Chapter 13
3:58 AM
He climbed up the steps whimsically shaped like piano keys and walked, toward the bar that looked very much like a guitar. Not Just Jazz By the Bay, Arnav thought tiredly. Maybe that’s what he needed at that point on. He looked towards the stage, seemed like it was his lucky night, he thought with a tired smirk. Lucky, he thought, was a matter of perspectives but still - he’d bite. Lucky night it was. Deepak Ram, Tony Marino, Vic Juris, Neil Welch and Jamey Haddad was performing. They were on a tour and like so many other artistes, they were jamming at Jazz because it was just the thing to do for Jazz Musicians when they frequented Mumbai; the Jazz central of India. The haunting sound of Madiba’s Dance filled the air, the melancholy notes edifying the jarring melancholia inside Arnav. Boosting it. Darkening the tones. He shook his head in dismay... Tonight wasn’t his night, was it? He walked towards the bar slowly, and spying a lone seat, slid on it. What he needed tonight was alcohol. To drink like a fish. Enough of it so that the metaphorical fish drowned, along with the thoughts in his head that Arnav had already labelled as taboo. When the bartender looked at him inquiringly, he asked for a bottle of Glenfiddich, when the bartender’s eyes widened, he gestured distractedly again; yes, a bottle. As Arnav sat there, drinking the sweet toffee flavoured drink with a subtle smokiness. He looked around, tiredly. Hoping that a pretty young thing would perk things up for him. There were gorgeous women around; really gorgeous. The silky limbs, wide dark rimmed eyes, pouty, glossy, knowing mouths, artfully tousled hair. Encased in clothes that would have normally caused him to pop out in a pleasant fantasy or two. Tonight though, nada. Arnav looked again, eyes focused. There had to be somebody who’d perk his fancies! He was a normal man, with a normal man’s voracious need. A pretty face on a built-like-a-brick body usually did it - why didn’t it work today? Why didn’t those sexy legs, shimmying hips, arched eyebrows and rouged lips raise his body temperature pleasantly, as it would have done usually? What was happening to him? Why did it feel like chemical castration? Arnav took a large swig of the Glenfiddich, feeling unmitigatingly fucked. Arnav had made his way through perhaps third of the bottle when a different song came on, a funkier, edgier jazz that would usually have put Arnav in a better frame of mind, immediately. Except tonight, it turned out to be another of fate’s rather odd jokes; Blues for Shyam Babu started playing and Arnav’s eyes fell on the man himself - Shyam Manohar Jha. The scion to Manohar Jewellers. The attorney. The man who might hold some sort of key to his past. Khushi’s friend. Arnav sighed, as he realized that it was probably the last part that made him feel more despondent than anything else there, as good manners instilled by his mother caused him to signal a passing waitress to carry the bottle to the table the man occupied; brooding alone as he sauntered towards him. Their eyes had met and there was no way Arnav could have ignored him now without looking like an absolute asshole. Arnav already felt like one today, and as he walked towards the man in question, he realized that he didn’t care to be a bigger one that night. Arnav was surprised to have felt that way; maybe he had drank more than he should have.
Shyam looked up to note the younger man coming towards him, face grave, eyes more so. He smiled at Arnav Singh Raizada and gestured for him to sit down, which the young man did, silently. He had things weighing heavily down in his mind, Shyam could see, as Arnav looked on towards the stage silently, seemingly lost in the music. He hadn’t spoken yet. “I can recommend the Jalapeno Cheese Poppers,” Shyam said levelly, as he watched the younger man pour drink for the two of them. From experience he knew that Glenfiddich packed quite a punch and if he wasn’t mistaken, Arnav had already drank some already. The bottle said so. The food at least would soak some of it up. To his relief the young man nodded, and as he placed an order, Arnav spoke for the first time. “Come here often?” the younger man asked politely as he sipped his drink again. Shyam picked his up, and thought. Did he come here often? Sure, when he needed to escape all the bitterness that ruled his life. The band broke out in Summertime and he smiled, politely, “Not really, no,” then as if some imp; the bloody Glenfiddich, he thought, compelled him to say it, “Well, maybe sometimes... When I need to escape things,” he added, twirling the spoon with a guitar on top - A Jazz By The Bay trademark. The younger man’s listless eyes focused; sharpened immediately. “Do you need to escape things Mr. Jha?” he asked slowly; inquiringly, eyes sharpening. Shyam swirled the drink in his glass, and swirled. Not as drunk as you seem Mr. Raizada, he thought; a silent toast. “Yes Mr. Raizada. I understand that everybody needs to, at some point or the other in their lives,” and drank it down. The pleasant, sweet smoky burn immediately making him feel better.
