"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."
— Albert Camus
It felt so good to be back home. How ironic that the place I'd considered my prison only recently, was now my sanctuary.
My first night back in America, I slept like a baby, luxuriating under the cosy sheets in the air-conditioned room.
I was so comfortable it almost brought tears to my eyes. America was now my home, and I no longer felt bad about that.
Reuniting with madam Maria had been another highlight. She'd leapt on me like we'd been separated for years, and not just a few short months. Thankfully, there was no 'I told you so' from her, and I appreciated that.
I didn't need to be reminded of the fact that, despite my fierce determination to leave, I'd returned to the mansion, tail between my legs.
The rest of the domestic staff were also happy to have me back, and it didn't take me long to settle back into my normal routine of sleeping, eating, watching TV, reading, and basking in the beauty of my garden.
How could I have ever thought life would be better for me in India?
The only downer was that my sleepwalking soon returned.
Strangely, I didn't have any incidents in India. Not even one.
On no occasion at all did I wander away from my sleeping position at night. I always awoke exactly where I'd fallen asleep.
My theory was that sleeping uncomfortably had kept it at bay, and now that I was back to sleeping like a queen, my body was relaxed enough to continue playing its silly games.
But it was a small price I was happy to pay to be back home.
So comfortable was I that I even stopped hiding when Ibrahim visited the house.
After he married, I was so relieved that I wouldn't have to endure his abuse that I'd ensured I made myself scarce anytime he came to America .
I figured the less interaction we had, the better.
As for his poor wife, the few occasions she accompanied her husband to visit with their growing family, I saw the light in her eyes extinguish a little more each time. Even though she hadn't had much of a personality to begin with, Ibrahim's domineering nature soon completely overshadowed hers.
Just like he'd done with me, he'd succeeded in breaking her.
Before she did anything or even spoke, I would see her look at him, almost like for permission or validation.
He had gotten the very type of wife he wanted.
It didn't help that she was almost always pregnant.
Their four years of marriage had already produced three sons, and I had a hunch they weren't done yet.
But it was not my problem. And with my return to the mansion, I no longer felt any need to fear him.
There was no more reason to. With Orion dead, I didn't have much to lose either way.
"zeynep," he chimed as he walked into the dining room one morning, while I was having breakfast. "I didn't believe it when they told me you were back from India. Apologies about your brother."
I shrugged, not wanting to engage him in any conversation. Even though I no longer feared him, it didn't mean I wanted to chat with him either.
He took the seat beside mine. "It's been so long that we've had any privacy to talk. Anytime I come here, you're always suddenly busy. One would think you were deliberately avoiding me."
I looked at him, my former predator, and had such a sense of pride at the realization that he no longer had any power over me.
He leaned closer to me. "I've missed you," he whispered, his breath hot on my neck.
"Sometimes I lay down at night, dreaming of your body. You know, if I want you, you'll have no excuse not to give in. With my dad getting closer to that local woman every day, your days here might be numbered. If that happens, you'll need my help, and you know that."
I sniggered and shook my head, very amused. "I don't need your help for anything, ibrahim. The worst that could happen is that the minister will throw me out, and I'll be back on the streets. I might not have liked it, but if I have to return to India, it won't kill me," I looked him in the eye, brazen for the first time. "Try again."
He looked at me, tongue-tied, and I suddenly wished I'd been this brave when he was bullying me in the past, blackmailing me with my brother's treatment.
"I can still have you if I want to, Zeynep. Make no mistake about that," he sneered, recovering himself.
Looking at him, I realised that I could use his desire for me to my own advantage. I clearly had what he still desired and could use that to help myself.
"Yes, you can. But it will cost you," I answered, maintaining eye contact with him.
"Cost me what?"
"Nothing goes for nothing, Ibrahim. For every time you want to be…entertained by my company,you'll have to pay."
He looked at me, shell-shocked for a few moments, before bursting into incredulous laughter "So, you've become a prostitute? You want to exchange sexual favors for money. I can see that the few months you spent in India have opened your eyes to the ways of the world. I guess like mother, like daughter after all."
Now that was a shot that hit its mark, and I glared at him, angered by the insult to my mother who had done nothing wrong.
Pushing my plate forward, I rose to my feet and walked out of the dining room, thinking how I'd made a mistake remaining in his company in the first place.
I hadn't been back in my room for thirty minutes, when there was a knock on my door. Opening it, I was taken aback to see him there.
"This new feisty behavior of yours is a real turn on," he said, grabbing me.
I lingered for a few seconds, just to give him a feel of my body, to remind him of what he'd once had unfettered access to, before pulling away from him. "You need to leave."
He grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me to the wall. "I don't need your permission, zeynep. And I don't need to threaten you with anything either. If I want you, I'll have you, and there's nothing you can do about it."
His aggression took me back to the early days, and I realised the fear I thought I'd banished was actually still lurking in the background.
But I was determined not to cower before him.
"You are very funny," I chuckled, when inside I was quivering like a leaf. "Lay a hand on me, and I will go straight to your father-in-law and tell him everything. I will show him my wounds. After that, I will go straight to the police. They might fear you in this house, but by the time law enforcers see what you can do to a woman, let's see if you don't spend some nights in jail!"
He released me and stepped back. Frankly, I hadn't thought it would be that easy to scare him.
"What do you want?" he asked, his eyes clouded by desire…and I knew I had him exactly where I wanted.
I let him sleep with me that morning, and again the next time he came to the house, which, no surprise, increased in frequency.
In exchange, he gave me money. Sometimes, like that first time, it was a lot, and other times it wasn't.
But it was enough to put something in my wallet, without being overly dependent on the minister.
Yes, sex with him was still more aggressive than was desirable, but at least this time, there was a pay off for me.
A few months into our renewed alliance, I knew most, if not everyone, in the house knew what was going on. But thankfully, there were no confrontations about it; not from the minister, not from madam maria, and obviously not from Ibrahim's wife.
Maybe because it had gone on for so long in the past, it was almost accepted as normal.
And I guess it was. Normal.