When Faults Collide (Faultlines #1) (2 page)

Well, this was news to me.

“You mean he still doesn’t know about me, Mama? He could have come and taken both of us from this horrid place.” I said, my voice going a few octaves higher than I normally would speak to my mother.

“Hush love. He will find out in time. In the meantime, let’s have dinner and then finish up this book. What chapter are we on love?”

We had started
The Count of Monte Cristo
a few nights earlier.

And just like that the subject was closed.

A year passed and suddenly I was thirteen. I began to develop and go through puberty. This made the chakala a very dangerous place for me.

At this point I was barely allowed to leave our room. I had begun writing in my journals and sharing my thoughts, which helped with the loneliness.

Mama had gotten sick and I knew she needed the doctor. She kept brushing me off and telling me that she was fine, but I could see that she was not fine.

Her color, normally olive and a beautiful golden tan, had turned ashen. She had deep circles under her eyes and all she did was cough and hack. She said it was just a virus and that it would pass. I didn’t believe her.

There was a clinic a few miles away that I knew I could get to, but I would have to sneak out to get to it.

Mama lay on our straw mattress but didn’t sleep.

“Asha, love, come lay with me” she rasped, her voice ragged and rough.

I went and laid next to her. If this would help her get to sleep so I could get to the doctor I would do it.

She hacked into her handkerchief. “Asha, love, do you know what your name means?”

I nodded. “Hope.”

“Yes, love, it means hope. You gave my life hope. You are my hope for the world. You can do amazing, world-changing things, love. You are hope. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“Mama, stop talking like that. You make it sound like I am leaving you. I told you I will never leave you.” My voice was strained.

She nodded into my hair and closed her eyes. Her breathing, though ragged and hoarse, began to even out. I waited a few minutes then slipped out of the bed and began my trek to the clinic.

I tiptoed out of our room and down the hallway. The tiles beneath my feet were cracked and filthy.

The air was muggy and smoke filled. Aati, one of the women who lived there, sat perched on the top step of the stairs smoking a cigarette. Her sari was ripped to shreds, barely covering her body. Her long legs peeking from beneath it had long bruises running down them. Aati was one of the women who marketed herself to men who liked to inflict pain. Mama said that if the men who visited her were demons, then the ones who visited Aati were the devil.

“Namaste, Aati” I said politely as I passed her going down the stairs.

“Namaste, Asha” she replied, her voice flat and with no emotion.

I quickly descended down the stairs, grabbing my shoes which sat next to the front door, slipping them on quickly as I went outside.

I hesitated for a moment. It had begun to get dark and I knew that going out so late in this area was a bad idea. I knew, but I also knew that this was possibly my only chance to get to the clinic.

So I pushed the danger out of my mind, popping my headphones on my ears, pressing play, and letting the sounds of The Smashing Pumpkins drown out the sounds of the city streets.

I didn’t hear him behind me because of my music. I didn’t hear his catcalls and lewd comments because I was too busy tuning
everything out with the singular goal of getting to the clinic.

So when his hands — his greasy, calloused hands — grabbed me by my shoulders and turned me around, I hadn’t heard him.

I shrieked and yanked off my headphones.

“Aap kyaa chahate ho?”
(What do you want?)
I exclaimed.

His hair was matted down the sides of his face and when he laughed he smelled of stale smoke and liquor. He had almost no teeth and his lips were cracked.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he chided before jerking me into the alley and tossing me against the wall.

I kicked at him to no avail. I was petite, he was a large man. Even when I made contact he just laughed at me.

“Aap kyaa chahate ho!?” I screamed again.

He laughed again and then ran his nose against my cheek.

“Keval turn dekhate jao,”
(Just you wait,)
he breathed crudely into my ear.

His hand then began trailing up my leg and thigh. I shook and cried, my whimpers making no difference in his intention.

I continued kicking and squirming and fighting to get away, determined to fight.

He reached his hand back and punched me square in the nose. Blood poured and I faltered, dizzy.

He held one hand over my mouth, used his other hand to push down his pants, and then ripped my sari.

My eyes widened despite my dizziness and I screamed louder. His hand did its job and muffled my screams.

He laughed and then thrust himself inside me, destroying a lot more than my virginity in the process.

I passed out.

I stood shakily, wiping the blood from my face with the side of my hand. My hands were shaking and my legs were sore and weak.

Was I in shock? I don’t know. I just knew that I had to get to the clinic. I could deal with this later. Mama was what mattered.

I walked out of the alley as they rolled the cart out of the front courtyard of the chakala. A sheet lay over the cart, outlining a body.

