The Remaining Story

《Chapter 9》

A few seconds later, there was another bang, a louder one followed by the sound of something scattering on the floor.

Not able to contain her curiosity anymore, she pulled the wheelchair next to her bed and climbed onto it. Her injured leg took a lot of time to cooperate but she finally managed it. Wheeling herself outside the door, she stopped midway. The bronze elephant statue lay on the floor with its trunk and legs in pieces. Anita had mentioned that the peculiar looking statue was very close to Shehzad's heart and he once fired a houseboy for mishandling it. She looked to the other side and saw the rack of vintage car models hanging on one hook, devoid of the cars it had. Anita had told her about his love for vintage cars as well. Everything he had around his house had a reason or a story behind it. Even the decor was not random. A huge lamp which adorned the space near the bar was sprawled on the floor.

She scanned the room to find the one responsible for this chaos. Near the bar, Shehzad sat huddled with his face buried in his hands. It was as though he was trying to find comfort in his shattered self or get into a cocoon and escape all this mess.

She took her wheelchair towards him and stopped a few inches away. When he didn't look up or notice her, she coughed slightly. He looked up at her, his eyes red and his face a darker shade of red. She observed that it was not anger that radiated from him, just pure hurt.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly. He looked at her for a few seconds without saying anything. She felt the hesitation he had in talking to her, the shock at being found in such a vulnerable state and finally the hurt that just poured out of his eyes endlessly.

"It will be fine. Give yourself some time," she replied to his story, which his eyes narrated to her.

"Time?" he asked slowly, "She won't let me give myself time."

He stood up, raking his hand through his hair. "It will take just one phonecall to put her in trouble, you know?" he said.

"Her destruction, even her death is just one phone call away for me," he leaned towards Wardah, his palms resting on her wheelchair. She didn't doubt the seriousness in his statement for a second. Anger makes you give empty threats, pain brings out only the truth.

Before she could react, he straightened back and grabbed a bottle from the bar.

"But i love her dammmit!"

"I still don't have it in me to put her through any trouble. Even after all this, I love her!" he paused.

"And she?" his voice shook with pain and he chugged down his drink from the bottle.

Wardah looked at him in fear but he was too absorbed in his anger to notice anything.

A bottle in his hand, she was scared now.

God forbid if he.....

"She won't stop hurting me. That bitch!" he yelled and threw the bottle, too absorbed in his misery to notice where or what the bottle hit.

A loud scream shook him from his state of anger. He panicked assuming it hit her.

He saw Wardah staring at something, her face pale and her eyes so wide open they could pop out of their sockets.

"No! Please!" she screamed again. He followed her gaze and saw her staring at the broken bottle and the glass pieces that fell from the painting it hit.

The fear her eyes held while she looked at the broken pieces of glass was unparalleled to anything he had ever seen.

He watched her face turn paler. He saw her cover her ears with her hands, as though she was trying to block some noise, except that the room was dead silent. He heard her scream and saw her body tremble as she continued to scream. He stood and watched, too stunned to react.