Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Anika
‘Come here,’ Vikrant growled in my ear later that day. He tugged me forward by my sari pallu. We were at the hospital, almost wrapped up for the day – as in no new patients, follow ups and no emergencies of any kind. Lunch could be had at a semi-decent hour today and Smita Kaki had texted me that it was some more of my favorites – aloo poori, shrikhand, and puran poli. It was a good thing Ganesh Chathurthi only lasted for a few days. If I kept on eating like this without any form of exercise (hello cardio I miss you), I’d bloat into a different planet. Happily so.
I patted the little bulge I carried on my stomach as I willingly allowed myself to be pulled into Vikrant’s embrace. ‘Saris make hiding this tummy so difficult.’
He tugged me close with the pallu and I landed on him with a tiny oomph. Then he slid his around my waist, right where the sari began at my hips and my naked waist. His thumb caressed my navel. ‘Why would you want to hide this? It’s sexy.’ He kissed my ear and breathed the words in.
‘You’ve turned into a sex maniac.’ I hit him on his shoulder and then melted into his chest as he did something totally illegal with his tongue in my ear. I was this close to a full-body shudder.
‘I’m a deprived Ani maniac,’ he murmured against my jaw. ‘Eleven months, twenty-seven days, give or take a few hours.’
I touched his lips, his cheeks. ‘You missed me then?’ I voiced my secret fear out loud. That I was dispensable to him. That he didn’t care about me now that I wasn’t his wife, his girlfriend, his person in the ways that mattered.
He stared at me, his eyes dark and shadowed. His lips an inch from mine, since I’d risen to my damned toes. His fingers creating havoc in my navel, my abs, inching up toward the edge of my blouse. Moments away from opening it. My breasts ached with unexpressed desire, wanting his heavy, assuring touch.
‘Forget I asked.’ I made to kiss him.
‘Did you miss me? Did you have time to miss me, Anika?’
‘What the fuck kind of question is that?’ I was instantly furious. I dropped down to my feet, my good mood evaporating in an instant.
But he didn’t let me go. He banded his hand around the back of my waist and hiked me up to his feet. I poked my nails on his chest, through the lab coat he still wore. He just ground his hand on my skin, leaving an imprint, making me feel his touch. His presence. His cock too.
Staid and serious Dr. Vikrant Pandit had a slight dominating kink.
‘I could ask the same thing of you, you know.’ His words were measured, his nostrils flared as our proximity got him all kinds of worked up.
I pouted. ‘I asked first.’
‘That’s juvenile and stupid.’ He tipped my chin back and sucked hard on my throat. ‘And bratty.’
‘Are you going to punish me for it?’ I was provocative, breathless. In theory, I didn’t like the idea of a man controlling my sexual responses or my pleasure. But with Vikrant…I could let go. I could let him take control because he was the safest man on earth for me. Always had been. Always would be.
‘No.’ He kissed my collarbone by nudging the blouse aside.
I wore a simple pink cotton sari with a single pallu pinned on the back of the blouse. The blouse was cap-sleeves, tiny puffy sleeves that ended almost at my armholes. It was my first time wearing a sari to work, although watching Vikrant go unhinged this way made all the trouble worth it.
‘Why not?’ I brushed my hands in his hairs.
He carefully unpinned the pallu from the sari and gathered it in one hand, while he spun me around, so it came off in waves around me.
I laughed and let him undress me.
Thankfully, we’d just shut the hospital main door and the compounder had left for the day. We were alone in exam room 1.
When he’d finished unraveling the sari, he pointed at the table. ‘Get on that, madam.’
I hopped on it with pathetic eagerness. I even leaned my hands back so the blouse jutted out. ‘Are you going to exam me, doctor?’
He shook his head and stepped in between my parted legs. Slowly lifting the mermaid petticoat I wore under the sari, to tuck it in. ‘I’m going to do what I want.’
‘And what’s that?’ I could feel the grasp of his fingers, his touch going up and up and up over my knee and my inner thigh. Strong and sure. Mine. I groaned aloud, unashamed.
‘Whatever I feel like.’ He squeezed my thigh, his finger nails scratching at the tender skin. Marking me some more. In the best way possible.
He was such a good lover, the best, the only I’d ever had. ‘I missed you. I missed this,’ I confessed to him. ‘I missed you so much.’ Unexpected tears pricked my ears but I blinked them away. This was a sexy interlude at his office. This did not mean anything was resolved or permanent between us.
But, god, how I loved what he was doing to me. And what I felt for him.
He cupped my jaw in his free hand and pulled me in for a petal-soft kiss. I was surprised. I thought he’d be rough, taking what he wanted. Instead, he offered me himself. The kiss gentle and questing – asking for permission. Asking for entry.
‘Missing is too small a word for what I’ve endured this last year, Anika. So don’t ask me if I missed you or not.’
He whispered the confession against my lips, his kisses sealing it between us. A secret I held onto. A secret that strengthened me.
Do you still love me, Vikrant? I wanted to ask him. Because I still love you. I never stopped. I didn’t, because he devoured my mouth then. And his hand shot up and into my panties. I arched into his ardor, his need igniting mine. And when he shoved the petticoat up and almost ripped my blouse off (I saved it by shoving it off my back) I forgot all about it. I only felt his arousal tripping mine, his heavy breaths coating my skin with desire and sweat. His kisses making me lose my mind and my control.