The song changed and Narmada piped through, as the younger man looked him straight in the eyes, “Sometimes... it’s hard not to run, isn’t it? You want to. You want it so bad, yet it seems as if the fates are conspiring against you; There’s nowhere to go. To turn. Walls all around you; hemming you in.” Shyam was surprised to note the almost poetic words falling off the lips of a man very well known for his characteristic reticence but he also knew that misery and drink could do that to you. Shyam would respect it. This was a man at the end of his tenterhooks the lawyer in Shyam noted, fascinated as always in human nature. They ordered The Sultan’s Favourite, an assorted kebab platter with baby cheese naan and chutney while they talked. Shooting the breeze really; about music. About the Raizada Royale Hotels. The new one being inaugurated in Mumbai. The rise of jazz, and its connection to indian classical music. They had talked about anything and everything. Both unwilling to get up; both unwilling to go home although for different reasons entirely. Then again, maybe for reasons that shared certain degrees of similarities - both wanted but didn’t want to want the women in their respective lives. After all, didn’t someone once say that women grow like flowers, bear desire; the odor of the human flowers? How could the men in question be blamed for what came so natural to them, really? Maybe the Glenfiddich was making him talk more than usual because Arnav suddenly said, “All my life I've been a damn-the-torpedoes kind of guy but messing this up... it's similar to ending all that's good in my life now; a fact that the
fates seem quite unable to process,” he looked at the stage, where the band had switched to Strange Fruit. Shyam looked ahead, the singer rasping in that almost Ella Fitzgerald-ish way, “Sometimes...” he took a sip, “We, ourselves are all that it takes to ruin a good thing. Maybe the fates bear more than their share of bad reputation,” he added sardonically. Thinking about his life - their lives; Shyam and Anjali Manohar Jha. Hadn’t Shyam himself ruined what was left of their relationship together? Why blame fate? Why give them a bad name? After all, he thought with a sigh, hadn’t they been kind enough to have handed his Rani Sahiba over to him for tender love and care? Had he ever been able to give her that? He didn’t know. He really didn’t know. In his late thirties, Shyam had come to an understanding - no matter what you have, what you don’t and however accomplished you may have been - If you are a man, you will never be able to understand women. It's quite tragic that it was a knowledge so known to everyone, but had been imparted on him by life at such an advanced age. He looked up at the younger man who seemed lost in the music but Shyam’s sharp eyes caught him focusing on the conversation on the sly. “Then again Mr. Raizada, I never took you to be a man who believed in the fates - bad or good,” and the male frustration in Shyam, the warrior that loved duking it out in the court - one that would have loved taking a man on real time; had the pleasure of watching Arnav Singh Raizada swing towards him, looking.Then, assessing. That look was all it took for Shyam to understand the young man before him. He might look reckless but in matters of importance, this was a man who never did anything without analyzing it first. Arnav bared his teeth, a semblance of a smile, “And I didn’t take you for a man who sits alone at dark cafes Mr. Jha but here we are,” Shyam acknowledged the hit gracefully. A man had to be given his due, “Touche Mr. Raizada,” he raised his glass and toasted the man in front of him. Can’t argue with that, he thought sardonically, and looked at the stage while as Miles Davis’ So What started playing.
