Death of a Relationship (Dark)

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Jun 10

Death of a Relationship (By Spoon) (Thanked: 26 times)

If I could but be a wing,

Not to soar but to float and drown,

Beneath the merry winds,

Of everlasting death,

That was You.


***


I watched the fag end of my cigarette burn.

The ember glow retreated, hiding beneath the nicotine, creating a pool of rust and death as the smoke soared high, up towards me. Somewhere close, a couple of rowdy boys were busy vandalizing a pretty store. A passing car illuminated me. They saw. Glared. I shrugged, too busy inhaling the sweet poison and dragging my fingers to clutch the bottle frolicking with my fingers to care.

The building where I resided was a few meters away. I wanted to walk but my feet stayed rooted and I knew I was shaking. It's been a while since I had felt anything. So, I tried to savour the feeling of what felt like dread.

The night observed me and I did the same with her. I could tell the wind was picking pace.

“B*ch!” A man honked behind me, “Get out of my way!”

I might have responded to his cussing but I guessed I did not have a damn to give anymore. He wasn’t the only one who had abused me. Almost everyone did, I thought as I struggled with my car keys. After all, not everybody was tagged as the woman Arnav Singh Raizada had loved and ruined.

I laughed, gushing at the bitterness behind the celebrated word. Darn fool life was. My mother and father had married for love and then went ahead and killed themselves. My cousin sister had married for love and was later divorced. And I? Well…

That little word took one nowhere.

I rammed metal into the keyhole and pressed numbers with force. The door didn’t budge. I didn’t have time for that. I had lost my job and possibly the only good friend I had. That was the last time I could afford fuel and drinks. Society had shunned me the day rumors crept into his twitter account and linked me to my morbid existence. Suddenly I was dating strangers and sleeping with the whole city.

Oh, for Christ's sake, door, open!

Exasperated and annoyed, I slammed the bottle down. The liquid inside swirled in protest. My cat meowed simultaneously.

“I am trying, aren’t I?” I roared at him. He tilted his head a little and continued staring mercilessly from the window. The key fell and I bent to pick it. The open bruise near my belly rubbed noisily against my rusty belt . I was sure it broke my skin.

I swallowed the scream.

“You should go away.” Aunt Nina who lived one floor above me and was once a good friend and a regular at Shantivan startled me.

Not again.

“You are a bad influence in the neighborhood. I don’t want my grand-kids meddling with you. You should go away.” She pressed.

You know what, you need to stand down.

“I will once I get a place to live.” I said instead, scrambled for the key again and latched my sweaty fingers onto it. If someone saw me closely right then, they would think I had Parkinson's. My hands were shaking in an alarming manner and I knew the panic was setting in. It always did during confrontations. Something my extended family said I had caught from my mother.

Aunt Nina mocked, “Look at you. You still have the guts to show here. On top of that, you are living in the flat he gifted you. Do you have no shame?”

“I put my money into building it.” I spat, I was too irritable and impatient at that point. My cat was meowing and I knew he must have scra ped the kitchen for food. I was tired. I had no leftovers in the refrigerator, none at the counter. I had intended to stock the groceries after but I had little money left. I could cry right then.

There was a time when I prided myself for being organized.

Look at me now.

“I know he purchased it. You furbishing it with furniture doesn’t count for ownership.” She condescended, “Though I feel you cannot afford slum quarters right now.” and turned away, her high heels resonating my misery. I thought she called me a wh*re as well.

Well, so did everyone else. I was so used to that word by then that it felt like my other name. Dirtier, gloomier, pitiable, inspiring rebuttals closer to humanity than what I was allowed.

The door finally accepted the key and I punched the code quickly. When I turned to shut it, I saw Nina Malhotra talking to two of her compatriots. I knew what was coming. She would probably set up a meeting where the management board will vote in favor of my evacuation. Well, she was late. AR Designs had already served me a notice earlier that day.

At least I had tonight.

The door swung close behind me, sealing me from the emptiness outside, locking me in with the emptiness within.

I placed the spilling bottle on the table and removing the stale newspaper from under my foot, I looked down. “Yes, I know you are hungry. I have some milk left. Wait.” I told darkness, a little sad for myself. I was saving that milk for tonight. But then Footsie was hungry. I threw the car keys on the table where they landed closer to the glassware and ended up knocking one of them. Yes, my skills were legendary.

