Unbreak Me 12 ??Secrets??

I stared at the crusty ceiling of my bedroom and wondered how I was going to get everything done. Next month, we would have exams and if I didn't get my head straight, I would most certainly not score well.

But I couldn't concentrate. My mind was heading into dangerous territory and I had to put a stop to my thoughts. So, I did the only thing I knew calmed me down—I put on the Qur'an in my mom's old laptop.

My phone—my sweet and lovely phone—pinged. My brows furrowed as I squinted my eyes to see the text message.

Unknown: See you in the headmistress's office tomorrow.

Zayn?

I tapped a few b.u.t.tons and then saw the number on my green Nokia screen. The digits were implanted in my mind and I knew for sure it was him.

Me: Sorry, I don't attend school on Sat.u.r.days.

Zayn: Ha. ha. You know what I meant. Headmistress's office. Monday.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: Is this about what happened in gym period? Or my lack of sash?

I immediately regretted sending that to him. Lack of sash? Seriously, Leia?

Zayn: Maybe it's just about you doing what you're told. Obeying me. Respecting my rules.

I scoffed, irritated by his arrogance.

Me: I'm not going to be at your beck and call, if that's what you implying.

Zayn: Whatever.

I let my phone fall to the bed, rewinding the recitation since I wasn't paying attention.

But like the devil he was, another message came through.

Zayn: Earlier you said you didn't have time at home. What did you mean?

Dammit.

My fingers itched to type out a response but I knew it was wrong. I shouldn't have replied to him in the first place. I shoved the phone into my side table drawer and closed my eyes, letting the words of the Qur'an soothe me and ignoring the somersaults in my belly.

Wait.

My eyes opened.

How did he get my number?

My eyes fell miserably to the side table but my faith was stronger than the desire to talk to him. My connection with G.o.d was greater than any other relationship.

"Aapi!" My door flew open and Labeeb grinned at me, extending Mom's phone to me.

"Calm down, what's going on?"

"Ammar Bhai called," My whole body froze. "He wants to talk to you."

Labeeb must've noticed my expression, because his smile fell. "What's wrong?"

I jerked my head in a shake and forced a smile, taking the phone from him.

"I'll leave, then." He chirped, letting himself out and closing the door behind him.

It felt more than a little weird. I wasn't scared but it felt like the room was suddenly too small and the phone pressed to my ear––Ammar's breathing, his existence––felt like it weighed everything on the earth.

"H-h.e.l.lo?"

"How are you?" Ammar asked softly and every bad feeling inside me vanished.

I felt like I could breathe normally again. My head fell back to the headboard and I played with the hem of my shirt. It was Zayn's shirt. The only shirt I wore every time I went to bed. Maybe it was tightly-fitted but I couldn't care. It gave me a weird sense of comfort.

"Fine. Good. What about you?"

"Lonely," He said. "I miss you."

"Ammar," I warned, my heart breaking a little.

"I know, I know," He sounded frustrated. "I promised I wouldn't fall for you but s.h.i.t, it's harder than I expected it to be. I mean, look at you. You're sweet and smart and breathtakingly beautiful. Who wouldn't like you?" He laughs softly at the end.

His words didn't flatter me. In fact, I didn't feel anything at all. He was just a means to an end. Nothing more. He knew that. I knew that. I don't know why he kept acting like this then.

"Two weeks," I whispered. A reminder. A warning.

The line fell silent. I wished he would end the call but he spoke. "You're mine till then, Leia. These two weeks. You're mine."

I hated the possessiveness in his tone. It didn't feel right. In fact, nothing had felt right with Ammar since the day I'd agreed to his stupid idea. But I was a child then. I had no idea what men wanted from girls. He had made sure I knew, though. He'd made sure to take advantage of every moment, every day for the past five years.

"I-I need money," I hated asking for it. But this was part of our deal. And if he was getting what he wanted from me, then I could do the same. It was fair. Didn't mean I couldn't hate it, though. "When can you send it?"

He sighed. "I haven't seen you in a month, babe."

Translation: Why should I give you money when you haven't given me what I want?

I gritted my teeth. "We need money, Ammar. Dad's condition is getting worse day by day. He has to see a doctor soon. Mom can't—"

"All right, don't go whining now," His tone and words made me feel like a . . . like a prost.i.tute. Like I was after the money. This was part of the deal. He was my husband so even if we didn't have a deal, it was still his duty to tend to my needs. "How much do you need?"

I swallowed. I had too much pride for my own good. "Fifty,"

"Fifty pounds?" He asked, cackling.

My fists clenched. He wanted to hear me say it. He wanted me to beg for his money. I was desperate. But I would never beg anyone.

"You know what I meant."

"Relax, babe. The money will be in your account first thing tomorrow."

"Thanks," I muttered, ashamed. Of myself, for not being able to earn enough.

"I want to look at you," He said, his voice sending a chill down my spine. "Facetime?"

"You know we don't have an iPhone." Or a smartphone.

He growled impatiently. "Get one tomorrow. I'll send extra money for it."

"Okay," I softly agreed. "Can I go now? I have to study."

"No. Talk some more. Please. At least let me listen to your voice. I've missed you terribly, you know?"

"Me too," It wasn't exactly a lie. Ammar might be selfish in terms of stuff but he was the one that taught me most of what I know.

He got me out of that h.e.l.lhole my mother had thrust me into when I was ten. A year later, he had to move out to the UK, where he had landed a job with a handsome pay. He'd taken me with him and his family had cared for me more than I could ever repay them for.

He taught me how to drive. He was my older brother until he wasn't.

Until he decided he wanted something more.

I shook my head, not wanting to think about sad things.

"I want to come visit before . . ." He couldn't finish his sentence.

Before we got divorced. Before our deal was over.

My mood lifted. I wouldn't be tied to him anymore. I was free. Just two more weeks and I was free.

"That's a good idea," I told him, secretly smiling.