He wakes up to find himself naked on the floor, body cramped and aching and a heaviness weighing on his heart and soul. He manages to pull himself up with a wince as sharp pain shoots down his back. He drags himself to the washroom.
He feels filthy all over as he gazes at his reflection in the bathroom mirror - eyes redshot and swollen, dried tear stains on his face, a crease on the skin of his left cheek, sweat beads dripping down his forehead, snot staining his nose and upper lip. He steps into the shower, without caring about heating the water and lets the cold water drench him. The fresh blisters on his skin sting a little under the water but he ignores it in favour of scrubbing his face and the rest of the body in muffled haze.
When he's done, he scrubs himself dry and dresses in a cotton t-shirt and pyjamas before making his way to the kitchen to fix himself some coffee and food.
It's an hour past midnight and the night sky is embedded with stars. His steps automatically take him to the balcony, needing the comforting caress of the gentle breeze and soothing sounds of the crickets. He cannot tolerate being within at the present moment.
He sits by the sill, head resting against his arms on it.
_
The aftermath of her decision, though letting her feel light, still had enveloped her into an exhaustion induced sleep which she now regrets as she wakes up panting. Her eyes, the shade of sable now hold a sheen of horror induced haze. Her hand clutches her stomach in an instinct even as their accusations play like a record in her head.
"You let it die"
"You should have known better. *a disappointed sigh* Go back to him. It'll all be okay within a year. You'll have one more by then and maybe you will also have learnt what not to do by then"
"It is not his fault that he's had to compromise and marry someone like you now is it? You should be grateful he hasn't thrown you away already"
"We cannot shelter a disgrace"
Tears flow down, silently tracing the path down her face. Her chest tightens and then splits open in pain.
She still does not sob like she wishes she could.
It takes a few moments to stabilize herself and she does (like always).
She throws away the bedsheet and stumbles as she makes her way out of the bed. Without looking back, she moves towards the one room that makes all of it better.
When she switches on the light and opens the window, she sees him with his head resting on his arms against the sill, eyes red with a faraway look in them.
_
There is something fragile in his stance, something troubled in the air surrounding him. The look in his eyes is something of a longing, raw and bare for anybody who would look to see.
(She has a feeling there's never been anybody before who has!)
He is a mural, something broken in him that the color painted on him masks. There is an innocence to him as she looks at his face with the moonlight falling on it like a gentle caress, innocence that is not the glow of a newborn or genuine laugh of a child but instead born out of tender vulnerability of a hurt soul.
He reminds her of a painting she had painted some time back, the live manifestation of an art born out of loneliness that has shadowed her all through her life.
Against the backdrop of the white canvas, she had painted a man lying crumpled on the ground, a desolate look in his eyes as he looked at the sky glittering with stars. There had been nothing exceptionally great in the painting in terms of symbolism but it was a straightforward depiction of loss and failure and the utter devastation and desolation of the spirit, with the man gazing longingly at a sky far out of reach where all and sundry were happy except a shunned person, an outcast like him.
He reminds her of that painting except there is not a soul crushing, unconquerable desolation in him. But there is something that is calling out, so exceptionally loud in the silence surrounding them.
_
There's something comforting in her presence. She's looking at him like she understands something within him screams to be understood about. He hasn't looked at her yet but he knows she's been here since the time she opened the window and looked at him and hasn't looked away yet.
He wonders what she sees. He wonders if she sees a man weakened by demons he hasn't been able to conquer in years. With that, he also wonders if he wants her to see.
It's an overwhelming question that he decides he cannot deal with at the present moment.
"Hey" her voice is soft as he hears her greet him, prompting him to look at her. She is dressed in a green full sleeve nightie, her hair in a braid and her specs resting on the bridge of her nose.
"Hey" he echoes back.
"Bad day?"
"You can say that"
She nods and there is silence between them. She isn't sure though if the silence should remain at the present. She thinks hard as to what she can do to continue the conversation.
It comes to her in an epiphany.
"You said you write don't you?"she asks and he startles, at the abrupt question.
"Yes but what about it?"
"Let's play a game shall we since I sense neither of us is going to sleep now"
Intrigued, he sits up straighter and nods his head in a yes.
She smiles. It is beautiful in the way it is carefree and wide as opposed to her usual restrained smiles that are small curves to her lips than an actual smile.
"So what is the game?"
_
WC: 1002 words
Love,
Pratyusha
YOU ARE READING
Edge Of The Night | ONC2024 ✓
General Fiction[Open Novella Contest - 2024] ONC2024 Longlister Round 1 & 2 Qualifier Prompts: 24,5 Tired of rising from the ashes, when his last reason to hold on falls apart, a man seeking peace moves into a new apartment. What he doesn't expect is to become e...