Someone thumped on the floor above my roof. Then repeated. I sighed. They loved doing it. Just a reminder. Something whistled. Looking up, I noticed a window pane open. The wind was starting to howl.

At least someone was enjoying life.

Manipulating around the broken shards, I cleaned it up and picked up Footsie’s bowl to pour fresh milk into it. Then I dragged a chair and sat down, scratching his ear. He hissed with utter dislike and I let him be at peace, watching while he gobbled hungrily my dinner.

I stared at my mother's gold bangle, a slimmer of gold in the darkness and sighed.

“Footsie," I asked in a hesitant manner, "Will you mind if we move into a smaller, say one-bedroom flat? That’s all I can afford now. Also, maybe you can ration your hunger for a while. I promise I shall give you more treats as soon as I bag a job.”

He slapped his tongue at and around his whiskers, making sure no drop of precious milk remained behind to be fed to the air.

Once his tummy was silenced, Footsie then nuzzled my chin and then climbed the showcase to settle in his favorite spot, from where his multi-colored bulbous eyes simply followed me around. I knew that if by 7.00 tomorrow, I failed to grab something for him, he would literally drive me to my wit’s end.

Not a grunt or a meow of appreciation.

Yes, no wonder ASR chose that cat for me. It was just as selfish as he was. 

"Fine, don't answer me!" I grumbled, then pointed a finger at it, "But you do not get to complain if you find the new place stingy or small. Got it?"

Footsie licked his paws.

The pack of cigarettes was calling me and I felt I needed to take another drag to calm myself. Abused and beaten, I was just another woman isolated from herself. A quick death sounded soothingly refreshing. My cousin would take Footsie. The cat was not a wh*re after all. I had never wanted Footsie to tag along with me, but ASR was adamant. I guess he knew Footsie would be the death of me.

"Come down now. You know you cannot sleep there." I reached for him but he simply yawned, eyeing my never-reaching hand. So, I jumped and immediately regretted.

The bruise in my belly shrieked for attention again. The pain made me fall. I gasped, gathering myself up on my feet and walked towards my bedroom while ripping the belt off my jeans. I charged straight towards the bathroom. My finger scuffed against the switch board. I cursed and headed straight towards the basin. Lighting the mirror up, I pulled out an ointment and unbuttoned my shirt, tugging it out of the belt’s clasp, all the while clenching my teeth.

My inner were drenched with sweat and dried blood and a freshly clawed skin, punctured here and there by scarlet marks glowed dully under the bright light. The bruise was now purple and the flesh had swollen around it. However, there seemed to be no more bleeding. I uttered a moan of frustration. That was going to hurt a while.

Rubbing the ointment as gently as possible, I hissed gracefully like Footsie did in the Shantivan garden beneath the banyan tree every time she caught sight of the squirrel that lived in it. Once that ordeal was over, I got out of my dirty jeans and took a good look at myself.

Radhika had said my cheeks had hollowed. Seeing myself clearly right then, I believed she was being generous. My cheekbones were more pronounced than ever, fingers thawed and thin. There were too many dark circles under my eye. The concealer had worn out, the orange underneath was ashy and muddy and my lipstick had left horrible stains on my lips. I already had bony legs. Now they were flayed from the struggle that morning.

Safe to say, I looked positively ghastly.

The landline near the bathroom was blinking rapidly. So, I came out, punched in the code and the messaged started pouring. The first three were bill payment reminders. Fourth was a prank call. Fifth called me names. Two were from my former office, claiming I needed to return office property. I tried to remember what I had brought with myself. 

Footsie purred from somewhere above and I looked. Something was pressed against his paws. I suddenly remembered. It was an old photo frame where I had posed with Radhika, her husband and ASR. That was the day when- I deleted the messages but the phone blinked again in revolt, unhappy my torture was short. Heaving another sigh, I played that one.

“I am sending you a few ads for work placements. Check your email. No need to reply though.”

I pressed delete.

Don't want pity.

"Call asap, Khushi!" Kartik was angry. 

I sighed. Going back to the bathroom, I washed my face, cleaned myself up, threw the soiled clothes into the machine and turned it on, only to realize I had run out of washing powder. Footsie purred again and I blinked, saving myself from wasting a stupid tear over a stupid washing machine.

