Posted:
Hi, I'm sorry for being SO late and absent for a long time. But handling a baby, work and home is SUCH a harda** task. Let me tell you guys, mothers deserve every bit of appreciation they get and more (as ashamed as I am to say this, I realised this just last week. I know, I'm not a good daughter!) We should actually build up shrines and worship mothers all day. I'm dead serious.
Thank you for leaving so many kind comments on my other one-shots, I'll get to replying to them sooonnn. Now about this piece. I don't really know what this is. Please forgive me for torturing all of you with this crazy crap. Consider this OS as the rant of a person who has been running on just 4 hours of sleep a day for two week. (I honestly don't know how SRK has survived this long with only 4 hours of sleep a day and still manages to churn out amazingly witty interviews)
I'm talking way too much, I know that. But I missed you guys SO much!
Let me know if you even understand what I've tried to write. You guys are all welcome to throw things at me. I'm too tired to even dodge them.
PS: this is one long A/N. Apologies! (mistakes are all mine, let me know when you spot one! I'll be eternally grateful.)
/is it too late now to say sorry/
There are hushed words against the mark on shoulder, her back flat against the surface of his desk. She doesn't even try to listen to them as she squirms helplessly under his expert ministrations. It is only later, much, much later when he pulls up to trail kisses over her jaw that she hears them clearly. It's the same words, uttered over and over again.
"Guilty. Guilty. A thousand times guilty."
Something breaks inside her with a clamour at the words and she pulls him up for a savage kiss that has a tang of forgiveness.
/treason stains your lips/
There is a distinct taste of wine on his lips. He is a sophisticated drunk, she thinks with faint amusement, taking in the brisk taste as his mouth moves against hers in a dance as old as time itself. He doesn't get drunk on the usual drinks, she reminds herself cynically.
But every night, he comes home to her. From wherever he has been to, with alcohol on his tongue and the prayer of her name on his lips. It's her arms where he belongs, he notes with a sigh.
/don't you know? My demons are in love with yours/
"I love you," he whispers the words. She can almost taste the lie that taints them. The words hang in the silence between them while his lips burn kisses along her throat. She ignores it, gulping down the lie with the whirl of sensations that course through her.
The vocalisation of his feelings is a custom ritual now, the three words uttered by him more than she can count in a day. Still, her heart manages to stir itself into a frenzy every single time she hears them, reminding her of her reason to stay.
/like certain dark things are to be loved, between the shadow and the soul/
A shell, that's what Svetlana leaves behind for her. A shell of the Omkara he has been. And it is a hard task to bring back who he has been once. It all seems such a long age ago, she stares wide-eyed at the pictures and the videos Annika shows her.
There are still traces of him, the real Omkara, with flashes of blinding smiles and sudden outbursts of crazy shaayari for her. That night, she finally pins the uncanny taste when she pulls him in for a kiss: sorrow, guilt and ruin. All with an overdose of clean love.
/scream my name/
"Meri Bulbul," he whispers the words into her skin. It is not an accusation, God forbid, no. Never. it is his way of being possessive. He clings on to her, lips urgent against hers, with a desperation to sink right under her skin.
"Mine. My Gauri," her name is an alluring chant on his lips and she can't help but soak into the flames his touch leaves behind.
The woman inside screams at being labelled a property to be owned. She doesn't belong to someone; she isn't someone to be possessed. But her treacherous heart soars at the possessive lilt to his tone.
/I don't mind bruises, if it is your mouth that makes them/
Later, she learns to love the bruises he leaves behind. The marks, old and new, violet and blue; she is willing to turn herself into a canvas for him. A canvas that quickly turns into his favourite one, one he colours in new shades everyday.
And he learns to let go of his inhibitions, especially with her being so willing against him; his name as a melody on her lips.
"Omkara." that's all her mind allows her to say while her body shamelessly begs his attention. Attention he is always ready to give.
/go on and tear me apart/
He moves down to place kisses on the regular spot: the scars on her ankles from the chains Kaali Thakur put. "Why don't you hate me?"
"I tried. Its hard to hate someone you've loved to the moon and back," she manages to whisper back.
His fingers entangle in her hair just a bit harshly, pulling her head back to expose her throat as he moves back up instantly.
"Try harder," he rasps against her neck. Her fingers bunch in his hair painfully as she throws her head back.
/but the heart wants what it wants/
She reckons she is weak. To have fallen for a man who has degraded her every step of the way since meeting her.
But he is hopelessly in love with you now,' a tiny, nagging voice reminds her from the back of her head.
As a hypocrite deep inside, she chooses to believe it as she twirls around in his arms at the opening of the third branch of her very successful designer boutique. He smiles down at her sharply, eyes shining with mirth, relishing the dance with his wife.
/you don't know how to love me when you're sober/
A faint light creeps in from the shut curtains, the light that shines right between the dawn and the night, illuminating a halo around him as he slumbers beside her. It is peaceful, moments like this with his heart beating steadily under her palm.
She moves her fingers from his chest, over his shoulder, down his arm to rest over her own name, etched on his wrist. There's a date under it, the date of their first wedding. It is in an over-romanticized taste to see the imprint of that day on his wrist, right under his tiny beating pulse. Her fingers trace it lightly, careful of his sleep but he still stirs awake a minute later.
"Its still early. Go back to sleep," she tells him as he takes hold of her hand in his, halting her wandering fingers.
The arm slung around her waist travels up to rest on her cheekbone. He looks at her with steady affection glittering in his eyes. A beautiful smile stretches on his lips, his thumb moving softly on her cheek; her advice is ignored completely.
"I love you," he whispers softly. This time she's quite sure there's a small, tiny part of her that doesn't believe it at all.
********
There was more that my sadistic and cold-blooded(and poor, sleep-deprived) mind was trying to write. I'm sure all of you are glad I bullied my head into sleeping.
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
Iss Pyaar Ko Kya Naam Doon