And I loved every second of it.
***
That day set the tone for the next two days. Vikrant woke up before me, getting me coffee in bed, waking me up with a slow kiss and a morning seduction that had me blushing during the first aarti.
We spent the mornings working at the hospital, together. And I appreciated all of the many, man y hats Vikrant wore – counsellor, legal consultant, general physician, obstetrician and more. It was exhausting and fulfilling in its own way.
And I could see, with the benefit of hindsight, that he was better suited to small-town GP in a way he’d never been in the humongous hospital we had both worked at.
I thrived in the competitive, cut-throat environment of pediatric surgery. It was nameless. Faceless. All about the cutting. With none of the aftercare required.
Vikrant was interested in internist medicine, with a specialty in intensive care. It was heartbreaking and a quiet, unsung hero kind of job. It required patient interaction that I would have found impossible to deal with.
But Vikrant had a different kind of problem with the interactions.
***
It became apparent after he’d finished seeing one of the senior patients who required daily monitoring because they’d had a stent placed to alleviate a heart block.
‘Lokesh uncle taught me mathematics in tenth grade,’ he said when he came back to the office I shared with him. I kissed his cheek and lingered over his lips.
But, for once, he didn’t respond with reckless enthusiasm.
‘Remember Dr. Prajapati …at our hospital?’ At my nod, he continued with, ‘He refused to take on his case. Because he isn’t an ideal candidate. His blood sugar levels fluctuate a lot. He didn’t want to fuck up his perfect record and lose his bonus with the hospital board,’ Vikrant said meditatively.
I sighed. Dropped down on the desk and toyed with his hand. His lovely healer hands.
‘Sweetheart,’ I began hesitantly.
‘It was hell for me, Anika. Watching good people, people who deserved to be treated, not get their treatment because of insurance or something so selfish as a doctor’s track record. It killed me every day,’ he said baldly.
The level of care he’d given at the Mumbai hospital was dictated by monetary concerns, by filling out of a hundred different forms from five different departments. A corporation, after all, required paperwork.
‘It was frustrating for me to deal with the ways bureaucracy interfered with patient care,’ he ended softly. ‘And how bureaucracy won against patient care, almost every time.’
And that, I now knew, combined with the pressure of studying for his Doctor of Medicine exams while his heart wasn’t in it, had led us down the disastrous road of destroying our relationship.
All because neither he nor I had ever had an honest chat about who we were, who we wanted to be, to the exclusion of the great love we had for each other. That’ s why our love hadn’t saved our marriage in the end.
‘I see it now, Vik,’ I said softly. Squeezing his hands. ‘You’re not just wanted or needed here. You thrive here. In this environment. Helping all of these people.’
This time, he tugged me down to his chair and kissed me brainless. His tongue sneaking into my mouth, squeezing till I felt the action deep inside my core. But this was a working environment so I reluctantly pushed him away with a murmur.
But his kiss was incendiary, indelible. So much so I had to wash my face before facing the next patient a few minutes later.
I realized all of this the more time I spent working with Vikrant at the clinic. Watching him treat and minister to patients with kindness, empathy, and patience. While also being clinical and efficient and objective.
It was a masterclass in internist medicine.
And I was so damn proud of him!
***
Back home, the family – immediate and extended – did not question my absence over the last year. In fact, they were incredibly supportive and excited to hear about my cases. So was Vikrant.
And then there were the moments we weren’t working or entertaining the family as the ideal married couple.
Those were the moments I captured in my mind’s camera, to cherish forevermore.
Like the time we accidentally reached for the last naan and the family teased Vikrant mercilessly for generously giving it to me. Or when I’d almost chopped my own finger off because I was too busy making googly eyes at him instead of the onion I was supposed to be cutting.
The nights…oh, the nights were special. Silky. Secretive.
We made love in a frenzy and in slow, syrupy movements. Taking the time to learn the rhythms of our breaths, our bodies. Then, he draped an arm over my shoulder, hugged her close and we talked about medicine.
Drunk on each other and what we were passionate about. In sync like we hadn’t been in a long time. It was perfect, an idyll, time out of time.
Because we didn’t talk about the past. Or the future. Content to live in the now. Knowing these two subjects were emotional landmines destined to blow them up.
***
And more and more, I found myself wishing Vikrant would ask me to stay. To continue our lives together, divorce papers be damned. The hospital wasn’t exactly high-stakes surgery, and I didn’t get the same rush I got when I told desperate, grateful newborn parents that their child would live…but it had Vikrant .
And wasn’t he worth the sacrifice?
Vikrant kissed me every chance he got, touching me with confidence and ownership. I did the same too, of course, and he actively encouraged me to do more. But he never said the words I longed to hear.
Will you give us another chance, Anika?
Although the hope that was resurrected with his office kiss still remained. Stubborn and insistent, like a staph infection that just wouldn’t go.
Of course, idylls ended, and perfection couldn’t last forever. No matter how badly I wanted it to.
It came sooner rather than later on the fifth morning of my stay in Aronda.