My world stopped. I felt gravity holding me in place. I didn’t realize I was screaming until Aati began to shake me.

I looked at her, but I could hardly see her through the tears that were flowing freely down my face.

She grabbed me and held me close to her. “Mujhe afsos hai,”
(I’m sorry,)
she said softly.

“Ah Beti, Asha. Mujhe afsos hai,”
(My dear, Asha. I’m sorry,)
Mausee said while rocking me. She was comforting me. I hadn’t even realized that I had begun to cry.

I shook loose of her. I would not accept this comfort.

“No! Do not comfort me,” I said firmly, though my hands were shaking.

She pursed her lips and sighed. She patted my knee and sat down next to me on the window seat.

“You speak good English,” she said softly.

My eyes darted to her. This was the first time she had spoken to me in English.

I nodded. “My mother and I only spoke in English.”

She nodded, looking at me with endearment.

“Your mother sounds like she loved you very much.” She said.

I nodded, but dared not to speak because I knew my voice would fail me and I would crack again.

I pulled my knees up to my chest again and began to once again run my toes along the tiles of the window seat.

The door opened to the left of me but I didn’t turn to look. Mausee looked up and a twinkle appeared in her eyes.

“Asha, look,” she said to me, pointing to the door.

I shook my head and continued to look out of the window. I didn’t care what entertainment they had brought up today. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Suddenly a hand touched my back. I recoiled then jerked and looked up at whoever dared to touch me.

I inhaled sharply.

The man standing in front of me was a tall, brown-haired white man with piercing blue eyes the color of a beautiful clear sky.

I had only ever seen those eyes in the mirror.

“Asha?” he asked softly. I saw a tear forming in one of his eyes.

“Are you...are you him?” I asked, doubting my ability to say the words.

He nodded. “I’m your father, Asha.”

His voice was deep and completely American, with a twang that westerners didn’t even recognize.

My reaction shocked both of us. I lept, yes — lept, into his arms from the window seat, wrapping my legs around his waist and flinging my arms around his neck. I was sobbing and I hadn’t even remembered crying at all.

“Honey, oh my God. I am so sorry. I...I didn’t know. But I’m here now. I’m here and we are going home,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Home?” I whimpered into his hair.

“Home. Back to America,” he said, rubbing my back as he talked.

He had finally come.

Chapter Two

Ten Years Later

I love Richmond in the fall. The air is cool and crisp, the leaves all gorgeous shades of red, yellow, and orange.

I finished my final lap around Jefferson park and finally stopped to take a snapshot of the city views. This was one of the best spots in Church Hill for city views.

Church Hill is a tiny section of Richmond full of history and culture. Row houses lined the streets and there were beautiful plum and cherry trees lining the sidewalks. It was a historic district and so many of the buildings were hundreds of years old and had character and charm.

Hence the name, Church Hill sat on a hilltop just above the city, yet still a stone’s throw away from downtown.

I breathed in the cool autumn air and uploaded my picture to Instagram. I quickly posted a status update along with the picture.

I slipped my phone into my jacket pocket but I already heard the dings announcing comments or likes.

As a blogger, social media was my mecca. I found so much joy sharing my thoughts with the world and social media gave me a platform to engage current readers and reach a new audience.

As a graphic designer, my online presence only helped me get my name out there faster. Networking through social media helped get most of my clients as a freelancer.

I put my headphones on, blasted Maroon 5 and took off on a jog down Leigh Street towards my favorite coffee shop.

Captain Buzzy’s is one of those iconic places to Richmonders. It’s small and funky, nothing fancy or corporate about it at all, and I loved it.

I ordered my usual, a cup of the Church Hill blend, added cream and sugar, and sat down in one of the tiny tables to check my social media feeds.

I responded to a lot of my comments, giggling at some of he humor of my readers, then decided to check my email before heading home.

Subject: Graphics Work

Hi there
,

My friend Ben Waters referred me to you to tell me that you do amazing design work
.

I have just opened a new music venue in the Bottom and am looking for someone to help me out with some design work, not only for our website but also for our promotional materials. Could we set up a meeting to discuss my needs
and see
if we could work together on this?

Thanks!

-B. Daley

I sipped my coffee and responded quickly.

Subject: RE: Graphics Work

Hello to you as well!

Glad to hear that Ben referred me! He was one of my favorite clients last year!

I’ve done work for venues before, and would be happy to schedule a sit down to talk about the details!

When do you have some free time? I am available tomorrow after 2pm or Monday anytime. We could do another day next week if we need to as well
.

Looking forward to hearing from you!