“I know all about messing up without any help from my friends the fates, Mr. Raizada,” he added, signalling for a plate of Jalapeno Cheese Poppers. “Just ask me,” he took another sip of the Glenfiddich, savouring the smooth burn as it went down. Arnav laughed, if it sounded a little desperate to Shyam’s trained ears, he didn’t comment on it. “A Midas touch, Mr. Jha?” the younger man had stopped all pretences of sips, he was now drinking like a teenager; for the effect. Shyam smiled darkly recognizing the emotions that drove him, emotions that were striking off chords of his own, “The kind that even the biggest fool would probably run away from Mr. Raizada” and he pushed the tray of the Cheese Poppers at the younger man, hoping that food would soak up the alcohol somewhat. Manteca started playing in the background when Arnav looked at him, surprisingly clear eyed, “Running away; it gets more and more difficult as the days go by, wouldn’t you say Mr. Jha?” as a pretty young waitress comes in to clear their table, they place another order for Creole Potato Wedges this time with a side of lime, waiting for the lollypop eyed young woman to stop loitering around the attractive older men and then, dejectedly go away before they started talking again. “Have you thought about stopping running then Mr. Raizada? Take it from someone who knows, before long it will be too late. Everything gone up in a puff of a metaphorical smoke,” he laughed. “Maybe... maybe it's better for everything concerned if it was too late,” Arnav said, and Shyam could see in the direct gaze of the young man that he really believed in what he was saying at that time. How little you know, he thought unsympathetically. How little we all know. “But it never is though, Mr. Raizada,” he added gently and watched the young man’s eyes widen. What was he thinking? “I think I’ll have to take my chances Mr. Jha,” he got up and before he could do anything about it, had walked off to the bar to catch the bill. Arnav then came back, and very formally, if a little sheepishly extended his hand towards Shyam, “looking forward to seeing your wife and you at the opening Mr. Jha. Have a good night,” he shook his hand and had left before Shyam could get a word in edgewise. He was embarrassed, Shyam knew and thought sympathetically, it wouldn’t be the last time kid. How well he knew, and That Old Black Magic started playing on stage. Fate really had the worst sense of humour sometimes, he thought dejectedly and reached for the Glenfiddich. There was still some left.
Arnav walked, realizing very well that driving home in this state meant certain death or dismemberment. If that wasn’t bad enough, if he was unlucky enough to survive either, Khushi would with her incessant nagging would complete the job. Like the hangover that would follow tomorrow wouldn’t be bad enough, he snorted. He had dialled Aman to have him inform an underling to come pick up the car and drive it home, and a brisk walk in the night air seemed to him, in him inebriated state, just what the doctor ordered. Khushi... Pretty Khushi... he thought and immediately clamped down on that thought. Shyam’s last words unerringly came back to haunt him, But it never is though, Mr. Raizada. He knew that it wasn’t. The damned lawyer was right. But, what other solution was there? He couldn’t in good conscience touch her. The girl who had trusted him with her precious secrets. With her all. What was he to do? Since when did doing the right thing by her become so difficult? Arnav walked on and remembered.
It was nearly 2.00 in the morning, and he had just wrapped up a night shift at The Royal Pride and come home. He looked up as he heard a scream, His heart slamming into his ribs in panic. That scream was familiar.
Khushi!
He had just ran up the first flight of stairs when a small shivering form slammed into him. He held her by the shoulders and steadied her, only for her to start wriggling violently. Shouting, her eyes brimmed with tears. “No. NO! Let me GO!” She was Shouting as she pummeled his forearms with small fists and fear shot through him. What had happened?
He shook her. “Khushi. KHUSHI! It’s me, Arnav! Khushi STOP!”
She looked at him, properly then, and the fear that had clouded her eyes for that infinite moment before it registered with her that he was there, was something Arnav knew he wouldn’t forget till the day he died.
