The Subconscious -PART 2 - by Hajara Muhammed-Sadiq

I'd seen her three times after almost taking her life. Something about the word "almost" makes me flinch from the inside when I think about it. The feeling of leaving something unfinished made me feel unaccomplished, unfulfilled. The first visit I made was through a see through glass outside her hospital room. "We have no idea if or when she'll wake up". The doctors had said. Before my visit that day, I had pictured her differently. I expected more pain to be written all over her. I expected to meet bruised limbs too weak to fend for themselves. Instead, I was met with closed eye lids and gentle breathing which mimicked someone in a deep sleep. On my second visit, I stood outside her hospital room. I listened in on her mother's words as she comforted her daughter from the inside. She prayed, begged for her to move, talk, do anything that didn't remotely resemble a lifeless being. I claimed that there was pain seeing her in that state. That was my excuse for not going in. The truth was I lived with an undeniable fear that my presence would break the curse. I believed that somehow, if I walked in, she would flash those eyelids open and my hard work would be in vain. My third visit didn't come soon. It took weeks. Weeks of her lying in that bed, pretending to be a saint, clinging onto life and death. In those weeks I had convinced myself that even if she wasn't dead, she wasn't alive either. I had done something right after all. That day I walked into the hospital room, staring at her sleeping beauty state like a dream. I closed the blinds so there would be intimacy between us. This was personal. One final goodbye to end this never ending toxic cycle between us. I towered over her, watching her take each breath with stride. Gently, I shifted the pillow behind her head, letting her fall gracefully onto the bed. This was all I needed to end it. I held the pillow in both hands, letting my fingers pierce through its fluffy ends. I lowered it down on her, imagining how she would struggle, if she would struggle and how excited I would be to finally finish what I started. Seconds in, my greatest fear was realised. Her eyelids fluttered open, bloodshot, weak. She stared at me in confusion and then with a keen familiarity. I could feel the tension fill the room. Our once disguised hatred for each other now digging deep between us. She knew who I was, she knew what I had done. I could see the question in her eyes. She was burning to ask and I was burning to respond. I almost killed my sister and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat

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