50 shades of Arnav

Chapter 6.5: An Interlude: Grief is the price of love

It was not a good day. Hadn't been for some time, Khushi knew that. This time, every year, he'd withdraw, but in the past few years, it got better. Maybe it was family, maybe it was her, maybe it was love, but it did get better every year. For both of them. Today he was home early, reaching home before her, cuddling the kids, chatting to his grandmother, hugging his sister, but still. Khushi knew something was wrong the moment she laid eyes on him. It was in the eyes. A storm was brewing in those ocean deep eyes, so clearly that she wondered how everyone had missed it. And so she followed him quietly to their room.

She walked in and the door closed behind her. Quietly with a click that sounded louder than a bang. And she turned to see him standing there. Desperation in his eyes. Not the same longing that she'd seen there so many times now, but something different. Something feral. Elemental. Like the veneer of civilization was stripped away, and all that remained was the animal inside.

He grabbed her roughly and crushed her against him. An urgency in him that she'd never felt before. A moment of panic, he was much stronger than her, of course. But as his arms came around her, his face buried in her neck. And her body recognized him. His touch, his scent. Maybe he did too, cause he took a deep breath, trying to let her scent soothe him, and some of the knots inside unraveled. But not all.

She felt his hands as they unzipped her at the back, travelled quickly down her body, lighting tiny fires all the way to the hem of her kurta, and then in one fell swoop, he pulled the silky cloth over her head. It sailed over and landed somewhere she didn't care. His desperation hit an answering echo inside her and her hands fumbled at his shirt at the waist.

"No, just you for now. Just you", he mumbled, as he pulled at her salwar. As it fell at her feet in a lump, he picked her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her core in contact with his. And her brain almost short-circuited.

He walked her to the bed and she went down with him on top of her. And his fingers curled around her breasts. Strong fingers, familiar fingers, but they felt different today. Jerky, unsure. He rolled a nipple between his clever fingers, and her back arched, pushing her breasts further into his hands.

One of those hands now smoothed down her front until he cupped her. Her heat, her wetness, always ready for him. Her panties were pulled down in a rush, and then he was there. Hot, urgent kisses against her inner thigh. Her musky scent driving him further, beckoning him to take. And then he did. He took with both hands what she offered so generously. His wonderful, long fingers, used to tapping on a computer, used to smoothing over fabrics, now played her like an instrument, skimmed over her softer-than-silk skin. The first wave hit her even as his tongue went the same route. She convulsed around him, as he lapped at her. Brought her up again even before she was done with her first orgasm. Over she went again, this time around his tongue. And he still wasn't done.

His hand fumbled at his belt as he moved up her lax body, and then he was in. A sigh! Was that her or him? The feeling of home, of belonging, of peace.

And then she looked up into those deep honey-colored eyes, and felt a frisson. Grief! Deep, abiding grief. Eyes that were moist with it, brimming with it. Anger and will power holding back the tears already glimmering there.

As he moved over her, into her, hard and fast, as her breath quickened again, just like her body, she held those eyes. Empathy dripping from hers. The love she had for this man deepening there, glistening in her own eyes.

Whatever the past, they were here now. They were alive and capable of love. They had found each other through everything. And completed each other. And when they were together like this, the past receded just a little bit. The pain, the hurt, the grief receded just a little bit. That was the gift they brought to each other.

"Arnav!", she whispered, and he knew she saw him. Saw deep inside him where the masks were off, deep inside where the frightened child lurked behind the hard wall of the man. And her love hit him at the same time as his orgasm. And hers.

And Arnav was lost. As his head bowed down into her chest, the familiar feel of her, soft, smooth, the scent of her, a light jasmine with the scent of Khushi underneath, the wall finally fell, and he collapsed on her.

He moved quickly, mindful of her comfort even in his deepest grief, and rolled to the side, shucking off his half-undone clothes. And she moved to him, drawn there like a moth to his flame, curled around him just as his arms went around her. They lay there, skin to skin, heart to heart, hearing their stuttering heartbeats finally slow down. In sync in this primal beat as well.

She raised her head and looked up into his face again. That familiar, beloved face, with the little scar near his eye, the damp hair falling on his brow, every precious inch of it so loved, it filled her to overwhelming sometimes. Like her heart wouldn't be able to bear the weight of her feelings any more, and would burst forth from her chest in a shower of sparks. The same sparks he lit in her every time.

"Arnav", she whispered again, as her palms cupped his cheeks, her fingers slowly tracing a path under his eyes. And those eyes looked into hers. With desperation and anger and hurt and so much love. So much grief. He was capable of so much. And the strength of this man astounded her, and gave her strength.

"It will be ok", she said, as she leaned in and kissed him right at the edge of his mouth, a soothing kiss, a loving kiss. A kiss to say she was here, and he could break. She was strong enough to hold them both together if he wanted to let go for a bit. And so the dam broke.

He convulsed in her arms and crushed her against him, as his face burrowed into her neck. The tears that were not too far from the surface all this time spurted in a steady stream. Her arms went around him, holding him tight, anchoring him, as the grief spilled over.

"Why did she leave me, Khushi?", the little child inside the man was still bewildered, after all this time. The child who had held his mother's body as her life's blood slowly flowed out. The child inside that man burrowed into her as the grief made its way out. And she held him still, this woman he loved more than life itself holding him together as he mourned the one who had given him that life.

Khushi just tightened her arms, no answer for the vagaries of fate. No answer needed, just her soothing touch, just her body against his, the love they had for each other shining over the darkness of their grief. The affirmation of life in the remembrance of death.