Pregnant with death Chapter 3

wednesday

17.

I was crying with my hands between my legs, sobbing in the loo, pissing blood, going crazy with the pain in my groin, and maybe you were dreaming beautiful dreams. But only the night before, I had hugged my porcelain baby in this toilet and told her new secrets. And I leaned on my beautiful baby’s tiny heart and dreamt dreams. Where were you when I was suffering?While you were living buried in your own peaceful and happy life, who knows, maybe you were listening to songs that reminded you of the good times so as not to hear the voices of the girls who were fucked by bullies? If I asked you, maybe you would say that you are a conscientious person. But what good is that damn conscience of yours? If I asked you, maybe you’d say you’re a very thoughtful person. But what good are you? Who has been spared from their troubles by your thoughtfulness? Are you a human being? Do you live because you deserve to live? Is it a habit or is living for you?Whose wounds have you healed? Which blood have you stopped with your words or your heart? Can you stop me, for example? For example, can you stop me from detonating the bomb on me? Is your heart that big? Are you that innocent? Is the power of your heart and mind enough for that? What are you saying? No, you’re silent, or I’ve become too deaf to hear people’s deceptions. I was thirteen years old. I couldn’t forget the blood that had filled my hands the night before. With my eyes swollen from crying, I wandered around wishing to go blind without seeing anything. I couldn’t look at that bastard standing in front of me because I couldn’t forget the moans of pleasure and the disgusting smell of the man who raped me. That bastard greeted me with a smile every day. I knew I would never smile again. I didn’t know myself yet. I wanted to forget everything. I couldn’t forget. Have you ever experienced something so ugly that you wanted to forget everything? Have you ever wanted to forget all your lives because of one experience? If I had a knife in my hand, I’d chop it up. I hadn’t even peeled an orange until I was that age. I didn’t even pick up a knife to eat fruit, but I thought of killing the bastard in front of me. I was a neglected girl in an orphanage. The worst thing was, I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t kill that bastard. That’s when I realised what was inside me, what was burning me, and I wanted to put out that thing, that fire. I still remember that night when he raped me for the first time, and a few days later I saw him holding the hand of a cute little girl. I just stood there like I’d been shot in the head. Right next to that arsehole was a woman with a veiled head and a baby in her arms. I watched this family walking in front of me like I was watching a dream. This arsehole had a family. What would you do if you were me? The thing inside me was already on fire and I decided to take revenge to put out the fire. I was going to save this innocent woman, these two naive children from this scum. I swore. I swore to take my revenge and in order not to forget my oath, I went to a grocery store and bought a razor blade. That day, I went into the bathroom, opened the razor packet, stripped off the shirt covering my growing breasts. I closed my eyes and with the razor I wrote the name of this bastard on my heart: “Ugur”