Bugs Bite

CHAPTER ELEVEN: At The Hospital

When Shweta first came to be, they drugged her back to sleep before she could say nay.

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'Missus, do you need anything?' the pretty nurse asked politely.

A new life would be nice for starters, Bibi thought.

What she said was: 'Ya child, an aspirin'd be cool, if it's not askin' too much.'

'Of course.' The pretty nurse pranced away.

Meanwhile, Bibi nursed her headache. God, "old is gold". What idiot had quote that? With age comes an inclination to die, was all. More so, if your daughter nearly gets murdered by her brute of a hubby.

That goddamn hound. Bibi had always told Shweta not to marry that good-for-nothing douche, but no; twenties is the age for fun, the age for "doing the unexpected". Well, here's your pay in your late thirties, this is.

Cops came and went. They'd talked to her grandson already. They'd done most of the talking whilst Avish was clearly traumatized. They would come again later for Shweta. Be of no use. Dhruv was not walking out of this unstained, she'd make sure of that.

She got a cigar out furtively, lit it and took one deep whiff. She'd been told before, no smoking in hospitals. Only if she could help.

The pretty nurse cavorted back hastily, with a morbid expression on her face. How'd she get the aspirin so damn quick? Bibi didn't need to be told again.

She was fumbling to hide the cigar in her coat when the nurse said: 'Good news, Missus. She's awake.'

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Mom-Senior entered the room even as Shweta was revolted by the stench of medicines. She was wearing hospital clothes, her leg felt like - well - plastic and she was feeling way too light to be comfortable. A weird sensation in her right arm made her look sideways - a task which hurt, because her left-half face was covered in god-knew-what hospital material - and sure enough, her wrist was connected to this ghastly pipe supplying her blood.

'Yah 'right there, babe?' Mom-Senior Bibi asked her with her casual, evergreen smile.

Shweta opened her mouth to speak, but it took her a while to actually say something. Too much dryness. 'Yeah.'

'He's payin', Shwet,' Mom-Senior said sincerely. 'For what he did to yah. I can' imagine how come yah nevah told me. I mean, I knew he was a trashcan all along, but . . . pity he's still alive. The bastard lost a ton o' blood and still he lives. 'tis true; bastards don't die easy. Shoulda smacked him a bit harder and he'd be done for.'

The memory of the night came crashing back to Shweta. She apprehended why she was in a hospital. How she had gotten here, another story altogether. She had strength scarce enough to barely say that "yeah", let alone ask a question.

'I swear, Shwet dear,' Mom-Senior said, resentment in her voice, 'I'mma hire the best lawyer there is, give 'im a lifetime o' hell. Yah can wager on that. I'd have the bastard executed, if it be mah will.'

She looked back at Shweta, descried her heavy breathing. 'Anyway,' said she, 'Avish's fine, so don't yah worry. Bit of an issue in 'is rib-cage. Nothin' broke or dislocated, thank the heavens. Blood loss, too. But you lost more, anyhow.'

She caressed her daughter's safe side of forehead. 'My brave gal.'

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It is grandma.
'No! NO! NOOOO -!'

*

It was 2 a.m. Why was he not surprised?