“Ar...Arnav?” she whispered, looking up at him, and then threw her arms around him, digging herself into his chest. She was trembling... shaking, he realized. “Arnav... Arnav...” she sobbed into his chest and his panic increased. What had happened?
“Khushi, Khushi Sshhh. Look at me. Look at me, Khushi. I’m here. Sshh...” he said, pulling away from her, but still keeping his arms around her small form. “Come on, let’s go up Khushi.” he said, and she hugged him again, this time tighter. “No Arnav. No, Please.” she whimpered and he closed his eyes in horror. His fears confirmed. Then, Anger took over. He looked at her and hugged her closer to himself. He had to get her out of here. Their stay in this dilapidated, godforsaken chawl had come to an end.
Turning abruptly, holding himself back from going up to their room and beating the life out of the sick bastard who had done this to his Khushi by sheer force of will, Arnav walked her down the stairs and away from the chawl. He would find them a new place to stay. Khushi would never have to stay in such a place again. Ever.
A half an hour later found the two standing outside The Royal Pride. Arnav sighed. This was the only option he had right now. He hugged Khushi to himself again, feeling sick that someone could even think of doing something like that to a little innocent girl like His Khushi.
“Khush? Come on.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Arnav, this is the place where you w-work.” she whispered and he nodded. “W-we ca-can’t stay here, Arnav.” she sniffed then, some more tears leaking out of her big doe eyes.
“We can stay here, Khush. Now, come.” he said and led her into the Hotel. He would have to talk to old man Malhotra, but he would do it- there was no way he was making Khushi go back in that old disgusting hovel again. If he had to pick up another shift to cover for their stay here, well, he shrugged, he could do that too.
Entering the lobby, he quickly led her over to the reception and smiled at Ali, before he picked up the phone and dialed Malhotra’s private suite. He was instantly greeted by the husky, slightly sleepy voice of his Boss. “Yes?”
“Sir, Its me Arnav. I was wondering if I could talk to you in private? It’s... It’s urgent.” he said, as he looked down at Khushi, still holding on to him. Ali was eyeing her with curiosity. He sighed in relief, as Malhotra called him up. He disconnected the call, and turned to Khushi, “Come on. We have to go up.” he told her, and with a quick smile at Ali, led her to the elevators.
Malhotra had been waiting for them, he realized, when the door opened before he had had the time to knock more than once. There he stood, the pot-bellied man, clad in a navy blue robe, with a cup of coffee in his hand. His boss was a stout man, with a jolly looking face and crinkled blue eyes that twinkled continuously. His nose was a bit hawk-like but his chubby cheeks and double chins buffered it’s sharp effect and gave him a retired-Santa look. He waved a meaty hand and invited them inside, his intelligent eyes roving over them curiously.
“So, Arnav, My Lad! What brings you here at this time of the night?” he asked him, jovially, his eyes now trained on the trembling form of Khushi, and Arnav shifted, drawing her closer to and a little behind himself. He shielded her from Malhotra’s view and felt her clutch at his shirt as she pressed her face into his back. His hand automatically tightened around her small hand still held in his. He saw Malhotra’s eyes shine with some kind of understanding, and he smiled- this time warmly.
“What happened, Arnav?” he asked, and the tone was reassuring- the tone of a father. Arnav felt Khushi shift behind him, slightly into Malhotra’s view. He knew she was gazing at the nice old man, and mentally shook his head. She was so naive! Trusting absolutely anybody!
“I... We need a place to live, Sir.” he said, coming straight to the point. “I was wondering if...” but Malhotra cut him off with a wave of his large hand.
“The service apartments in this Hotel are made for precisely this purpose Arnav. You and this little girl can live here. And don’t worry about the rent.” he said, before Arnav could get in a word. Malhotra turned and picked up his telephone from the coffee table, pressing a number and talking into the receiver. “Ali, send the key to Apartment 32 to my suite. Yes, Raizada will be moving in there. Yes. Make it fast.”