I was broke and I guess it was what it was.

I  grabbed the towel and patted myself dry. Sliding underneath my overused night robe, I came out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. My tummy rumbled and I looked for the remote. I needed distraction. What better than an old episode of Nashville and some good country music? Once upon a time I loved dancing. I danced on the rooftop with my cousin when it rained. I danced whenever a group of folk dancers arrived at our muhallah. I danced when the kids celebrated their birthdays.

Then I met him and I... I stopped dancing.

Dimming the lights and hooking to a news channel, I pulled my sling bag and found a two-day old dairy milk bar. That would have to do for dinner. Footsie purred again somewhere from the bed and I put my hands behind my back. That cat.

There was no way I was going to share that.

“Well, you just had your food and I am not going to-

The words froze in my throat.

Footsie was nuzzling a figure while it laid, its face buried in my pillow.

There was only one person in the entire world the cat was obsessed with to the point it ignored any and every form of chocolate. One person it bestowed all his genuine love over while it gave me cr*p.

My estranged husband removed his hand off my pillow which he was clinging onto and rubbed its back. His shoulders dipped and dropped, his frame was as broad as ever and he seemed lankier, grittier, more shaped. One of his legs was resting higher than the other, tangled with the bed sheet. His lazy hand were busy crushing the said sheet. 

His fingers stroked with precision, with method, with memory, with assurance. Traitor cat purred with pleasure and completely ignored me.

It was as if I was on fire. My heart was thudding crazily against my chest and I could tell that the panic I had subdued since morning had was beginning to crumble my insides. My fingers started sweating again and my throat choked as I tried to gulp all the lumps that had appeared in it.

Coming back to the high-profile breakups this season, topping the list are once again the much scandalized couple, the Raizadas. Billionaire Arnav Singh Raizada, the man who burned millions of hearts when he married his ladylove Khushi Kumari Gupta after a very short dating phase, had filed for judicial separation on the ground of adultery a while back. Sources say that the date for the first hearing is set to 12th June, 2017. It is said that ASR had insisted there was no need for a prenup. So sure was he of her. Of course, things changed when he, apparently, caught her in the act with another man whose identity has not been revealed yet. Our little birdie says that the man also comes from the same family. Not to start the rumor mill guessing, but their separation had caused quite a furor in social media. The couple, lovingly called ‘Arshi’ by fans was the trend for a while, with hashtags such as #burnkhushiburn #arnavdeservesbetter #marrymeasr #khushiisasl*t #arshinomore beating even Rio games when the talks of separation first surfaced. Mrs. Raizada was called-

The first wave of panic hit me hard and my knees wobbled while the reporter rattled on, prying in my non-existent private life, adding bits and parts about the men I dated after the separation and the ones I took back home to spend the night. Weak fingers grabbed the edge of the table nearby and I looked down, staring at my feet, willing them to steady themselves.

Any outsider, out of sync with the drama that had unfolded in my life would look at me now and comment that that was a perfectly normal domestic sight. Pet and husband up on the bed, Missy rubbing rich cream moisturizer that was packaged to sell for over a hundred dollars and then gearing up for a peaceful sleep in the arms of the said loving husband while jealous cat tried to snuggle between them.

But nobody, not even those that had followed my misery, knew the extents that I had suffered.

Because of that man in front of me, who was currently on my bed and quietly petting my cat.

He pushed Footsie away. The cat was not happy and so it licked his left hand to draw his attention back onto himself. I followed the invasion and stared at it.

A pale and thin wedding ring reflected light back to me.

His rich chocolate eyes finally found mine.

And I could not breathe anymore...


***



A/N

Bit of reality, bit of mockery, bit by bit a bit of something. Don't ask what this is, for this is what this is.

TBC

Much Love,


-Silver Spoon-





















Apr 15

Failings (By Spoon) (Thanked: 25 times)

Author's Note# Yes, I know. It's been a year! I cannot vouch for excuses as I am out of them except for the general life thingy Either ways, liked writing again. There's peace when it's happening in your head See ya when I see ya!


2

Failings


To be honest to you, I had thought of that moment a million times in my head. How I would corner him one day and tear him apart, like he did to me. How I would plaster my mask, breathe indifference and commit him to the memoirs of a ghost, a ghost of a relationship. But not in my house. Not in the confines of my room! If I could explain to you what sort of constrictions I felt in my bosom right then, I would, perhaps with the most passionate uttering.

