NEVER FORGET YOU | 2

Chapter Twenty-Four

C H A P T E R - T W E N T Y  F O U R

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I want your love and,
I want your revenge.
You and me,
could write a bad romance.

–Bad Romance, Lady Gaga.

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"He shall never know I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same." I read and reread the same words again and again, almost lovingly. I compared my life to Catherine Earnshaw, and her disastrous love for Heathcliff. How awfully wonderful it was. No matter how many times I read it, it always gives me chills.

And I have had read this book quiet a few times, all right.

Their story was something that I know I won't be able to forget even if I ever wanted to.

I wonder... is this really a fictional tragic love story? To me it feels more like a real one. A story of my life. It reminds me, some stories are meant to have no ending. Not happy, at least.

But they did get peace after death. Didn't they? They were reunited 'after death'. Maybe I can get my own peace after I die... someday, probably?

Okay... I think I'm thinking too much about it. I shake my head to clear my mind out of these depressing thoughts.

It was late evening, somewhere between ten and eleven, and I was in my room, on my bed, lying on my stomach, my legs crossed behind me, swinging in the air. In front of me one of the oldest copy of Wuthering Heights that I have had ever seen lay open. It was the one that I have stolen –more like borrowed– from the book shelf of the study room upstairs, along with a fancy bottle of Bourbon that was now hidden securely under my bed.

For the rest of the day, I did all the usual work that I intended to do today. I took a long refreshing shower to calm my mind. I clean my room, unloaded the laundry and stack my now clean clothes back in the wardrobe. I watered the plants and half heartedly read my report file. But most specifically, I made sure to not come in radar of Amaan again. I avoided him like cholera.

To be honest, it was not really that difficult as Amaan seems to avoid me just the same. Infact, he never came out of his room. The only proof I had about him ever coming out of his den today was the missing lunch that I had left for him on the pot.

Suits me fine, if he don't want to see me either.

But it was also making me nervous. Scared. It was usual for him to give me silent treatment. But it also means he was planning something. Something big.

Or maybe he was waiting for a perfect moment to attack, like a predator.

Only if I knew...

This was getting infuriating. I don't know what to expect next from him. And it was making my stomach muscles clench in nervousness, my skin itchy. I would have rather preferred loud storm than this silent calmness.

I sat up and grabbed the bottle of Bourbon from under my bed.

'Only you can help me now.' I said to the dearest crystal glass bottle before removing the big red cap off and taking a large chug of the sour liquid inside my knotted muscles. It burnt from my throat to all the way down to my stomach, making me shudder.