He placed the phone down and turned to them, “There. All done. I’ll help you two move in.”
“Thank You Sir.” Arnav said, and Malhotra smiled kindly. “Now, Arnav, What happened?” he asked again, but his tone was steely this time. And Arnav knew that the old man had guessed at least the gist of what must have happened to drive them out of their house at this time of the night. And his respect for the man doubled. He shook his head, and Malhotra nodded.
“Okay, Arnav. Would you and the little lady like something to eat, meanwhile?” Arnav smiled at him gratefully, and looked back at Khushi. She was gazing at Malhotra now, and he could see the trust in her eyes. He hesitated. Would it be right to leave her alone in the company of a strange man, again, so soon after what had almost happened? “Khu-Khushi, I need to go back ho-to the chawl and bring all our stuff here. Do you think you’ll be alright?” he asked her uncertainly, and she trained those big eyes on him. She nodded hesitantly, but her hand clutched at his arm tighter. He covered her small hand with his and looked at her in the eye. “Khushi, if you don’t want me to go now, I won’t.” he said, and she shook her head. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. She opened them again and smiled up at him. “Can... can I stay here till you come back?” she asked him in a small voice, and he felt relief and pride surge through him. His ward was the bravest girl he’d ever met.
“Of Course you can stay here Sweetheart. Why don’t you two stay here tonight, and we can shift you into the Apartment first thing tomorrow Morning?” Malhotra said, smiling at her kindly, and Khushi nodded, smiling back.
Arnav had gone back to their chawl after he had made sure that Khushi had settled in comfortably in the room Malhotra had shown them to. He had gathered everything as fast as he could and looked around for some sign of the bastard who had scared his baby. He had huffed in irritation at not finding anyone- but had vowed to come back and bash the sicko’s teeth in the next day. Right Now, Khushi needed him more.
He had gone back and had been waved in the Suite by a disturbed looking Malhotra. He had walked to the bedroom, when Malhotra had called him. “Raizada. If you want put in a day or two’s leave. Take care of her.” he had said in a grave voice and Arnav had nodded at his Boss, gratefully.
He had quietly opened the door, expecting Khushi to be fast asleep by now, but he had been surprised to find her sitting up on the bed, looking expectantly at the door. She had been waiting up for him.
“Khushi?” he asked her, as he stood away from the bed, at a loss as to how to convince her that he would never hurt her- fearing her response to him as a male. He had watched as she looked at him curiously. She then smiled at him, a little shakily, but still smiled. She patted the bed beside her. And he sighed. She wasn’t going to push him away. Not yet ready to examine that relief which coursed through him- a small part of him knowing that he would have broken down had she pushed him away. He would never be able to accept her distancing herself from him. His only Family.
He sat beside her and she snuggled up to him, making him think of that horrible day, when they had escaped that hell hole of a Palace in Lucknow and spent their evening on that godforsaken Railway Platform. He put his arm around her and hugged her to himself. Reassuring her without words that she would always have him beside her. And then she began to speak.
“I don’t want to be... that, Arnav.” She said, her voice shaking as she looked down at her lap. He could hear the anguish, the tears in her voice. And his arm tightened automatically around her. “You don’t want to be what Khushi?” he asked her gently, confused as to what she was saying.
“I don’t want to be one of those... those women, Arnav. I don’t want to be a... Prostitute.” She whispered and he looked down at her, horrified. Horrified that his small girl could even know about any such thing existing, let alone thinking that she would have to be something so repulsive... so disgusting in her life.
“Khushi?” he asked her, concerned. Then rage built inside him. “Who said that to you, Khushi? Was it that bastard who tried to...” he closed his eyes, not even able to say the words. “Who said that to you Khush?” he asked and she looked up at him, her eyes moist- breaking his heart to tiny little pieces again.
