all we have left [ 2019 ]

[ 3 ]

CHAPTER THREE

ᵗʰᶤʳᵈ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒᶰ ᵖᵒᵛ

"Get off the fucking road for god sakes!"

His voice hissed against her warm face, his bright medallion jacket slapping around her gaze. The man pushed her towards the uncomfortable touch of the sidewalk, his flashing, blinding yellow jacket making her heart flutter faster than her ability to swallow. Flailing her arms exaggeratedly, she felt her body being pinned to the wall, her arms being forced together behind her back. His touch made tears stream down her cheeks, uncomfortably prick her insides. Raspy screams fell off of her tongue, her face crushed against the concrete pillar.

 "Quit moving you fucking bitch,"She wanted to swallow the lump in her throat, but his brawny muscles had her pressed against the rough, bumpy concrete, making deep indents in her raw cheeks.

"Don't touch! Don't touch please," He flung her trembling body onto the uncomfortable feeling of the chill concrete.

 "Next time you'll get off the fucking road when people honk," his raspy voice formed goosebumps on her arms, she rocked her body back and forth, pinned against the wall.

 There was a sick knot in her heart.It wasn't an uncommon thing, not at all, in fact, it happened more often than usual, but today it felt worse. Today felt as if there was no tomorrow, it felt as if binds had her fists knotted together. The lump in her throat throbbed inside, her temples punching at her skull, tears drew down her pink cheeks.

The city's lights were set ablaze at 6:00 during sunset. It wasn't attractive at the least, the towering buildings hiding the sun from its full energy, but the dim of the city was what set the city ablaze.

 The bench was cold under her clutch as she ran her fingers through her thick tresses, detaching the strands of hair that stuck to her dry face. Dry tears pressed at the raw cuts in her cheekbones. Her stuffed-up nose gave a whistle as she would breathe in.

 "Jab tum Mama ko yaad aati, baas, gahareen sansien le, phir mein aoongi," she used to say it in a soft, soothing voice as she stroked Falguni's tresses by the fire, it's blazing flames illuminating her cheeks. Her comforting massages against her scalp was what she allowed. It was mother who made her feel special, normal, real, and let every broken piece of her heart.

The streets were not at the least, empty, in fact, they were filled with the clatter of uncomfortable heels and unattractive leather dress shoes, swinging briefcases and unapologetic bodies pushing one another towards the subway.

 Falguni loathed taking the subway, the yellow caution tapes spilled across the platform, the uncomfortably yellow signs to stay off the grid of the railway, the outrageous scream of the subway as it approached the platform station, the worst, loud, demanding voices from the left and right, spatting at her face to rush through the extensive lines and unapproachable looks in their eyes.