Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
AMAY
Amay grabbed the edge of his towel before it started its inexorable slide towards the floor. He stepped back allowing Dhrithi to shuffle past him into his apartment, her duffle bag trailing along in her wake by the strap still tightly clenched in her fist.
He watched her take in his space, from the cream walls with nothing on them to the dark espresso coloured comfortable couch to the sturdy center table made from reclaimed wood. She walked over to the bookshelf that took up one entire wall. It was stuffed to the gills with books from every genre under the sun.
His skin prickled as she walked around his home, almost like his body didn’t want to inhabit it anymore. He knew the luxury she’d lived with. He’d been born with the same silver spoon and he knew that his flat was a million light years away from that. It had been a conscious choice. Anything his father chose, Amay didn’t.
He saw the moment she spotted it. The only photo frame in the large room, a picture of his beautiful Aai and him as a chubby toddler. The only picture of hers he had. His father had burned everything of hers. The reason this picture had escaped Aatre Senior’s manic purge of his wife was because it had been tucked into a birthday card given to Amay by his mother when he was ten. A month before she’d been murdered.
Dhrithi picked up the plain wooden photo frame, her finger gently tracing the faces of his mother and him. Emotion slammed through him and he turned away from her, unable to handle it anymore.
“I’m going to put on some clothes,” he muttered. “Be back in a minute.”
She didn’t seem to have heard him, her gaze still stuck on the picture in her hand. He grabbed the first clothes he could find in the chaotic mess of his cupboard and dressed quickly. He was back in the room in a matter of minutes.
Dhrithi was sitting on his couch, staring out of the French doors that led out on to the balcony, her tormented gaze reliving moments he hoped she never had to actually live through again.
“You’re leaving,” he said, pointing to the duffel bag plonked near her feet like a good, little puppy.
“I was planning to. I can’t stay and bring my mess to your doorstep, Amay.”
“We’re back to that again.” He sat down on the couch opposite her, noting that the picture was back in its place.
“We are,” she replied, twisting her fingers together, a constant writhing knot of anxiety. “Amay, from what Virat says this whole mess is worse than Varun ramming his car into mine on purpose.”
The temperature in the room dipped a couple of degrees with her words. “So, you’re accepting that that’s what he was trying to do that night?”
“Yes!” She exclaimed. “But he wasn’t trying to kill me.”
Amay stared at her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It would seem that is the most likely result of purposefully ramming your car into another person’s.”
“I was running from him. I was trying to leave him. He rammed my car to get me to stop so he could drag me home, not to kill me,” she said baldly.
Amay’s hand fisted on his thigh, familiar, helpless rage seeping into his brain. “Seems like a rational thing to do when your wife tries to leave you,” he said, fury tinged with sarcasm tainting his tone.
“Rational? He was an abusive cokehead who treated me like a piece of trash most of the time. There was nothing rational about him.”
“And yet you chose him.”
The past was a venomous viper, always poised to attack at the slightest sign of weakness.
Dhrithi held his gaze, her own clouded with tortured memories. “I did. I chose him over you.”
“Thank you,” he said with a bitter smile. “I don’t need the reminder.”
“But I do.” She leaned forward in her seat. “And that’s why I need to go.”
Amay shrugged, suddenly tired of it all. He didn’t want to try and help someone who didn’t want his help.
“Okay,” he said, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Then go.”
“What?” Her eyes widened in surprise at his easy capitulation.
“Just go, Dhrithi. Go live in your hotel. Deal with your shit on your own. Do whatever you need to do. It’s not like you spend a lot of time taking other people’s feelings into consideration. This is just typically you.”
“Typically me?” she asked, her mouth deceptively quiet.
“Yes. For you it’s always about you and only you.”
“How is any of this mess about you?” she asked, anger propelling her to her feet.
“I’m the one who operated on you, who dragged you back from death’s door, and who tried to keep you alive and healthy. But no. God forbid you let me or anyone else help you. You need to continue to protect the bastard who tried to kill you. Is this some twisted version of mourning the man who apparently thought breaking your bones was a hobby he should excel at? Or are you one of those masochists who doesn’t know how to live a life without being hurt and tortured? If you are, I’m fucking surprised Psych cleared you for discharge!”
“A masochist?” Dhrithi shrieked, her hair flying as she stormed towards him.
“Why else would you stay married to an asshole like him? Why else would you have married him to begin with?”
“FOR YOU, YOU ASSHOLE! I MARRIED HIM FOR YOU!”
Amay gaped at her, a strange buzzing noise filling his ears. “For me?” he said. “You broke my heart, laughed in my face when I begged you not to leave me, and then kissed Varun in front of me…FOR ME?”
Chest heaving, eyes wild, and her hair flying in pretty much every direction, Dhrithi looked like a lunatic. She was also sounding like a lunatic. Amay was having serious doubts about that psych consult.
“What does that even mean?” he asked, a broken laugh escaping him.
“He knew your father killed your mother.” Her words were a bare thread of sound. “He knew and he was going to tell everyone about it. He was going to-“ She stopped talking, her eyes filling with tears as the truth came into the light for the first time.
Ice slid through his veins as he looked at her. Knowledge of her betrayal hit, a gut wrenching punch to his throat. There were only three people who knew his truth. Ishaan, Virat and the only girl he’d loved with the whole of his stupid, young heart. Ishaan and Virat were the last people to talk to Varun, forget telling him anything. So, there was only one person who could have. Somehow, this was worse.
Until now, he’d believed she’d chosen Varun over him and that had almost broken him. But this…this was a betrayal of every second of their friendship and the love he’d thought they’d shared, the love he’d definitely felt for her even if it clearly hadn’t been reciprocated.
“I had a diary,” she said now.
“I don’t want to know.” Amay turned away from her, pressing the balls of his palms into his eyes.
“He read my diary without my consent, Amay.” Her voice took on a pleading note. “I would never have told him. You have to believe me!”
Amay said nothing, his aching heart making it impossible to string words together. His thoughts were a toxic mess of regret and hurt.
“After whatever happened that night and you were suspended from school…”
“No.” He shook his head. They wouldn’t talk of that night. He didn’t care what they talked about, but they wouldn’t take about that night. That was a box of memories none of them could afford to open. And he wasn’t sure what Dhrithi truly knew about it.
Dhrithi swallowed hard but she didn’t say any more about his suspension and subsequent expulsion. After a second’s pause, she said, “Varun told me that he’d keep your secret if I chose him. So, I did. My brilliant teenage plan was to pretend to choose him, find where he’d stashed my diary, burn the so-called evidence, and then be free to be with you. But after,” she paused, swallowing the words ‘that night.’ “After,” she repeated. “You guys were banned from campus and I never found the diary. The lie of choosing Varun got deeper and deeper. My parents loved it and pushed me further down that road, making it impossible to step back…and well,” she raised her hands on either side of her. “Here I am.”
Amay’s gaze burned into her tear-filled ones. His heart and mind churned, varying degrees of pain, hurt and anger swirling through both. He was about to say something when the front door opened and Virat walked in. He came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hall, his eyes going from Amay to Dhrithi and back.
“I have no idea what I’m interrupting,” he said, his hands out in surrender mode, palms up. “But we need to talk.”
Dhrithi wiped at her damp, teary eyes, turning away from them.
Now what? Amay exhaled and cleared his throat, forcing his hands to stay on his hips and not go wandering off to comfort Dhrithi with a hug.
“About?” he asked Virat.
“My sources say the warrant is no longer being squashed. It goes into effect tomorrow.”