“I... Arnav...” she choked back another sob, and he rubbed her back. “Ssshh... Khushi. You’ll never be something like that.” he told her, firmly. And was taken aback when she smiled at him, somewhat ruefully. The anguished pain in that smile, the acceptance of some bitter truth of life that it showed, shook him.
“I... Arnav... my Amma was....” she gulped. “My Amma was a prostitute, Arnav.” She looked up at him, and he didn’t know what he saw in her eyes, but he pulled her to himself, pulling her on his lap, and hugged her. He felt her relax in his arms and she continued, her voice a little stronger.
“I lived... I lived there, till I was eight... and they... those men- they wanted me...” she gulped again, audibly, and he closed his eyes. Sickened at the mere thought that this small fragile girl had seen such horrors so early in life. “But Amma saved me. And then, one night, she helped me escape through the window of our room. The day before I was to be sold to some big Sahib.” He hugged her tighter, as she continued. “I ran, she told me to never look back Arnav, and I didn’t. I ran, I hid- the whole night, I hid out in one or the other shed, under cars, in trucks. I just... I was so scared he would get me, Arnav.” he marveled at just how much she had been through, and how she still managed to keep that sunny smile on her face.
“My Amma sacrificed her life, so that I wouldn’t have to... I wouldn’t have to be that.” she whispered, and for the first time that night, he understood the ramifications of what had taken place tonight on this small girl in his arms. Not only had it very nearly ruined her- but it had dug up the very memories she must have spent years burying. He felt hot tears soak his shirt, and knew that she needed his support right now, his word that whatever her past was- he wouldn’t desert her. He would be by her side, no matter what.
“Ssshh. Sshh, Khushi.” he rocked her, in his arms, as he ran his fingers through her hair. “Khushi. You’re safe now, you’re away from that place. And you’re safe. I’ll always be here Khush. You’ll never have to go back there baby.” he told her tenderly, and she pulled back. That moist, grateful smile lighting her face up. He cupped her cheeks and wiped her tears away. “Don’t cry Khush. I’m here, and I’m always going to be here.” he had told her. And she had slept in his arms that night, snuggling into his chest, as he patted her the whole night. silently vowing to protect his fragile Khushi, his baby doll from the cruel world- even if it killed him to do that.
And he had kept that promise, hadn’t he? He had always protected her from the whole world. Always. But who would protect her, now? Now that, it was him she needed protecting from. He shook his head, his eyes burning all of a sudden. No, he would have to protect her, even if it was from his own self. He would control his hormones. A man who couldn’t control his body, was ruled by it was no man at all - Arnav knew it. He wouldn’t be ruled by his passions as his father had been. Utterly useless. He would be a man - the man who had raised his little ward. Gained her trust and the one who she had entrusted with her darkest secret. He couldn’t break that trust she had in the goodness of the world. That naive, sweet trusting nature was what defined his Khushi. The pure beautiful free soul that she was. And his one wrong action- one hot blooded move, would break it into irreparable bits and pieces - never to be put together again. It would shatter her whole life. No, he couldn’t do that. He really couldn’t. He shook his head again, this time, decisively. Khushi Kumari Gupta was as safe with him as she would have been with an eunuch. Not because he was one; if the raging hard on he had; just thinking about her was any indication - he was in for the torture of a lifetime - but because she was his and he was a man who always protected what was his - if needed, even from himself.
