BROKEN THINGS

34

Rahul unlocked his apartment, stepping inside slowly, a small smile on his face. Dinner at Brianna's restaurant was always the one thing he looked forward to in his boring, endless days. She was a kindly old women, healthy and motherly in just enough ways that sometimes when he looked at her, he could see the woman who brought him up, who brought him to her house and heart; in the face of a Carribean. Over the near month he had been settling here, his days stretched out to the same, get things in order, lie around in his apartment and go have his one meal at Brianna's.

He could cook ofcourse. But he just didn't want to. He had tried, and though it was decent, it felt like sandpaper to his throat. He just couldn't eat. Couldn't eat in the company of nothing but his thoughts. Most days he couldn't even live in the company of his thoughts. And Brianna's, Brianna's food was the only thing keeping him alive at this point. He would go at whatever time it suited him, and the old woman would come out atleast once from her kitchen, a big smile on her face warming the cold recesses of his soul. She wouldn't be able to sit around to talk on most days, which was fine, but she would send his food over the quickest. And then Rahul would eat, eat like a starved man.

Which, considering that it was the only time in the day that food would go down his throat, wasn't that far from the truth. He knew he was losing weight and it was bad for his fitness, but it wasn't like he had a career anymore to worry over. Infact he had nothing to worry over. He just had to stay alive somehow. That was proving to be a bigger task than anything else.

He locked the door behind him and turned. The silence and the stillness of the flat, met him back. The lights were all on, he usually left them all on. He had picked the habit up during the seasons he would spend in Bangalore, attending the state team camps. Lights, he had discovered, created that illusion of a lived in place. It was harder to be alone in the dark, than in the lights.

Now though, it hardly mattered. Whether the lights were on or off, his surroundings seemed drenched in darkness. In loneliness. In silence. That terrible terrible silence.

Though he breathed normally, suddenly, in the one step back "home", something deflated inside him. The task of staying alive till tomorrow had begun.

As if of their own accord, his legs ended up guiding him to the bathroom, his hoodie coming off straight away and he stared down at his trusty old blade. He didn't know why he ended up here more often than not, now that he was away for good from the team, from the constant pain, he shouldn't be here right?

Yet he ended up here most nights than not, staring down at the one posession he hadn't thought twice before packing. If anything, he was even more attached now. On the days where his chest wouldn't let him sleep without twinging in pain, when his jaw would refuse to let him speak because opening it hurt; on those days it was much easier to ignore the press of cold metal in his palms. On days when his heart would fill with tears, his ears tingling with the memory of his Sourav's loud presence, of Sachin's crazy laughter, of Anil's low rumbling voice; it was a little harder to ignore. On the days that he really missed his father's hand in his hair, his mother's palms against his face, his brother gently squeezing his nape; those days it was impossible to ignore, to not want, just a little slice, a little opening to let himself be hollowed out again. It was strange that those days coincided with ones when Brianna or her staff would be free enough to strike idle conversation with him.

He sucked in a sudden breath, having not realized when his arm had lifted and he had carefully drawn a thin line of blood on his forearm. Having nobody to hide his scars from, had quickly turned his body into a canvas. Mesmerized, he watched little droplets form, painstakingly slowly, and then drip slowly, down the curve of his arm.

Soon, he would be empty again.