But all I felt was emptiness. And tiredness. Mostly the latter, I thought.

The last time I had seen him, cameras had rolled to focus on me while he was the one dangling a brunette in his arms. Twitter blamed me for pushing him away. Of course, it’s always the woman. The wedding ring could mean only one thing. He was at my house to assure his fans that he was the victim. That he had tried so hard to forgive. That I was the low-grade b*ch that I was proclaimed by faceless critics. I thought then that I was done anyway.

So, I stood defensively, crossed arms and all and mustered up my joke of a courage that I could and as icily as possible, I asked, “What are you doing here?” I had hoped for a grim voice. Instead, it just sounded too broken and lost. I hated myself again and wished I was strong. Those pollens of inflictions were finally carving a painful mihrab in my heart. Or whatever left of it.

He tilted his head slightly and inhaled softly in response and I knew he had picked up on the nicotine already. I braced myself for a rebuttal, for a you-are-disgusting-khushi-you-deserve-not-even-pity-you-are-filthy-so-and-so and then remembered he cared no more.

Only here for image-rebuilding, Khushi. Don’t get your hopes up. Hopes… I wanted to laugh. And I wanted to cry, for I just realized that I was breaking again. That I still had some part left that he could stomp on and break.

He was gawking at my exposed collarbone. Once upon a time, that gesture, sly and driven, excited me. He would watch me from a distance until I could take it no more. I would head towards him and step as close as possible. He would turn me around, drag his cold finger over my arm, bare and waiting and leave a trail of goose bumps. I knew not how but even in society, I always reacted the same way. Then he would rest the tip of his index finger over my protruded collarbone and slowly rub it. The friction that caused burned my blood from within. But he wouldn’t stop there. His lips, mushier than mine, would nibble the soft spot behind my ear and I would always melt in his arms, an unworthy hot and bothered puddle at his feet, ready to let him do whatever he wanted to do to me.

“Come to see if I still have something of yours?” My voice shook, my breath faltered, and I raised my hands, willing myself to stay focused as zealous grief planted poison in my raw and wounded heart. It felt as if a siren was screaming in my ears and I tried to stifle it, throttle it. It only grew louder. Banal, banal intricacies of the ruthless mind.

“You do have something that belongs to me.” It was quiet, and it quietly startled me. Same voice. Same room. Just not the same person.

I blinked multiple times and braced myself, “Whatever I have here is stuff bought from my salary. As for the house itself, well, I will evacuate it as soon as I find a replacement.” You would have to spare me the night.

Of course, I wouldn’t tell you.

His feet landed on the ground just as imposing and brooding as ever, his shoulders stretched and then he drew to his full form. He was wearing my favorite blue shirt. My one-time favorite blue shirt that I had gifted him that on our first anniversary. It was nothing fancy, but he had loved it. I knew better now.

He took a step towards me and my body reacted by stepping backwards. He stopped abruptly. The fashion baron was probably imagining me behind my robe with detestation and loathing. Haggard, ugly. An inconvenience that he would tolerate till his image was rebuilt. I could see the judgment in his eyes and I suddenly felt, I felt as if I was butt-naked, rub raw in front of him, all humility and poverty. Oh look, I drove that poor b*ch to hell.

Did you see me do it? #ragstorichestorags

His tie dangled harmlessly for a few seconds around his neck and I noticed that it was the same one I had replaced after we fought for the first time. A silver one with silly micky faces. You can’t blame me. I was pissed. He had sworn he would wear it the day the world ended. In a way, it had. Quite a while back. It had felt as if I was just a soul wondering in limbo for quite a while then.

“You look sick. Sit down.” He spoke in a clear voice.

“You-” I stammered for words, unable to express the wretchedness that had bloomed since his departure. Eyes welled and I hated that I was looking like a mess. My body started shaking badly and the second bout of nausea hit me. The man-the man had the nerves to order me! Even then! After everything! He had the- dizziness overpowered me and my soles pained. Bile rose in my throat and I just knew. I knew I was about to fall.

