OK, please don't think this story (see: crazy narration) is going anywhere... It's all in fun, because I am tired of the rona dhoha I see around me. I don't like bad behavior followed by repentance, and crybaby love stories which get dropped into the gutter (so sue me 😆) so I'm writing this in the hopes that all of you get a good laugh out of it, enjoy the background romance of ArHi, and think of me as someone who has lost her mind, period. Updates will come as and when, with no purpose and literally whatever I can spew out. 😉
The Celibates - Chapter 2
The plan had failed, and the three of them sat or stood around various parts of the house worrying over what should be done, what could be done, and of course, who was going to do it. And, they were filled with angst, that while they sat around worrying about the welfare of the family, the evil ones remained locked in their room, clearly doing another kind of 'it.' They knew this because the evil grandson had yet not left for work, while his consort had not returned to finish her breakfast. The sounds of thumping and bumping echoing from above, mingled with shrieks of laughter and other such nonsense, did not go unnoticed by the family, and caused considerably more pain to the saint, who sat morosely with an ice-pack clutched to his privates, and another one held to his mouth.
The pious sister stared out the window, not able to see the beauty of the pool beyond, as the tears gushed out of her doe-like eyes for reasons only she best understood. She was losing her brother, and it filled her with a terrible sadness, and anger. She had given up so much for him, had not moved into the cramped one bedroom apartment her saintly husband had acquired for them the previous year, had not once worn the cotton saris he had purchased with the money her evil brother had loaned him, and so much more, just so she could live in her brother's house, wear the expensive clothes he paid for, the jewellery he gifted her, and constantly show her devotion to him by conducting back to back Poojas daily, and going off into fits of hysterical panic when he was twenty seconds late coming home from the office. Her loyalty to him knew no bounds, and now he all but spit on that same loyalty because of that... that vixen. The one he had a sickening fetish for, with her long silken hair, and soft, alluring eyes, the one it seemed he found almost painful to keep his hands off, the one he could often be heard laughing with, which was so far removed from his otherwise brooding character, that the whole family collectively agreed was definitely unhealthy for his spirit. If he lost his ability to remain brooding and ruthless, they all might lose the house they lived in, and that would be completely unacceptable. After all, their very livelihoods depended on his strength, not his inane laughter, which crinkled up his otherwise smoldering eyes, and caused his consort to shower him with kisses. And, if laughter was unacceptable, then kissing was a sin, that much they all knew, why even the saint had never kissed her, and not just because he could only slobber like a thirteen year old with a dirty magazine when them time came for him to kiss, but because it went against tradition. Kissing led to other vile acts, like hand holding, and pretty soon, clothes began to come off. She knew all this, because sometimes the saint insisted they needed to indulge in these vile acts to remind them of the difference between good and evil, and so they suffered through it, together, bonded in their mutual distaste and respect for knowledge.
The silent sister of the consort squeezed out the last drops of water from her husband's shirt, then dusting it out, she draped it over the clothes line, her face twisted in its most comfortable look of pain. She was relatively happy with her new life, the new clothes, and washing detergent which at first she had balked at upon seeing its price, but had quickly recovered when her adoring husband had informed her that he enjoyed pampering her much to the chargain of her mother in law, who had promptly gone shopping, returning with several new silk saris and three solid gold necklaces. She loved her husband, and not just because his profile looked tender and charming through her Georgette dupattas, but because he really was tender and charming overall. Not like her brother-in-law, whose mere presence made her shudder in terror and anxiety. How her evil sister not just tolerated a man like that, but actually remained in close proximity to him as much as she could get away with, was beyond her understanding. He was positively demonic what with those well cut suits he favored wearing, which emphasized the broad expanse of his back, not to mention his powerful arms. Or that face which silently demanded that you take another look, or in her case, sneak another look, and she didn't even want to think about his eyes. Those glinting, dangerous eyes, which when turned her way made her want to run for her life because she felt her face flush for reasons she could not explain. So, of course her sister was evil too, or had been successfully possessed by her evil husband, there was no other explanation for why she was the only one who could gaze into those demonic eyes for what literally seemed like hours on end, or allow those powerful arms to wrap around her slender body, not just in private, but more and more often in public, scandalizing every member of the family, causing them all needless anguish.
The saint shifted uncomfortably, a little relieved that the blood flow had stopped in his mouth, and resumed in his groin. But, he was fuming, as yet another one of his attempts to separate the evil ones turned to dust. He had deliberately manipulated the family during the secret meeting, determined to carry out his own private plans for winning the affections of the consort, and destroying her evil husband after he wiped that smug look off his face. Granted his previous plans had crashed and burned, as did all of his plans really, but how was he to have know that the events of that night two weeks ago could have gone the way they did. The laxatives had been stirred into the overflowing dinner dishes, and he had even assisted that insipid sister of the consort in setting the table, gaining more adoration from the family, and simpering thanks from his stupid wife. The saint stared gloomily at the ice-pack on his lap, remembering how he had arranged the dishes near the place setting of his evil brother in law, then had sat back and gotten ready to enjoy the show, anxiously awaiting the time when the miserable lout would be locked up in the bathroom, while his beautiful and tempting wife would be allowed some minutes of freedom. But, it had started to go horribly wrong the moment the evil SOB appeared at the table, his consort beside him, clinging to his arm as if she were having a problem balancing on her two perfect feet, while he announced to the family at large that they both would not partake in the family meal as they had other plans, and would return home late. And, then they had left, and he had been powerless to stop the family from serving themselves out of the laxative filled bowl of daal, and even though he had claimed to not be hungry, excusing himself from the table, his ridiculous wife had still brought a meal up to him, and force fed him in that annoying way of hers, insisting that his hands must be tired after a long, hard day of doing nothing. And, if that had not been bad enough, the insult to injury had come later that night, when after his eighth trip to the toilet, he'd decided to hydrate himself with a drink of water, ignoring the sounds of groaning coming from every other toilet in the mansion, and walked in on the evil one and his consort, arriving home, then he had watched from behind a pillar as they sneaked out through the French doors leading to the pool, instead of making their way to their room, and the sounds which followed had filled him with a grief he could not bear, and pounding his chest, then pulling out clumps of his hair, his eyes as always bulging, he had waited to hear the strains of a flute in his head, vowing vengeance with his next plan, which would hopefully work.
It was all going to hell, the plans, the traditions, the affected happiness of the family. Gladly being dragged to the burning pits by none other than the son of Satan himself. And, while these three silent players sat and worried, they also each decided that it was left to no one but them to put a stop to it once and for all. The evil one had to be stopped, or destroyed, the consort made to suffer, so that peace could once more reign in the household.
