Aurora : Temptress Of The Dusk

Chapter 2

One Month Ago

I'm pissed. Extremely mad at him. Why does he always get under my skin? Why can't he listen to me once? Daven is so infuriating! I go through our conversation from just minutes ago in my head again. He wants me to celebrate my 18th birthday with my family. I've spent each and every birthday with them. I think they'll understand that I want to spend this one with my boyfriend. But Daven being Daven, wants to fight me on everything. As I pull into the corner of my house, making sure I don't crash my car in the gigantic tamarind tree in the middle of the road, I run inside. This is what you get for living in a damn jungle. It wasn't of any use though because I'm drenched already. Soaked in water. It's raining cats and dogs today! The drive to my house wasn't a cake walk either. My house is far away from downtown. In other words I live in the woods. Literally. There aren't many houses here. And it's always foggy and misty around here. When we were young, kids would pick on me saying I live in a haunted house. Well, I wouldn't disagree with them. I was scared too. But I never corrected them because if they're scared of my house, they wouldn't want to come to my house and I won't have to fake hospitality to anyone.
I walk through the porch and enter the house. My parents are working so no one's home except Mr Salem, my father's cat. Yes, only my father's cat. Mr. Salem doesn't seem to like me or my mom much. He's always glued to my father. It's not a very large, classic American house. But I love it. As soon as you enter the house, there's a passage leading to the living room. It is beautifully decorated by my mom. Her name is Dr. Anya Evans and she's a surgeon at the local hospital. She loves traditional Indian furniture. Why wouldn't she? It's her country after all. Growing up I saw two sides of both the nations, India and America. My mom came to America for her post med-educations and fell in love with my dad who was in the same college as her. I carry the heritage of both the sides being an Indian-American. The living room has a beautiful U-shaped sectional sofa with an artistic tea table in the centre and a Rajasthani handwoven rug. The kitchen area and the living room is separated by a wall that ends midway to the top giving a clear view of the room from the cooking area. The dining table is again a traditional Indian design and looks royal. There's a small guest room which is well furnished and decorated. My mom keeps some extra clothes for guests but we never have any guests so it's a little useless. My room is upstairs. Away from everyone. There's just one room and an open terrace and a small attic filled with useless furniture that my mom got bored of. There are small indore plants around every corner of the house. My father, Dr. Ambrose Evans loves gardening. He's a Psychotherapist and owns a clinic. But gardening is his hobby. The day my parents came to see this house, my father immediately fell in love with the terrace and the garden area. Every morning he walks through the garden and talks to his little flowers. He adores them. They never dry out or die under his watch. They always bloom and we all love the way our house looks with these green and colourful plants around.
As I walk through the passage and practically sprint up the stairs (it's freezing cold), I leave a trail of little drops of water behind me as I'm drenched in it. I run into my room and straight to the washroom. After I've changed in a thick sweat shirt and cloud pants, I check my phone. 15 missed calls. What? All from Daven. Maybe he finally got his head cleared, lost the attitude and called to apologize. As I battle my inner bitch whether I should call back or not, he calls again. Without thinking I press reject. There are some voice messages. But before I even have a chance to decide whether to listen to them or not, I hear a bang. No not a bang. A crash. It was a car crash. I run to the terrace and I see a black cloud of smoke. There's been an accident. I run downstairs and out through the porch and that's when I see it. There's a black sedan. And there's fire but it's fading out. The rain I suppose is putting the fire out. It's quite familiar. This car. I think I know... No! No no no no. It can't be! Please no! I run to the front-end of the crash and I see a familiar face. But it doesn't look the same. Something is different. Something is itching at the back of my spine. My eyes are burning. I feel something warm through my cheeks. I see red. Red. There's blood. Of course there's blood, there's been an accident. The burn in my eyes increases and there's more warmth on my cheek now. What? I'm crying. I'm crying? Why? Before I know it I'm answering my own question. Daven has been in an accident. And there's blood everywhere. Blood. His blood. My Daven. That's when it all clicks. This is Daven's car. I remember seeing it in his garage. He was coming here to talk to me. But he doesn't drive cars. Why was he driving? He was just learning driving and why didn't he call me? Realisation hits me like a bullet train. He did call me. But I didn't even bother enough to see what had happened. What was so urgent? Why was he driving? More importantly, why isn't he moving? He's lying there motionless like a human doll. A beautiful, tainted with blood, human doll. My love, is sitting there like a dead puppet. Dead? No no no. No!

(Author's note : Hey guys! Too soon for an author's note? Hah! I just wanted to thank you for reading my story. I request you to please vote and comment! Love you guys!)