I had never known falling could ever be equivalent to floating, for so it seemed. Like a feather in a void of unhinged darkness, the gobs of thoughts in my mind patterned themselves and as my nostrils picked on a familiar scent, I thought I saw a ring and a thousand Micky faces. I thought I felt the trickle of a warm drop that scooted closer to my nape and then vanished in my rib cage. I thought that not one but then a thousand sirens were wailing in my ears and all sounds had collapsed into one. I thought he called my name and I thought I heard my heart break once again. Should I care, now that I was done? Should I care now that I knew that the snow was still there, right in my chilled heart.

Something rubbed against my bare feet and then climbed on my belly. I relaxed. Footsie wanted some belly rub. I opened my eyes and found the beast staring at me in a very unpleasant manner. “Alright, you fur-ball. Come and get me!” He did what he always did and I felt what I had always felt only at that time of every day. Comfort in my rudderless existence.

Thank god it was a dream. An icky, icy dream. After tomorrow, it would probably be the last one. I would free him, he would marry his girlfriend and the world would hopefully forget that I ever existed.

My phone was blinking. So, I got up amid Footsie’s complaints and reached for it. The bruise churned and I had to work around it.

A mail from Radhika. Sent over half an hour ago. I wouldn’t lie if I said I wasn’t tempted. I did need a job and she was offering me some help. A smart person would accept it. My thumb hit the delete button. She would have to disappear as well. I felt déjà vu though and shrugged it off.

“We can do this, Footsie. No?” I asked, willing him to speak. The cat was not interested in boosting my morale. So, he curled on my pillow and went to sleep. I watched his furs rise and fall and thought about the night he came into my life.

We had just completed the first month of married life and ASR was home earlier than usual. I had cooked us pickled vegetables with lamb and smoked marrow and I had tried my hand at styling the dishes to the best of my rookie skills. The surprise on his face was visible. Of course, he would be. I wasn’t born to be a fine diner. It had taken innumerable secret classes with Anjali di to reach that point when I was starting to live a little over disappointments and personal failure. Di said I was becoming neurotic and I needed to boost my confidence. So, she had planned for it and I eagerly accepted. He had said nothing while we ate and drank.

But in the darkness of our room, all indifference laid abandoned and I was in my husband’s possessive arms. If you could flare your fancy and watch it run, you could perhaps imagine the things he did to me. Ecstatic and frenzied, our bodies had ground in a manner I never knew existed. Again, and again, his fingers had marked every crevice of my soul and I had surrendered to him, more than I did on our wedding day. The experience was enthralling and exquisite, because for the first time I had felt that we were equals. I had just never thought food could do that. Anything could do that, in fact, to be honest. I knew not that I could be craved by a man so passionate and with such passion, freely claiming me and giving himself up in the same time.

My tummy rumbled and I pushed Footsie away from my pillow. He muttered his indignation by the twitch of a lazy tail but merely rolled over. Sleep would have to do or I would crave food all night. I put my phone away to go back to sleep.

“The kitchen is very dirty, by the way.” Safe to say my eyes popped, well almost, for he entered strolling, with an apple that I knew didn’t exist an hour ago or was it half. The important thing was, he swaggered as if that was his kingdom and I was the trespasser. Not a dream then. The shirt, the tie, the ring...

I jumped out of bed, much to the displeasure of my cat who purred angrily. ASR was following my abrupt gestures with a raised brow and his general bored expressions. I clutched my- I was in a robe! A freaking robe! What the-

“How did you get in?” I found my voice subjecting the return of the dizziness to a compartment for later use and surreptitiously grabbed the bed to steady my tensed body. His hands enveloped me so quickly, so suddenly that without even desiring to, I was thrust into the familiar world of intoxicating woody scent and warmth and comfort. It burned my blood when my body responded by relaxing. It flamed me more when I realized he too had realized. He smirked, taking it for granted.

Just as he had accepted the lie once upon a time. Tears appeared again and the anger, the realization caused me helped that wounded pride to resurface. I subdued my emptiness that seemingly still craved his caress and broke free from the corruption that had scourged my life. Distance, my mind yelled, was necessary. So, I stepped back, then took many steps back, as far from him as possible. He raised an arm to grab my wrist.

“Do not touch me.” His arm dropped and he was again staring at my collarbone. I didn’t even have it in me to glare at the man. So, I told no one in particular, “You do not need to check with me. I will appear in court tomorrow and free you from my vice grip. I will not prolong your pain. The longer you stay here, the more damage it will cause your image. I do not want the social media spitting fire on me anymore. Frankly, I can’t do this. I am not cut out for this life. I want an out and you do too. So, I will be there tomorrow at 10. Please g-go.”

