Navarasas || Bhayanaka- PART 2 UPDATED (18/5)

That was the only color he could see.

The blood red of her ghagra, sticking out like a sore thumb against the drab, dull BSD uniforms swirling around her, the gunshots ringing in the air.

The blood red of the sindoor in her parting, the powder of betrayal and agony.

The blood red of the streaks in her tear filled eyes, stained red with anger and terror.

The blood red that would come out of the single, small hole, joining her sindoor when she collapsed to the ground, a bullet in her head.

All he needed to do was pull the trigger.

He could just press a little harder, brace his body for impact, and shoot. He had impeccable aim, he knew he wouldn't miss.

She would collapse to the ground, the white sand of the desert staining the blood red with another color. White. The color of a widow.

He remembered her, of course. She was the woman who had inspired feelings he had never felt before. The need to be a protector, the need to keep her safe. But now she was a traitor. Wasn't she?

He could see her from that day in the back of his mind, the same blood red in her beautiful hazel eyes. He could feel the cool metal of the ornament in her hair against his skin, the thick strands slipping through his fingers as he tackled her to the ground.

In his peripheral vision, he could see men collapse behind her. There was screaming, the shrill, unpleasant notes ringing in his ears in a cacophonous, never ending echo.

But she wasn't screaming.

He could still hear her screams from that day, the sound of her terrified voice ringing in his ears. He could see the tears streaming down her face as the men surrounded her, brushing their rough hands against her tender skin, pinching it and taunting her, their hands sweeping over the slopes of her breasts. He could hear their jeering taunts, their lustful, lewd stares up and down her body, as if she was theirs to keep.

She was too khoobsurat for her own good, they said. She was beautiful.

His hand clenched on the lower portion of his gun, anger seeping through him.

It had been those screams of terror that had brought him back.

She had unleashed an entirely foreign emotion in him, a piercing, desperate need to protect her. To shield her from harm, to keep her safe.

That day, he had not hesitated on the trigger. The rage that had speared through him was unstoppable, a river pushing against a dam held together by weak mortar. His hands had lifted the gun and pressed it, his eyes shining in glee as the wicked men collapsed to the ground, a round circle in their heads as the blood streamed out.

That time, they had been the traitors.

But she had turned around and stabbed him in the back with his own dagger, her flawless, delicate hands plunging it in deeply, until he couldn't think straight anymore.

It was because of her that his men were dying, because of her that he may not get home to protect his limping father from the clutches of his Kaki, because of her that these men, these vile men were betraying their country and smuggling arms.

It was all because of her.

He had been wrong to save her that day. These emotions that were so foreign had skewed his perception, forced him to do exactly what he feared the most.

This, this khoobsurat aurat had proved that she was something to be feared. The power she wielded over him with those gigantic, false crocodile tears was terrifying. It infiltrated the carefully built up logic, the hard exterior, made him a slave chained to his hormones.

He hated losing control, knowing that once the threads snapped, they couldn't be knotted together again. She held strings to his emotions like a puppeteer, able to pull him whichever way he wanted. She could do anything, and he would be powerless.

He had always known that beautiful women were to be feared.

But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to shoot her.

The gun trembled in his hands, begging him to free himself from the confines of her power. She was an enchantress, trapping him with her wiles.

He struggled to let go, growing more and more panicked as his finger tightened.

He tilted the head of the gun up, and pulled the trigger.

From behind her, a man collapsed to the ground.

Her eyes shot up to him, shock and terror lacing the pretty hazel. She lifted her hands up to her ears, covering them and shaking her head over and over as she too collapsed.

Her screams would ring in his ears, haunting him.

He was falling off a cliff, and there was nothing for him to grab.

-***-

She looked ethereal that day.

Her hair was pulled into a messy, loose braid, the yellow flowers resting neatly at the end and adorning her. Strands of hair played at her slender neck, teasing him. He longed to reach out his fingers and brush the strands off, to feel her shiver in longing as he knew she would.

Her eyes were lined with a light layer of kohl, the hazel inviting him in with their innocence. He wanted to make them darken in desire, to rub the haldi all over her, running his splayed palms over her soft skin.

Her blouse was held together by a single, yellow thread, revealing the creamy expanse of her back to his greedy eyes. He drank her in, knowing he was playing with fire, but too drawn in by the flames to care about getting burned.

He stumbled into the woman who had held his attention for eight years, who had wrapped her legs around him, allowing him to bruise her skin and use her to his liking. Her kohl seemed too dark to him, too heavy as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, begging him to reconsider his decision.

He could see the hurt in her eyes, the stinging pain of betrayal that ran deep. But he couldn't bring himself to care for her at the moment, too focused on the deep frown that creased the brow between the hazel eyes.

What had Laila said to her?

His eyes fell on the cup of haldi in her hands, automatically reaching towards it in confusion. When she hastily pulled away, grabbing his hands frantically and pulling them towards herself, he felt a foreign emotion streak through his veins.

His eyes moved back to the girl with the hazel eyes, feeling his heart clench as he stalked towards her. He shoved Laila aside with purposeful force, hatred for her overwhelming any sense of pity he might have felt.

He ignored her protests, dragging her off towards the shower against her will. He could feel her pale yellow ghagra brushing against his pants as she struggled, her questioning shrieks falling to the back of his mind.

In that moment, all he could think of was her.

He could not fathom the idea of her being harmed under his watch. He needed her to see that he was protecting her, that he had her best interests at heart.