He would never do that to her. Arnav was, he knew, incapable of harming her, ever. He had loved her since she had been his baby at 11 and while he didn’t understand being in love, Arnav understood LOVE - the unexplainable kind he felt for her. He would never knowingly hurt her with his lust. He hoped. Arnav looked around, he had been somewhere in South Mumbai - he remembered that, somewhat vaguely but being how he was on foot, and his cognitive abilities pretty deeply impaired, he thought stumbling, then righting himself, maybe it was time for him to ask for outside help. Who was he to call though? Aman? Yes, why not? He did pay the skinny little man enough for him to take a red eye flight straight to Mumbai and drive down to wherever he was and take him home, Arnav looked around - except he wasn’t exactly sure where that might be and, he kind of liked his Executive Assistant. It wouldn’t bode well for him if the skinny dude had enough and quit on him. Arnav felt decidedly emotional on that thought. No. He needed to have Aman around. Mostly so that he could order him and use him as his verbal punching bag/whipping boy. Everybody needs one of those and Aman came along with wonderful capabilities like superhuman tolerance, his rollerdex mind and capacity to make sense of any kind of chaos. No. He sighed, not liking what he had to do next. He looked, squinting to make out the faded street sign over his head. Co-la-ba. Colaba? What....? How...? How did he get there? Where WAS Colaba, exactly?What was more important was, how was he to get home? There were no autos or taxis in sight. Arnav sat down, cross legged on the side of the street, mindless of the dirt and grime beneath him. He looked up, a full moon! Perfect, he beamed. Maybe he could blame it on lunacy when she asked. After all, didn’t those of the past believe that it was the moon that drove people crazy when it was in it’s fullest? Moon was known as Luna, hence Lunatic. Arnav was a lunatic, and that, to his fuzzy logic, made a lot of sense, really. Arnav was very glad for the excuse. He just hoped that it would fly with her. He had to do, of course, Arnav thought as he distastefully picked up his phone after fifteen minutes of going through the nearly bottomless pockets of his jeans. it didn’t bode well for his already tattered self-control but, he thought steeling his resolve, it was now or never or to keep with the ironic jazz songs themed day, he thought, I need, Someone to Watch over Me. Arnav fished out his phone, reluctantly and dialled.
Khushi had, until very recently, never known that ONE person could make you feel such multitudes of emotions - simultaneously. He would make you burn up with a touch, your heart turn over with tenderness, overflow with love, eyes burn with anger, break out in goosebumps with excitement, tear up with hurt and grind your teeth with frustration - all at the same time. Arnav introduced that to her - Made her feel that way and Khushi still wasn’t sure if she was to thank him for that unique bit of experience or kick him to Kingdom Come. He had without lifting a finger made her burn as surely as she would if he himself had doused her with gasoline and lit her on fire. While the selfish son-of-a-bitch felt nada. Zilch, she thought sourly. She had been burning up - not even physical labour had done any good. If she had hoped to burn away the debilitating lust in the corners of her mind - she had very much been mistaken. It hadn’t gone away. She hadn’t sweated it off as one would do with frustrations after a tough breakout. The endorphins did nothing. The achy need remained. The need to be possessed remained. The need to touch and be touched, skin to skin, remained. A gaping mindless, animalistic lust still tore at her. Clawing from the inside, turning her inside out. He had gone out, as nonchalantly as you please, for a fucking walk! A walk, she laughed, somewhat desperately. He went for a walk while she burned. She had, in her desperation gone and taken a shower - craving her body to understand that there was no release for either of them. He didn’t think of her like that. He would never think of a.... whore’s daughter like that she thought and immediately felt small for being so bitchy. He wasn’t someone who judged with lineage but could she deny the blot in hers ? Similarly despite the circumstances they had been in since he was 18, she couldn’t deny the blue blood that flowed through his veins. How did these two factors even meet?