I turned away with a curt nod and hoped I had delivered my detachment just as fresh tears appeared. Hands busy wiping them away, I walked over to the door and waited. Footsie purred and stopped pretending he was still asleep.

“Your pantry is empty and so is the fridge. Making something would have taken time.” He said, walking back to the bed and gracefully sliding on it and patted the empty space behind him. “Food will be here in a few minutes. Till then, sit.”

I couldn’t believe that was happening. We had been living separate lives for over a year now and there were times when our had paths crossed. At the park, at a few restaurants, at the riverside, then many times on the road in front of this complex. He was always in company. He had always ignored me. I had never questioned. Just wondered. Rather hoped. Perhaps he was stalking me. My happy heart had throbbed painfully at a glimpse of him the first two months and then he had looked away and I was again, a babe in wind with a poisoned wound.

Where was the love that was supposed to last us eternity?

The one that could not be named?

“Are you insane? You think, you actually think I am going to-” I stomped over to him. His lazy eyes followed me just like his cat’s. “Why are you here, ASR?”

“Don’t call me that.” His face darkened, and I couldn’t help the laughter that followed his inane ritual. I was not sure where it was earlier, but I took the chance and laughed a bitter, gut-wrenching laughter. My cheeks hurt, and eyes welled but no matter.

“Seriously? Are we still doing this where I call you ASR and you feel alienated as if I was willingly putting distance between us?”

“Yes” He answered, getting up on his feet. Our knees practically rubbed against each other and I had to step back to avoid being entangled in things I could no longer control. “Besides, I do not need your permission to enter my house.”

“Very well. I will leave then.” I stormed towards the door, slammed it shut and exited the room. Then I cursed myself and re-entered. Arnav Singh Raizada was back on my bed, laying like he owned it. Frolicking with my cat.

My cat that was now happily purring at him. Son of a cat!

“I will be out of your hair but I need to change my dress.” I announced with the last bit of dignity I could afford. He simply leaned against the pillow, my pillow, and put his arms under his head, chocolate pools staring at me. Footsie climbed on his chest and settled happily. Like I said, the cat was never really mine. Well, neither was he.

I looked away from the happy memory and sobbed silently. I hoped my shoulders didn’t quiver in a noticeable manner as I picked up the last set of clean clothes and strode towards the bathroom. I shunned the man who had plagued my life and stared at the mirror again. My eyes were bloodshot and one of my veins was pronounced near my neck. It always did whenever I was on the verge of conflict or panic. He must have seen it. He knew he was affecting me. I knew he was enjoying it.

My brows scrunched as I got out of the robe and slipped into my jeans. The bruise hurt and the pain was scathing but manageable. It angered me that the man who had given it to me was still prowling, ready for his next hunt. All because of the man in my bedroom right now. Putting back the shirt on, I tied my hair into a tight ponytail and fixed my face. I wasn’t going to give him any more pleasure. I needed to get away from there. Away from him as soon as possible.

But where? It hurt me to think that I might have to crawl back to Radhika, but I had no choice. Spending the night on the road was not an option for a woman, disgraced or otherwise.

Kartik! Yes, he would do. Where’s my phone? Two pairs of eyes followed my ascension from bathroom to bedroom to door and I knew not which one was more infuriating. I reached for my phone only to realize ASR had it in his hand.

“Don’t you dare!” I screamed, grabbing it. He let go easily and watched me from head to toe from under hooded eyes, “I prefer the earlier look on you.”

Not sure if it was my blood or my heart that froze. So, I concentrated on the less bothersome one, “You do not get to touch my things anymore! You do not get to claim intimacy!”

“According to who?”

“Me!” I yelled, “You do not get to waltz back to this place and pick at me! You do not get to call my things yours anymore!”

“Whatever is yours is mine, Khushi.” He was again staring at my collarbone and I was getting prissy then. So, I simply skipped the hurt and grabbed my purse and car keys and then headed towards the drawing room where I saw that the glass shards had been removed. I put the house key card in and then punched the code. The door didn’t move. On a more serious note, the code didn’t work.

