Bugs Bite

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Crazy, Cold And Desperate

The nightmare had ceased to recur. He couldn't thank the heavens enough for that.

But there were still shoddy nights, oh yes, when he'd wake up from deep slumber - dreaming likely of cuddling with tamed wolves, no idea why - to the sound of hauntingly familiar humming. And he'd see Grandma, like how he'd seen her that day

(he will be there for you)

-and he'd just thrash his nails and throw away his covers. Why was it too much to ask for a normal life?

Meanwhile, Shweta had grown distant. Not cold or callous. Just . . . distant. Bibi's death would still give her fits of sorrow at times. And when she would be on her most vulnerable, that's when Dhruv would come in. He'd just be standing in front of her, almost real - almost - with a belt in his hand, or sometimes a switchblade or even that broken bottle of booze from that night.

Shweta would think of what she had ever seen in that guy in the first place. He'd been handsome, rough, the Mr. Tough Guy every girl thirsts for. She'd been twenty, young, energetic and stupid as an ass's ass.

It was hurting to think now, that in those first few years of marriage, she'd actually thought things could be good. She remembered how it had been the first time he had abused her.

I don't like you talking to him that way, he had said. Drunk as he always was. It was surprising how he'd managed to keep his job for all those years with that attitude. I don't like how he talks to you, either.

She had tried to explain, "Sahil's a nobody, Dhruv, you've met him before, it's nothing, I love you so much" - but no. To him, she hadn't sounded convincing enough, right? Those had been his exact words.

I'm not convinced, was what he said. I don't want you talking to that dipshit again. Do you fucking hear me?

She had never seen him like this before; she'd taken it lightly, as a joke, tried to laugh it off. But then he had shown his true colors, bellowed like the goddamn monster he was straight into her face: DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?!

She had been rattled to the core. She'd nodded, taken aback. She'd sunk back into a corner and just cried herself dry. Hours later, he had approached her, sober as a kid's deciduous tooth. I'm sorry, Shweta. It's just . . . I was drunk and wrong and it won't happen again.

No, no, no, it's my fault, she'd said (what a stupid bitch she was). It was my fault, I couldn't explain myself, I couldn't understand you and blah blah blah until they had both hugged it out. Everything set back to normal. She loved him, and he loved her.

Dance much? he had said. And they had danced, even though she didn't know how to because she just wanted things to be perfect between them, for him to be happy, for their marriage to hold. For it to not be an issue.

But then, it had happened again, a month later. For another reason. And then again, after a week. For another nonsensical reason. Every time it ended with her crying and him apologizing and them dancing and everything going back to normal mode. Every time it happened, she would tell herself how it's alright, how it's a phase, how it happens in every marriage, how he loved her and she loved him.

Soon after the beatings had come. Grown more often. She had never stood up to him, for the sake of "love." She'd fought her mother for this marriage, she wasn't going to let some minor setback blow it to shit.

But in truth, now she looked back at it, she had never had the guts to do something, anything. She had been the ideal woman, the ideal bride, and taken it like a good little wife. He had grown less and less interested in her, more and more so in his "business." Shweta had seen right through it, but tried to convince herself, No, he's an honest man, you don't even deserve him.