Paint it Red - Vignette collection [Completed] - Page 15

Little red riding hood

Once upon a time there lived an innocent little girl - let's call her Red, who owned a red dress and a penchant for getting into trouble. Her kindness was well known and was frequently used and abused. She was easy to love and easier to hate, her heart forever in the verge of falling out of grace. Her smiles along with warm brown eyes hid the emptiness left by absent parents. She could be deaf to the wanting screaming demands made by her own heart while the soft footfalls of the wolf echoed loudly in her ears.

She was both an open book and a walking contradiction. The innocence of Little Red was horridly misguided and misrepresented. If only she knew. If only they knew.

----

The feminist in her is screaming at the top of her voice in her ears. "They are just some simplistic oil lamps Khushi. Hop along quickly and it will all be over." She ignores the voice in her ear and fixes her gaze on the man whose eyes shine brighter than the lamps around her. She is no damsel in distress but she finds her knees wobbling in trepidation. No, she isn't afraid of what he is going to do her. She is afraid of how she wouldn't let him go if, no, when he offered his hand. The certainty of the statement twists her stomach in irrational hope and unwanted anxiety.

He maneuvers the tricky maze of oil lamps, oddly symbolizing their own relationship and finds her bang in the middle. He doesn't stumble or look where he is going. He knows where she is and that seems to be enough for his legs to carry him there. She wonders if he is the only one who can navigate through complex spatial geometry that is their relationship and rescue her out of it. When they reach out for each other at the same time, something in her settles; anxiety dissolves and hope blooms to something tender in her bones. Their conversations are in their touch, in the way he leads her out of the maze as if this is his sole purpose in this life. He catches when she stumbles, his heart losing only half a dozen heartbeats as she clutches the lapels of his jacket to steady herself. His steady hand clutches her elbow in a silent promise. "If I cannot catch you when you fall, I will fall with you."

-----

An old widow from a rich family hires Little Red to help a young woman readjusted to the local culture so that she could be integrated with the family. The old widow does so because the big bad wolf of the family has declared his affections to the said young woman and she hopes the wolf will finally be tamed by this young woman. What did the old woman know about the ricochet of the hearts that echoed in deserted paths and shallow ponds?

----

She sprains her ankle when she suddenly turns to look at him. They had passed each other for most part of their evening filled with quiet contemplations, lingering glances and honeyed web binding just the two. She comes to his arms with an ease that hits him hard. Her warm weight is familiar in her arms as if his arms have a memory of their own, they reacquaint with her quickly. He relishes in her whimper when he softly takes her feet in his hands and settles it on his thigh. He knows it's not because of the pain she is in. At least that's what he tells himself when she clutches his shoulder. He muses if he can take that leap of several inches separating them and swallow her whimpers and moans and whines.

He follows the train of thought and wonders what her moans tastes like as he twists her ankle to remove the pressure. Everything about Khushi was summer-like; blazing, warm, hot, fiery and distinctly calm when she wants to be. Her moan would probably taste like the sudden headiness one would get walking into a patch of cool shade after being out in sun for long time. He twists her ankle again ignoring her whimper, his own burrowing need to cage her in his arms and take away her pain. She settles down when the pain subsides.

When he takes out the orphaned anklet from his blazer pocket, her face tells an epic.

He doesn't ask anything further because he knows its importance to her. He knows there is a pocket of her heart that's unbreakable by anyone or anything as it contains the faint memories of her birth parents. He knows this act of his will forever be remembered irrespective of what they come to be. She was original that way. His disappointment is blatant when she gently presses her feet on his thigh and moves her sari to cover her feet. He respects her need to move and echoes her action.

It was seven steps to patio door, ten to the lobby and fifteen to living room. He was only thirty two steps away from a probable future who was waiting with his family.

Instead he takes only four.

Because that's how far Khushi is away from him.

That's all he needed in his life anyway.

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Every story comes with a twist. Every story has its share of villains. Every story has its heroes and heroines. But what do you do when you find yourself in the space that connects two oceans so much so that you cannot differentiate one between the other? What do you do when you exist in a space such as that with another person who has promised himself to other and you are no different? Will you accept the way the oceans do - without ado and simply do or do you fuss and cry and fight the inevitable every step of the way?

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He finds it impossible to walk away from her. He ignores the way she takes a step back every time he takes a step forward. Shouldn't that have been a sign of her reluctance? But it was her eyes that were inviting, the increased raise and fall of her chest that told him a different story. He was way past shame, shame that came with mild blame game he was playing on her mild attraction towards him. He had ignored subtle and sometimes even blatant sexual advances from women who were much beautiful and smarter than Khushi. Yet, here he was; in all his experience and glory, he couldn't look away from the girl who was wearing red and looked at him as if he was her moon.

They were always inches closer than they were with other people and only inches away from changing the definition of the relationship. Lead settles in his stomach when he sees the mild horror decorating her face as the honeyed thick moment is dissipated by buzzing of an annoying cellphone. She twists her neck and looks away from him. The action runs an ice blade through his ribcage and he takes a step away from her.

