Fatima slowly got out of bed, her legs trembling beneath her. She stumbled to the bathroom, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror. She looked pale, her eyes sunken, and her skin clammy. The Christina piercing that she had gotten just a day ago seemed like a distant memory, a symbol of her newfound independence that now felt like a joke. She turned on the shower, the warm water a welcome respite from the chill that had settled over her. As she stood under the water, she felt a sense of numbness wash over her. She couldn't feel anything, couldn't think anything. All she could do was stand there, letting the water wash over her, trying to cleanse herself of the memories of the previous night. But as she stood there, she knew that she couldn't stay hidden forever. She had to face Lawand, had to confront him about what had happened. Fatima's heart sank at the thought, her stomach churning with anxiety. She knew that Lawand wouldn't care, wouldn't apologize, or make amends. He would just shrug it off, tell her that it was his right as her husband. As she got out of the shower, Fatima felt a sense of determination wash over her. She would face Lawand, would confront him about his actions. She would make him understand that she was not just a possession, not just a wife to be used and discarded. She was a person, with feelings and thoughts and desires. But as she dressed and made her way to the living room, Fatima's courage began to falter. She saw Lawand sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on her as she entered. He looked calm, collected, and detached, like nothing had happened. "Good morning," he said, his voice low and gravelly. Fatima felt a surge of anger at his tone, at his nonchalance. How could he be so calm, so collected, after what he had done? She opened her mouth to speak, to confront him, but the words caught in her throat. She couldn't bring herself to speak, couldn't bring herself to face him. All she could do was stand there, her eyes fixed on Lawand's face, her heart heavy with emotion. She knew that she had to find a way to navigate this new reality, to find a way to survive in a relationship that seemed to be spiraling out of control.