I’m sitting on the floor of a bathroom struggling to see my phone screen as I type this. My nose is stuffed with tissues, my ears full of damp sponges I’ll need to replace soon, and a towel in my mouth. I’m leaning against s toilet. Every orifice of my face has bled profusely and it’s hard to hold on. I’m exhausted, to say the least. I’m posting this in the hopes that someone will listen.
I’ve always had issues with self-image, made worse by my parents positioning me as the golden child. They had a hard life immigrating me here from Myanmar with almost nothing. Well, fleeing is more accurate as they’d been persecuted for generations by the Burmese ethnic majority. Being denied basic rights and services such as state education, citizenship for the country they’re from, and freedom of movement. The last straw was when their home was set ablaze, the sister I never got to meet, still inside. Leaving for neighboring Bangladesh and spending ten years at a refugee camp until they got the funds to leave. Though, with no passports, they had to come here through a series of human traffickers who set them up but abused them along the way. They had my brother Hafiz two years into moving here to Indiana, with me following three years later.
Even when I was small I could tell that their expectations of us were high. Pushing us to get good grades, do after-school activities, and generally appear respectful. All positive things, but their methods of keeping us in line would sometimes get intense, even then. Looking back it’s clear they were still deeply traumatized by what happened to them and would take it out on us through punishment. Hafiz would often take the brunt of it to protect me, even if I insisted he didn’t. I knew they favored me, but never used that to my advantage out of my love for him. Which made it all the more difficult to watch as he fell apart. During his junior year of high school, he bombed a test and got chewed out by our parents. He’d been a B and A student on almost everything so they were deeply disappointed. As they berated him, he started screaming, but it wasn’t one of emotional distress, it was one of physical pain.
His nose and eyes started bleeding out of nowhere. I noticed it first as I’d been sitting next to him. It was horrifying seeing the red swell up in his eyes before pouring out. My parents stopped once they realized what was happening and tried to help with what we had at the house. We didn’t have the money to take him to get medical attention so we made do with what we had. The bleeding continued for roughly fifteen minutes, coming out at different speeds at that time. We watched in horror as all we could do was plug it, pray, and give him water. Luckily he survived, but it was far from over. Every day for a week the same thing would happen striking at different times. He also started to have screaming matches with himself, always speaking to an invisible man who he said threatened to take his skin.
We told the head of our mosque about the situation and through donations we gained the funds to take him to the doctor. Unfortunately, they couldn’t do anything about it, even accusing us of lying about him having a condition in the first place. The next couple of months were rough, the bleeding only happened daily for a week each month but every time it was just as severe, and his delusions grew stronger. He spiraled into paranoia and my parents awkwardly pushed me into my studies to distract me. It seemed like it couldn’t get worse. Until it did.
I woke up to my brother leaving a handwritten note under my pillow. His hands shook as he placed it.
“Hafiz what are you doing?” I still remember the look in his eyes despite them being almost entirely shrouded in darkness. He knelt down to my level and put a hand on my head.
“I have to go, there is something very bad that is about to get me, and if I don’t take it with me, it’ll take you.”
My heart sank, and I sat up, immediately grabbing onto his arm as he got to his feet.
“What? Please, Hafiz you’re sick don’t do this!” I squealed, and he put a cold hand over my mouth.
“Don’t yell you’ll wake our parents, I want them to learn about this from the note. I’m sorry Aziz, it’s what must be done. I love you.”
Those were the last words he spoke to me. The next day he was gone, I told my parents about what happened and we read his note, including the place where he said we’d find his body. We informed the police and it was the exact spot he told us. The note insisted that it wasn’t a suicide, but a sacrifice to save me. Me and my family are religious, but looking at what led up to what happened we assumed that he just lost himself in a battle with mental illness. None of us ever fully recovered from his loss. My parents simply getting even more protective over me and pushing me to prevail as I was the last to carry on our bloodline.
After all the suffering and struggle they needed me to be successful. It worked even if I felt them grow harsher. I can’t say I forgive them for the mistakes they made when raising me, but I could never hate them. They did what they thought was necessary. Anyway, I tell you all of this because I set the stage for what’s been happening to me.
