Hoping To Die….

Short Story Infidelity – Hoping To Die….

Short Story Infidelity – Hoping To Die….

Again! Again and again! He’s done it again! I asked him, begged him not to, but he doesn’t listen to me anymore. He stopped listening to me four months ago. If it weren’t for Nayna and her autism, I’d have left long ago. It’s truly shocking – and heart shattering- how he comes back home, shameless, his lips curled up into a smile, while we both know they were between the legs of that sl**ty secretary of his, minutes ago…

Her long elegant fingers, marriage ring missing on them, stop fluttering over the keys as a pain bursts anew from the core of her heart and fat tears roll down her cheeks already wet with tears. She clutches her dress above the breast as agony invades her very core, leaving her incomplete. She knows the pain will kill her, but she has to do it. She has to let it all out, or else she’ll continue to die a thousand deaths, thinking of Pranav, her husband, happy in his secretary’s arms, away from her. No! She wipes her tears with the back of her hand and resumes typing.

The PI dad hired sent his report and photographs yesterday. They spent half an hour in the restroom of The Plaza. Seriously? Is he even human? He wouldn’t even kiss me in public, and now.!!

She leans forward and feeds a fresh blank paper into the typewriter and continues her melancholy tale.

I was four weeks pregnant before our marriage and still remember dismissing Mom’s concern by the pregnancy excuse. In fact I had given all my heart and soul to that guy, and loved him, and worshipped him. Today all I’ve left is these wrinkles on my face! - No! They’re not wrinkles. They’re lessons. Important lessons Time has taught me over these years. That a man can change. And he does.

She stops again, wondering how much he has changed over the last three years. The Pranav she remembers – was kind and gentle, but the one who roams in her life is a beast- cruel, shameless.

The image of the ‘former’ Pranav comes back to her mind and she recalls his expression when she told him she was pregnant. They were on their honeymoon, making love, when she confessed, between gasps, I. Am. Pregnant… He was so happy, delight radiating through his eyes. The image flickers before her eyes and another image replaces tit.

Priya- his secretary, no! His sexretary, with her long legs and tiny skirt, bra-less beneath her low-cut tank top, shaking her hips and displaying her assets at every chance. The image fuels her with anger and hatred. She leans forward and continues.

When Nayna was born a week before she was due, I was worried. I still remember him sitting by my side, holding me, feeding me soup, reassuring me that everything’s gonna be alright. But as she grew up, Dr. Sharma announced that she is an autistic child. All hell broke loose on me, but Pranav was by my side, holding me, comforting me, and I lived.

The mention of Nayna brings tears to her eyes which flow and mingle with the once she shed moments ago. She glances around and spots her on the bed. The same bed they made love every night; the same bed he held her on, wile she cried for her daughter; the same bed where he brought the wh**e Shalini on four months ago, drunk and defiled.

The old memories wake up again as she glances around the bedroom. That wall- that’s where they kissed for the first time. The vase with a broken edge- it fell when they were making love and she had accidentally kicked it. And the single walk in washroom – That’s where they shared their bathroom and shower for years.

Numerous pains ripple through her body, her blood hot- and suddenly cold – and then hot again. Every nerve ending sore, muscles aching and a hole replacing her heart. She must complete this… She must.. She has to..

Day before yesterday was my birthday. He had asked me what I wanted. “A typewriter.” I had replied, knowing he’d not leave me alone without an answer. I know much less about computers, plus they can crash and all- as I’ve heard. So I wanted something real. Something for my own self. Mine. He brought me this typewriter and I was the tiniest bit relieved at ease for the first time in what seems like centuries. Today, even if I breathe my last, and I hope that it is soon, for I can’t bear him anymore; I am at peace. Nayna connects with him far more than me, which is the only thing that’s keeping me alive and with him.

Praying doesn’t help. Looks like even God himself doesn’t interfere while the devil is at work, doing his stuff.

She sighs, relieved, – a bit- and closes her eyes. The pain in her heart has decreased a little for the first time in months. She loves her typewriter. it’s the only one she can talk to, the only one alive- for her. The only one who won’t betray her. Ever.

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