"No, no, I didn't do it. I did nothing. I'm not a curse. I didn't do anything wrong."
The words spilled out of me in broken whispers, over and over, like a prayer that refused to work.
I was curled up in the corner of a dark room, my knees pulled tightly to my chest, my palms buried deep in my hair as if I could rip the thoughts inside my head. My body ached everywhere. Bruises bloomed across my skin, purple, blue, yellow, each one a reminder I didn't remember earning. Blood soaked through my clothes, sticky and cold against my skin, smeared on my lips, on my hands, everywhere.
I couldn't tell where the pain ended and the voices began.
They were loud. Relentless. Cruel.
They played in my head like a broken record I had no control over.
You caused it.
You killed her.
You murderer.
You're cursed.
You are a burden.
You deserve to die.
You don't deserve to be happy.
You should rot in hell.
You're jinxed.
You are cursed.
This person carries something evil.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn't help.
I could still see her.
Her lifeless body lay sprawled in a pool of blood, the image burned permanently behind my eyelids. One of her eyes was plucked out, the empty socket staring back at me like an accusation. Her thighs were sliced open, jagged and brutal. Some of her fingertips were gone, cut cleanly as if they meant nothing. Her hair, her beautiful hair, had been hacked off, uneven and cruel, while her body was covered in deep, angry bruises.
I remembered how my legs had given out when I saw her.
How I had run to her without thinking, slipping in her blood, my hands shaking as I touched her face, her neck, her chest.
I had begged her to breathe.
"Sihle, don't leave me, nana. Please don't leave me. You have to be strong."
My voice cracked as I remembered it.
I hugged her, pressing my body against hers as if I could keep her warmth from leaving. My hands moved frantically, checking her pulse, her chest, her wrists. I could see red finger marks all over her body, deep, angry imprints that told a story I didn't yet understand.
I felt it then.
Her pain.
Her fear.
Her silence.
And the truth that cut deeper than anything else: I shouldn't have left her.
That mistake, walking away when she needed me, was the same one I was still paying for. Every breath felt like punishment. I didn't know when it would end. I didn't know how.
I only knew it wasn't over.
Suddenly, my body jerked violently as icy cold water crashed over me. I gasped, choking, my back slamming against the wall. I hadn't even heard the door open. I hadn't known anyone was there.
Pain shot through my scalp as rough fingers tangled into my hair and yanked my head up.
"Hey you! Wake up!"
The man's voice was sharp, impatient, filled with disgust.
"You must get married. Do you remember that, or should I remind you? Resting is for the dead. There is no sleeping, no excuses."
He pulled harder, forcing me to stand, my body trembling, my mind still drowning in voices.
And in that moment, I knew.
This was not grief.
This was punishment.
And I was expected to survive it.