I was at my local 24-hour library typing up a psychology paper on my laptop and struggling to stay awake. I had lost track of time but I was sure I’d been there for at least five hours.
“Wow, you look like you haven’t slept in years.”
I jumped up and turned to find an albino man around my age sitting next to me. I hadn’t heard him pull up a chair so I was surprised.
“Heh, yeah I look pretty bad,” I responded with a weak smile.
His red almond eyes looked me up and down, biting his cracked lip. His gaze made me a bit uncomfortable, but I didn’t have time to think about it since his dry skin split open and bled.
“Oh shit,” he muttered, licking the liquid up.
“Hey, I got some lip balm, do you want some?” I offered, fumbling it out of my jacket pocket. He nodded yes and I handed him a cotton swab to scoop it. It wasn’t the most effective but it worked well enough.
“Thanks, sorry if this is weird, but when’s the last time you bled significantly?”
It didn’t take me long to answer, as the memory is something I can never forget.
“When I first started college I sat next to this guy in my English course who automatically disliked me. Saying that I was an idiot who only got let in because I had a good sob story about my parents being immigrants and my brother killing himself.”
The man’s eyes widened as he interrupted.
“Wait, how did he know about all that?” I sighed, folding my arms.
“We went to the same high school and everyone in town knew about it even though my family tried to keep it under wraps. Anyway, I did my best to stay away from him knowing he just waiting for an excuse to hurt me, but eventually, he had me cornered while I was walking to my car. I did my best to fight back but he had the upper hand the whole fight.”
I traced the scar on my cheek with my hand while leaning closer.
“Ending the beat down by cutting into my face and squeezing the wound.”
I expected the man to look horrified at what he heard but instead, he had an expression I wished I never saw. His cheeks grew a slightly warm tone as he held back a grin, attempting to stretch his dry lips to a neutral position.
“Oh, yikes that’s pretty bad, I’m sorry about that.” he apologized, sounding mostly sincere with just a strong enough hint of joy to make me nervous.
“Uh, yeah, luckily he didn’t bother me physically after that. However, he still spreads racist rumors about me being a terrorist, but hey people have been doing stuff like that for as long as I can remember.”
The man nodded, his gaze fixated on my scar, making me regret pointing it out.
“What’s your name?”
I hesitated to answer but decided to give him a fake name.
“My name is Musa,”
He pushed himself closer to me as I folded my laptop.
“Do you consider yourself a strong man Musa?”
His question seemed a bit confrontational but I answered regardless.
“Not particularly in body, but I think I’m mentally strong in some aspects.”
He grinned, displaying his oddly bright gums and strangely large teeth.
“Aw, aren’t you a smart boy? I bet you make your parents proud.”
His mocking tone was not something I appreciated.
“Well you asked, that’s my answer.” I coldly responded. The man’s smile widened emphasizing the abnormal gaps between each tooth.
“My name is Tolc, it’s nice to see you here,” I shook his hand, finding his choice of words odd, as it implied we knew each other.
“Alright, have a nice night.” I tried to pull away but his grip tightened.
“I said have a nice night,” I repeated sternly as he pressed his fingers down into my skin.
“I know Aziz,” he tugged me close as my heart sank. I screamed for help as he unhinged his jaw to a degree that bordered on unnatural. Shoving half my hand in and harshly biting. I did my best to pull away but they only sunk further.
“SOMEONE PLEASE-” I let out before everything flickered to black.
“Help!” I strained, my throat suddenly feeling dry. I sat up, feeling my face and hair. Darting my eyes around the library before landing on a girl with micro braids who squinted with concern.
“Sir I think you woke up from a nightmare,” she informed me, bringing down my anxiety.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Wait, what time is it?” I asked a new anxiety growing as I checked my bag to make sure nothing was stolen.
“It’s 8:30 right now,” she stared at me as I frantically collected my things.
“Oh, my goodness, okay thank you.” I ran out the door to my car, ignoring the slight pain in my hand.
