Him
Black hoodie and the baggiest jeans she could find.
I see her walking towards me; eyes on the ground until she reaches me. That’s when she realizes that I’m already there. Waiting for her, with a pleasant smile rather than the smirk that is threatening to find its way on my face.
Her expression is warm but she’s exasperated; and worried which is because she’s bad at hiding emotions. Contrasting me. I’ve grown good in suppressing the bad guy over the years. The one she loves. That I could swear after last night.
But that’s a huge no-no and she’ll have to learn to hide it.
The world preys on the vulnerable and I don’t want to be a serial killer anytime in the future, even though it is entirely possible if she’s the one who I have to kill for. I could paint the world red if her interests are ever on the line.
She returns an exhausted smile before stuttering a greeting. Can’t help being grateful when I almost assumed she’d decline. “Thanks for joining. Was leaving to get me something; just remembered I could catch up with you.”
“Yeah, I was in no mood to cook today.” Pushing her palms inside her pockets. I know they’re cold; anxiety talks for her.
“Hey, are you okay? You don’t look so well.” I say sounding as clueless as I can.
“Yeah, No. I’m good. Just tired. Tough week at work.”
It’s painful for me to watch her all weak and fragile. But that’ll change. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll enjoy being with me and like me, more than anything. No worries. No guilt. And no regrets.
“Yeah? Cause all you need is to pull your hoodie just a little to look like a serial killer right now.” I grin.
She lowers her head in resignation before looking up with puppy eyes, “Do I look that bad?”
Darling, you look devastating in practically anything. Be it a school uniform or a super short dress. You could wear a sack and kill it too.
Walking to the motorcycle I suggest, “No, but a little more of rest wouldn’t hurt...”
She stops for a moment before sitting, suppressing the obvious discomfort she must be feeling down below. All the action we had last night will keep her sore for days at the least.
“Everything okay?” I turn around to look at her.
Averting her gaze, she lies again. “Just a little pain. Nothing serious...I sprained my ankle last night.” As if the redness on her cheeks is not a telltale.
Like I wasn’t the one to leave those bitemarks all over the exquisite canvas of her skin. It’s sick how much I feel the darkness proudly settling inside my chest, for making her lie; to hide what’s making her nervous and aroused at the same time.
“Okay, let’s get you medicines first then.”
“No.” Soft palms wrap around my arm, halting me briefly. “I – I’ll get them. Don’t worry.”
Taking her palms in my hand, I pull her chin up, to meet my eyes before speaking. “Do I look like the type to hear a no?”
She shakes her head lightly.
“Good. So let me do my thing. Okay?”
Adorably nodding she speaks in her softest tones, “Okay...” Her throat bobs as she gulps the slow burning fire and ice down her throat. The fire burning low in her core and the ice that the underlying threat is spreading within her chest.
And just to intensify the play, I narrow my eyes once again, “Tell me something... Are you afraid of me, Disha?”
She’s contemplating her answer inside her head. It’s exactly what I wanted. You’ll like both of me.
Just as her breathing quickens, I snap, a grin wide on my face, “Got you yet again! God why are you such a scaredy little cat.”
She nudges at me before smiling, resigning before we both break into a chuckle. God! I love your laughter just as much as I love your tears.
“ARE YOU GOING TO PASSout, because then I’ll have to carry you back home on my shoulders... if you’re comfortable with that?” I wink flashing a flirtatious smile. Intentional.
“You really get me every time. Don’t you?” She shoves the last piece of muffin in her mouth, seeming to forget the ache in her body. The look on her face is calm and serene, contrary to what I saw last night.
“How many guys have you dated in the past?” My question immediately startles her.
“Excuse me?” Almost choking on the piece.
“Just wanted to know...”
“Um – None.” She’s cowering like that’s not impressive.
“None? That’s unbelievable for someone like you.” Acting surprised is a part of the plan or it won’t add up.
I mean I’ve known you for almost forever. Obviously, I know you were way too good for the act-good ones, and I made sure the bad ones never flew in a close distance to you, my muffin.
“Why? Do I look like the desperate types?”
“Desperate – and you? You look like the type to drive even the committed ones crazy.” The need to let her know just how worthy she really is, is on the tip of my tongue, but it might frighten her like last night. And I need her to rest before we resume our game.
The apples of her cheek turn red and those cold hands find their way as unnoticeably as possible. Praise turns you on too. Good. Noted.
“Hey! Why do you always keep hitting on me? Don’t you have a girlfriend?” she nudges, partially amused by my compliment.
“I do. Only catch is that she doesn’t know, not yet.” Dropping her a hint just enough to get the heat from her cheeks travel elsewhere.
But the look on her face tells me the last part is getting hard for her to process. Confused her is just as adorable. I stare right back with a knowing smile, only to see her flushed response.
But the possibility of our sweet serenity being sabotaged is increasing by the minute when her phone starts buzzing repeatedly. I wanted the bomb to detonate later when she’s at home, but I guess her friends are more interruptive than I initially anticipated.
Excusing me, she walks a few steps to take the call.
And... there goes the bomb.
She’s alert. Panicking. On the verge of tears, covering her wide-open mouth. Her eyes are shut the next moment when she hangs the call up; standing dead still with one hand on her head.
Don’t waste your precious emotions on the deceased asshole, darling.
When people touch what’s mine, there’s no saving for them. Not even God will cross me when I write their fate in blood.
When she starts back towards me, the upset on her face has already graduated to a full-blown sob. I need to wear my good boy face right now.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Sometimes I ask myself...when did I get good at pretending.
“It’s my team lead, my boss, he’s dead. He met a horrible accident last night. It was his birthday.” Perspiration lining her forehead, travelling down the side of her teary cheeks are a clear indication that she needs to learn how to celebrate when assholes die, especially the ones that dare to touch her.
I approach her before holding her close, bending to meet her gaze, “Shit happens for a reason, Disha. Regardless, don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” I want to shake her to the reality; the man whore got what he well deserved.
“You don’t understand. It was his birthday. I – I feel...” Another breathless sob. “...and Aniket - Aniket hates me now.”
“You need to calm down, Disha.” I retort, controlling the need to be harsh about it.
“I – I need to go. I’ll message you later.”
The sound of guilt in her voice is infuriating me even further.
“Okay. Just text me when you need me.” Only I may need to text you very soon.
And I pray to God to be busy for a few days. Busy enough to not think about punishing you. Because I swear, you’ll regret being guilty about the asshole.
And most of all, you’ll understand what guilt is, in the truest sense of the word.