So she had taken a shower to drown that heat. To it wash away - to soothe that burn. Should have gone swimming in Aloe Vera Gel instead, she groused. That perpetual burn eating at her, searing her under the skin. Sitting low at her belly. Craving him. His touch. Him. Hoping the sharp droplets of the cold water would needle into her skin. Under it. Take away that hunger. Wash away that need. Soothe that burn. What was that they said about the best laid plans? They never did work out, did they? The burn somehow had multiplied - the sharp, impersonal shower seemed almost sensual. Thousands of fingers - his fingers seemingly caressing her all over. The water smoothing all over her body like his hands should have. The way she craved he would. Her body slick, burning - she had stepped out only to have that sultry heat slam into her again, thinking of him. She had, to distract herself picked up a random bottle of lotion and had started slicking it on herself. Mistake. One she hadn’t realized until she was half way through. The seductive scent of berries, the flowers and even the night musk of the Dark Kiss reminded her of him. Of the fact that he was the one who had given her the lotion in the first place. It was his hands she wanted on her skin, slicking it up. Heating. Rubbing. Touching her on those hard to reach places. Slick, wet, strong fingers. Stroking. Making her.... She shuddered, and was startled to hear the front door slam. Khushi quickly pulled on her robe, tightening it around her waist and got out, eager to put her best face forward. To smile. To make him see that everything was alright. Except, he wasn’t there. Anywhere at the apartment. Anywhere at all. But she had heard the door slam. Did that mean he had come in and then left? Had he seen her like that? Arnav always peeked into her room before he went to bed for the last time at night. A habit that was a holdover from the past. Had he seen her then? Naked. Khushi knew that she should feel distressed at the thought. But she wasn’t. Instead, her heart was racing. Her body flushed but, not out of shame. Her pulse spiked. Was she... excited? Had he seen her? Did he like what he had seen? Khushi spied a box of Dulce de Leche of Hagen Daaz ice cream on the front coffee table. Sweating. Dripping. Poor ice-cream, she sympathized wildly, I know how you feel. Melting on the inside. Or was it that the heat that she had generated was doing the job faster? Dulce de Leche. Hagen Daaz. He had bought it for her before he left again. Aww Arnav! Her eyes abruptly teared up. Her favourite. Arnav had sensed the tension in her. He may not understand what was wrong with his ex-ward but he had felt that something was bothering her. In his own way, he had brought the ice-cream that she had always said made every bad things all better. Arnav... she thought. Why did she have to fall in love with him? Why not simply be satisfied with their odd, undefined relationship? Why couldn’t she ever be satisfied with her lot in life? Why did Khushi always have to want more?
She was startled out of her reverie by the shrill ring of her phone. It could only be one person, she thought. She glanced down at the screen, and sure enough, Arnav. “Yes, Arnav?” she said into the phone, exasperated with herself for the involuntary shiver that ran through her when she heard his husky voice on the other side.
But then her eyebrows furrowed, as she heard his slurred speech. He was drunk. Very, very drunk. “Arnav? Are you Drunk?” What was happening with this man? He had been drinking so much lately. And with his diabetes, he knew it always worried her! “Colaba? What the hell are you doing drunk in Colaba, Arnav?” she asked him, pissed now. What the hell was he thinking?
“Fine. Stay there. I’m coming.” she snapped into the phone and disconnected it, before she could grace his ears with some of her choicest swear words. Honestly, this man was hopeless. She stomped to the door, before remembering that she was wearing only a bathrobe, and now even more irritated with herself, stomped back, irritation, anger and worry rising inside her. She threw on a random T-shirt and some jeans as she muttered about hopeless ex-guardians who behaved like irresponsible teenagers and idiotic diabetics who liked to keep her in worry-land, and grabbed her keys, running down the stairs, not bothering to stop for the elevator to arrive.
She was going to have a talk with her ex-guardian. A very serious, long talk about his drinking habits, she thought grimly, as she buckled herself into the SUV and drove out of the building’s parking lot.
She hoped that he was pleased with himself and what he had wrought. After all, didn’t they say something about only fools and madmen were pleased with themselves? Arnav currently in her eyes, ruled over both the categories. He better start running when she got there. Running and running fast.
She waited for the signal to change, tapping on the steering wheel rapidly, biting her lip as she thought about Arnav standing on a deserted street alone in Colaba- Colaba, for crying out loud!- What was he doing there? Had he been with... had he been with someone? She thought, eyeing the rear view mirror once, and accelerating the car. Should she ask him? Would he tell her? She bit her lip again. After all, wasn’t it also fools and madmen who spoke the truth?
Dare she ask?
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