As the day continued the pain got worse, gradually begging me to pick at it. I tried to ignore the issue despite the reddish dents growing deeper and more vibrant each hour. Still, eventually, I was forced to confront it. After I finished my last class of the day I got in the car I lived in. Sitting in the driver’s seat while setting my computer in my lap to use as a desk. Placing my textbook on the dashboard so I could take notes. A few minutes into writing a sharp pain overtook my left hand. I held it as gore began to peek past my skin. The cuts turned into angular pits that grew deeper until I feared I’d see bone. Not wanting to cause a disturbance in the full student parking lot as people drove in and out I grabbed some napkins from my glove compartment and wrapped them around. Carefully breathing through my nose to prevent screams from escaping. As much as I wanted to yelp if I caused a scene my already poor reputation would grow worse, which I couldn’t have.
“What,” I coughed as my nose stung. I placed more napkins on it and moved my books and laptop into the passenger’s seat. I sneezed into it, a warm red stream ejecting from my nostrils. A metallic burn in my throat followed soon after.
“No, oh, please,” I winced, before reaching further into the compartment and taking out my car window coverings.
As stupid as it sounds I was embarrassed by what was happening. I do my best to appear stable so this biological breakdown made me feel shame in a way, even if it wasn’t my fault. Before I knew it I couldn’t contain the blood in my mouth and I threw it up into my lap. I couldn’t help but be reminded of my brother as if continued for roughly ten more minutes. Though, it didn’t reach my eyes that time. By the end, I felt beyond defeated staring down at the mountains of blooded napkins and tissue paper. I sloppily poured my last full water bottle over my face, using my jacket sleeve to wipe it off. I tried to stay awake but I couldn’t help but nod off.
“Wow, you look like you haven’t bled like this in years.” a familiar voice chuckled. I turned to him, trying to sniff through my clogged nose.
“You did this didn’t you,” I rasped furrowing my brow. He shrugged, tossing my notebook between his hands as my other items lay beneath him on the floor.
“Well who else would? Oh wait you’re a brown Muslim in Indiana, never mind.” he scooted closer and playfully shoved my shoulder.
“Okay, what’s your deal with me and my family? Why are you going after us?” I questioned between gritted teeth.
“Hey, look at that you’re smart in academics and common sense. Put simply, I think I deserve what you have.” he grabbed the hand he bit, poking the small craters.
“You have a perfectly functional body, one that I think would be better spent on me.” he tugged my hair to the side, pulling me like a ragdoll.
“I mean you and your brother were both hard workers, sure, but you were ultimately wastes of good parts.”
There were a lot of things wrong with what he said, but his speaking like I was already dead irked me the most.
“You still haven’t answered my question. Why us in particular? It’s clear you have no regard for human life so why not move on to someone outside of my lineage?”
He shrugged, feeling up my nose.
“Because you guys are doomed in a way that makes this easy. I go after a particular type of person, that being someone who is wasting their body and time. For example, you’ve spent your whole life pushing past trauma just to get into university. Only to be met with classmates who hate you and a school leaves you so broke you live in a car.”
He squeezed down on the tip of my nose, moving in even closer.
“You’re brother was similar and once he took himself out you were naturally the second option. Of course, I gave you time just in case you turned out to be someone, but as predicted, you didn’t.”
He lifted my head up exposing my nostrils.
“It’s funny he thought he saved you, but it didn’t even postpone it.”
“You’re a monster!” I reached for his shoulder to push him away but he twisted my arm.
“Oh, I am?” he got to his feet while lifting me by my nose, my arm still twisted in his grip. He chuckled, that horrible reddish hue appearing on his cheeks again.
“Boo,” he whispered before opening his mouth and gargling. I sealed my lips as he spat something up. He dropped me before trying to pry my mouth open as he held the substance in his hand. Just as it pressed against my mouth I woke up in my car. I coughed, gripping onto my seat cushions. I had a slimy feeling on my lips and an even stronger metallic taste in my mouth. My notebook laid in my lap with a message messily written in pencil.
“I decided to be nice and give you back some of your blood. You might not like how I did it though.” as I finished reading the message I felt a chunk in my throat and had to spit it up. It was a horrible blood clot. That’s all I have time for right now, I promise I’ll explain how I got into my current situation. It turns out this is taking far longer to tell than I thought.