The wrongness of timing couldn't have gotten this bad. But it's the subtle rejection that chafes his skin in agonizing way. Her perfume sticks to his skin like a wanton lover while its owner refuses to meet his eye.

He does the only thing he could think of - avoid her. Like everything that seems to be going in his life - it has the exact opposite effect.

She confronts him, cages him in his own actions and begs for answers; answers that she deserves. He lashes out the way he knows it would hurt her. He finds it how ironic in the way he uses his own complex entanglements of affection and fondness towards her to bring tears to her eyes. He finds it easy to step in her personal space, grasp her arms in his and squeeze it tight. He doesn't stop his hands in telling the truth or his breath that mingles with her in the closeness of their bodies. His eyes however masks the affection, the attraction and possibility of love and blazes like a mad fire. His words are cutting, his heartbeat jarring and his hands alone clung to her arms in benediction.

If she is a contradiction, he is an oxymoron.

They are made for each other and can easily destroy one another.

The wince on her face makes him let go of her as if burnt. He watches for several moments and walks away. He wasn't an irrational man. He has never done anything he didn't deem pragmatic or logical. But Khushi's presence changed that aspect about him. He did things he wouldn't have done otherwise. He gave into an inkling of feeling. He listened to the inane whispers of the wind and followed her faster than her veil did. She was everything he never wanted and everything his heart currently desired.

So he then in the party declares that he is marrying Lavanya.

He wonders when being irrational became a recurring theme in his life?

"When you fell in love with Khushi and refused to accept it," his treacherous heart sadly replies.

-----

What do you do call someone who takes the deserted road aware of the fact that the big bad wolf is waiting somewhere along the path? Brave? Incredibly stupid? Complete lacking self-preservation instincts?

Or are you just listening to what your heart has been silently demanding. Or are you remembering how your skin felt when his warm fingers caressed it. Or are you ignoring the veil of your dress blushing at the vulgarity of a possibility and missed opportunity.

Or did you forget he is really a wolf and can devour and destroy you anytime? Or did you not care that he is a wolf at all?

The answer could be one, some, all, none...but she did walk the road and walked into the wolf's den in her own agency. There is a pull in the whiskey colored eyes of the wolf, a gentleness in the curl of his claws and tenderness behind the fang covered lips.

Little did she know that she was his moon.

-----

His insides warmed when Khushi started huffing and puffing as expected. He felt she held on to an argument just so she could stand in front of him and show him how wrong he was. There was an innate need in her to fix him, to put all the broken pieces of him together and tenderly shape him to the man he could be. Her risen voice filled the cracks on his skin with its fire and the physical contact gave his healing skin the warmth it needed to feel whole.

In the fringes of these moments he forgets that there are many facts she doesn't share with him, that she is an intensely private person and holds the happenstances in her life close to her heart.

"This ring is pretty much useless," he shrugs. It isn't. His voice is still playful when he demands an apology for something inane.

"Never." Her voice is strong and defiant. Her refusal is absolute.

It rattles his bone and he lets out a bark of laughter.

He swallows a smile when he sees familiar pair of shoes in his vision.

"Sorry." She says softly, tears in her eyes. The smug smile on his lips drops when she repeats it. And again. And again.

He wants to rip the word, shred it apart and throw it far, far away from her. Of all the things she had told him, it was one word he couldn't accept or even face. He didn't deserve a heartfelt apology for his actions. He didn't deserve an apology for the shitty choices he was making. He definitely didn't deserve any semblance of apology for the kind of person he was being.

"It's my engagement ring." She whispers like it's an apology in itself.

The answer angers him. It frustrates him. It feels like someone has taken a blunt life and is cutting through his skin inch by inch. His heart is fighting against his ribcage, demanding to tell her how this news is hurting him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were engaged? Wasn't I important...?" He doesn't say "to you".

"Why should I tell you? Why should my choices in life matter to you?" She shoots back in equal fervor. He hates it how she doesn't care he has pulled her towards him. Even in that moment of anger he cannot help but notice the comfort her body exuberates when near to his.

The push-pull of their relationship comes back in full swing. He schools his face to reflect anger and not hurt or disappointment. The crumbling of his heart has gotten blood roaring in his ears, his veins alit with fire.

He forgets that this constant push-pull destroys the integrity of the rope they catch on each end.

"Because it matters! Because I..." He doesn't say "am something to you". He doesn't say "matter to you". He doesn't say "love you". Like always they are left with broken conversations, lost pockets of heart space and bones bare for the taking.

They complete each other with incompleteness. The complement each other with disproportions. She absorbed the ragged edges of him while he brings out the fire in her. Their interaction was an irony thrown together by the universe and the fate.

Neither winning, nor losing. Always in a limbo of "I want this but I can't have this" and "I am drowning in my own unmaking". Their fates were entwined in their anguish and tied together in their hopelessness.

-------

He wasn't a sheep in wolf's clothing.

He was an alpha wolf beneath several layer of wolf's clothing.

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Done. UV_Arshi, I hope this is what you were looking for? It was a bit hard to mix many episodes as I cannot linger around the fringes of each one. So maybe in future, I will restrict to just two. :-)

Above vignette is sort of coda for the Episodes 110, 111, 112 and 124.