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Summary
“I've been kidnapped more times than I can count on my hands, starting since I was a kid. It doesn't surprise me most of the time.”
Kalim never wanted to remember what had actually happened. He hated misery, and hated feeling sad, so he never wanted to remember. Kalim didn't want to think about knives pressed into his skin or the burns that scarred his back in one long mark. He doesn't wonder where he got the scars that decorated his stomach and legs from--ugly, jagged things which made him want to throw up when he looked at them. But he doesn't even remember where he got them from.
He traces his fingers over the uneven edges of his scars sometimes, nausea building in his stomach and the sudden feel of metal against his skin making him startle--but there was no one there.
(There never was).
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OR, Kalim sort of comes to terms with the fact he has trauma.