He had changed the code. He had changed the code, coaxed my cat, bedded my bed, emptied my coffee sachets and reclaimed my only shelter. And I? Well, I got molested and almost raped in the morning, lost a job and a cat and oh, realized a part of me was still affected by the man who practically ruined me. I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I slipped on my knees and cried, cried my little heart out. The pain that I was feeling then could fester a hundred stories. I was touched at places where I didn’t want to be, I was spat on, I was called a wh*re by one man and when I defended myself, I was fired. Because my credibility and character had been long butchered by the man who had promised to protect me!

I gulped in staccatos of air and searched for the packet and lit the last of the cigarettes, taking a long drag and savoring the quiet burning of my lungs. Then I laughed. It seemed as if I was at the end of my life. Running out of everything, running into everything, running from everything…

Tobacco choked my throat and I coughed in a violent manner. A familiar hand offered me water and I shoved it away, helping myself. Before I could do anything though, he snatched the cigarette away and crushed it under his boot. “You are not smoking again.” He snapped and I lost my cool.

Fingers flexed and taut, I pushed him away. “ARE YOU SATISFIED?” I yelled and it hurt. It hurt like crazy, but pain was enough, for then, “WHY ARE YOU HERE? TO SEE HOW THE SL*T WAS FARING? HAVEN’T YOU SEEN ENOUGH? WHY CAN’T I LIVE TONIGHT IN PEACE?”

“STOP CALLING YOURSELF THAT!” I was grabbed and picked and nailed against the wall and made me wince in pain. Must have missed some sore spot on my back. He looked essentially insane at that moment as he breathed hard, trying perhaps to control his temper. His head dropped on my shoulder and once again, I froze. Worse than before. For I felt peace and I hated it. I felt disgusted. I felt repulsed!

My heart was whispering to me about his issues that ran long and deep and I had known it was because of his parents’ death. But nothing could be used as an excuse for the way he had bruised me.

“Here’s what we are going to do, Khushi. You are going to quit smoking and you are coming home with me.” He was looking at me, a tinge of earnestness and a lot of controlled fury in his voice.

“Well, if you want my services, you are going to have to pay for it!” I didn’t know how I had said it. I just knew I wanted to hurt him, bad.

“In fact, I was- Words died as I stared into cesspools of molten copper and I was suddenly, quietly afraid. I had never seen him so furious, so acerbic, not even that night when he had confronted me about my affair with his brother-in-law. It was as if I was seeing an ethereal being, an otherworldly, inhuman, entity that I needed to run away from. A being of glory and reckoning, awaiting my downfall. So be it then. One wound or two, didn’t matter anymore.

I continued, “-just going to meet one- Hot, angry lips scalded mine in punishment, lacerating all that was left in me in a torrent of madness and ruin. I tried to push him away and he yanked my head with his furious fingers, his other hand holding me plush against his body. More, more, more, my heart was dazed. I hated how I fitted snugly to him, I hated how thrilled I felt. Above all, I hated how in agony my soul was. His hand kept my neck, his mouth scavenging the remnants of a woman I hated. His thumb flicked and rubbed the skin underneath my earlobe, reaching down to the crook of my neck and my traitorous body betrayed me again. It screamed for more and his understood, for he tightened his grip. As he let go of my neck, he changed hands, his one hand on my belly, pushing me against the wall. his other yanking my hair as he bit my lower lip, his tongue massaging it instantly, leaving trails of heat and naked pleasure. He was claiming me and I was letting him.

Then he clutched my belly. And I found myself writhing in true pain.

“NO!” His grip slackened until it was no more there. As I slid on the floor, clutching myself, I ignored all that was on his face.

It was unreal. A lie. Deception.

The only thing real was the pain. The pain that allowed me cling to my sanity, to my dignity, to myself.

“Never in all these months did I feel repulsion to this point as of now. Never was it so close to what I feel for you now.” I was met with silence as I told him what I should have told him on that night so many months ago.

“I think I hate you.”


#

P.S. Next one from Arnav's P.O.V. which I am surprised and shocked to admit I never tried before. Garrumph! That will have to change.

Oh, and this isn't a story, not really... well a bit. Couple chapters. Get the drift, eh?

Love and regards,

Silver Spoon

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Where the heart is, you will find me Sinfully Spooning Around. For other times, find my stories and me at therookiefabulist.com :D