“Too Late To Repent”
“I was too late to see her tears, too late to hear her cries, too late to smell her fear. I was simply too late.”
- JS
Arnav jerked against his seatbelt as his car came to a miraculous stop, nearly missing an inch from running over a frightened boy. As the beggar child scampered away, Arnav banged his hand against the steering wheel and parked his car aside.
Stepping out, he closed his eyes, his heart still thudding from the impact of having nearly killed a child. Leaning against his car, he ran his hands through his hair and decided against heading for another drive to sort his senses.
And as patience washed over Arnav, he recollected everything he said. From Mamiji telling him about Khushi’s visit to Anjali, Anjali’s attempted abortion to his yells at a distraught Khushi.
Khushi, every time he uttered her name, she brought along a bucket full of bittersweet memories. Arnav jumped out his thoughts as he subconsciously rubbed against the sore bruises on his arm. Folding up his sleeve, he saw the purple marks prominent against his tanned skin.
He had nearly forgotten the trauma of being kidnapped, even if that was a mere seventy two hours ago. And if Khushi hadn’t… “No…” He whispered to himself as her selfless sacrifices flashed before his eyes. How could he forget that his wife almost died? Yet his Di’s teary self reflected before him. True his sister was hysteric but would have Khushi wanted anything to happen to Anjali?
Or was it because Arnav solely believed in Khushi’s words and being the businessman he was, he didn’t believe her completely since there was no evidence?
NO, his mind retaliated. He believed Khushi, he did. Arnav felt his words ring in his ears… no, she wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life. From the corner of his eyes he had noticed Khushi slumping against the tiles in grief…
“Oh God…” Arnav whispered, his throat tightening at the implications of his words. Yes, he was angry and hot headed… he never planned for what he wanted to say. Running a frantic hand through his hair Arnav jumped back into his car and sped towards home.
“I’m sorry Khushi… I AM SORRY.” He screamed to the winds as his heart ceased to beat.
And that would only happen if hers stopped beating too.
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Arnav felt his palms turn clammy as he pushed through the heavy wooden door. He half expected Khushi to lash out at him or her gone, leaving him forever. “No, please…” He muttered like a prayer and stiffened in fright as the room was bathed in darkness.
Deathly darkness.
His Khushi could never stay in the dark. A lump formed in his throat as he stepped into his room, his eyebrows knitting as he heard nothing.
Crack!
Arnav stepped back, shocked to find the windchime he secretly love, strewn and broken under the impact of his foot. He blinked through the darkness, finding everything else intact. Was that supposed to bring in relief or further terror?
Having adjusted to the light, he frantically looked for his wife till he noticed a soft bump in his bed. She was asleep? His heart clenched knowing that she must cried herself to sleep. Rage and helplessness shot through Arnav. Why, for once, why couldn’t he exercise control over his own mouth? And Khushi knows him right, knows that he doesn’t mean what he says!
Walking hesitantly to Khushi’s side, he gently switched on the bedside table lamp. “Khushi I…” Arnav stopped abruptly, collapsing on the floor in horror as a kitchen scissor lay in her palm.
Blood oozing out of her flesh.
“KHUSHI!”
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My dear readers,
I do not advocate cuss words nor suicide, they're merely there due to the demand of the story - what means more is how one overcomes... always!
Love,
*
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