He didn't know why he needed her safe. Who was she to him? A traitor? A suspect? A siren?

He dumped the water on her without a second thought, grabbing her harshly. Her hair matted instantly, the yellow flowers wilting as they became drenched in buckets of water, the steady stream pouring out onto her skin.

He could feel adrenaline thumping in his veins, his heart pounding heavily against his chest as his throat tightened. He pushed her up against the wall, frustrated by her struggling as he grabbed her wrists, throwing them against the murky brick.

She shoved him away, accusing him of lying to her, her eyes defiant as she refused to let him touch her.

"I don't trust you! Get away from me!"

Her words tore his heart as that emotion settled in once more, knowing that pain would come if she didn't listen to him. He stood there for a moment, paralyzed by the idea that she could be taken away from him.

He didn't know why he cared, why it mattered to him that this girl, this suspect, the betrayer of his country, was about to be seared by burning pain of poison.

He saw the realization sink in, her eyes widening as the powder began to take effect. He saw her flinch and he was instantly there, rubbing at her.

His hands splayed across that endless back, caressing it with panic as he attempted to get it off of her. His hands cupped her face, the pads of his thumb wiping away the haldi with unprecedented tenderness.

He saw her eyes darken, but not with the emotion his body had wanted for so long. He could see them swirling with emotion, with gratitude and appreciation, with acceptance.

He had wanted that, he had wanted her to realize that he was right. He wanted her to admit it, to accept him as her protector.

Behind those emotions was another one, one that he knew was reflected in his own eyes as he stared back at her.

And he did not want that at all.

He saw Laila come at her with a dagger, her eyes crazed and angry. She was saying words, words that he barely comprehended.

He stepped in front of her, not for a moment considering his own safety. His brain registered Laila's words, the harsh truths of their former relationship about to be spilled in front of this woman.

Her innocent ears would be tarnished, the image of him in her eyes forever dented by Laila's blows.

His nerves shivered, the feeling spreading through him.

He couldn't let her see him as any worse than she already did, he couldn't let Laila push him off the teetering cliff that he was barely hanging on to.

His stomach dropped as he stepped forward, his eyes menacing as he pushed Laila away.

He couldn't lose her. Not yet.

-***-

Her hands brushed against his own as she handed him the plate, hovering over him. He could feel that they were damp, touched by her saliva as she had slipped the dal chawal into her mouth, testing it for poison.

It was late at night, the two of them alone. Everyone else had already gone to sleep, but he had remained, staying at work longer and longer in hopes that he wouldn't have to see her when he returned.

But she was always there.

He set it down, ignoring the burning pain in his invalid arm as he lifted it towards the plate.

He could see her watching him, her eyes carefully studying his miniscule movements. He winced, attempting to hide the sharp streaks from her prying eyes.

She didn't give him a chance, reaching over him and scooping up dal into her hands. She stretched her hands out towards his mouth, brushing the tips of her tiny fingers against his lips.

The desire shooting through him mingled with the deep, entrenched pain in his bad arm. He turned dark eyes towards her face, opening his mouth obediently. He closed his lips around her fingers, enjoying her startled gasp.

He didn't like that she wasn't looking at him as she fed him, her eyes carefully trained on the plate in her lap.

They had been doing this dance for the past week. He had always withdrawn his tongue as quickly as possible, unsettled by the deep feelings he was beginning to hold for the woman who was his wife.

But today, he had lingered longer than necessary, brushing his tongue shamelessly against her fingers again and again. He watched her shiver, her eyes clouding over with desire.

It wasn't just desire he saw there. He saw the wall fall down on her hazel eyes, closing herself off. She was holding herself back from him, as if she was pained by his presence. He could see her breaking into pieces in front of his eyes, holding herself together with the weakest possible glue.

He hated it. He did not like that she was so... distant. He wanted to know her every thought, to have control over her feelings, to see that unfettered smile grace her pretty features.

He ignored the devil in his brain telling him that he was getting too close to her. He had come to rely on her presence, her unwavering faith in him. He didn't know when or how, but at some point, she had become important to him.

He wanted nothing more than to keep her chained to him, to prevent her from ever leaving his sight. He was nervous when she was not around, fearing something had happened to her. Her presence would soothe him when she walked in, the calm washing over him as he relaxed.

His eyes constantly searched her out, looking for her wherever he was. It was almost a reflex by now, his eyes sweeping the room for her delicate frame. He would trace his eyes over every contour of her body, starting from the tips of her toes and trailing all the way up to the fringes of her hair.

She stepped away from him, pulling her hands sharply from his mouth as he swallowed the last bite. He felt a distinct feeling of loss at her movement, watching her spin away towards the kitchen, her body stiff.

He shivered, even though the room was sweltering hot. The beads of sweat streaking his forehead felt like ice, chilling him to the bone.

She was slipping through his fingers like sand in the desert, the wind sweeping her farther and farther away from him with every passing minute.

He didn't know how to stop it, how to keep her with him. No matter how tightly he pressed his fingers, the grains passed through, falling to the ground with every step.

He closed his eyes, gasping for air as the pain shot through him once more. This time, the pain was magnified by another emotion, one that settled like a weight deep in his stomach.

He was terrified.

He was losing the one person that had come to matter more to him than he was comfortable with.

His foot slipped and he reached desperately for her hand to grab onto, for her to pull him up out of the dark abyss that sucked him in.

But she wasn't there.