PARTS 13 14 15
OOO
Angad had never considered himself to be particularly vindictive. He was degrading, malicious, and offensive; but never ruthlessly bitter.
He'd managed to surprise himself with the vehemence of his angry reaction to her prodding. He'd meant every rancorous word, yet wanted to take them all back as soon as he'd seen her spluttering with rage.
It seemed he was inextricably caught in a web of insecurity and confusion; he was playing the parts of two completely different people and had no idea who was writing his lines.
One moment he would want nothing more than to see her bleeding and broken in a heap of despondency at his feet; the next, he'd be restless with remorse, pacing through the halls and searching for a way to comfort her, protect her from himself. His erratic behavior was doing nothing but entangling him even more in a conspiracy of his own creation: he was taking them both on dangerous rides through the extremes of human emotion.
He'd broken her heart more times than he could count. He should have been satisfied after the first, albeit incongruous, time; but he'd been greedy, so intent on ruining her that he hadn't stopped to consider the consequences of his own involvement. Somewhere between instilling a shameless sense of faith in her and annihilating that hope, all in the same day, he'd lost himself.
He was no longer content with hurting her; no, it seemed his discomfiture merely trebled in size after he fired insult after insult at her. His iniquitous tendencies were forced and it was this compulsory feel of his dissipation that made him that much more determined to harm her.
His desire to go back to normal was opposed by his even stronger need to shelter her. He wanted to ensure her safety, shield her from the horrible effronteries he himself had tossed in her direction for going on years. It was a backwards and unexpected and utterly perplexing instinct, but he'd realized it as soon as he'd watched her hold back the tears that had threatened her dignity.
He knew that a week earlier he would have reveled in her show of weakness, would have crowed with triumph at her near surrender; but he hadn't and that fact had infuriated him so much that he'd lashed out at the one person he wanted to be left unscathed.
He was almost imminently aware, however, that he couldn't give in to his strange new impulses. There was literally no reason to personify a clich and turn himself into a bolder and smarter version of Sahil.
Fate was offering him an alternate route, handing him the excitement of embarking on a journey to the unknown; he had to be just as strong as Kripa, though. He had to go back to being hateful and intolerable…whether he liked it or not.
OOO
Kripa was silent as she regarded Harshini and Sahil.
They'd confronted her in her room, their concern so genuine, so awkwardly sincere, that she immediately melted.
"Kripa, we've just been so worried about you lately," Harshini was saying, her gentle voice eroding the barriers she'd erected around her heart since the escapade with Angad on top of the school.
"Oh, Harshini. I've been worried about myself lately," she confessed, allowing Sahil's arms to encase her in a tender hug as she sobbed out the whole sordid story.
"I fell for it, Harshini. I let him see me at my worst, when I was vulnerable and disgraced and stupid," she cried into his shoulder, her eyes closed and unable to see the menacing glare shared between her two friends.
"It'll all turn out alright, Kripa. We promise," Sahil told her, rubbing her shoulder with his hand.
"Yeah. If he comes near you ever again…well, let's just say I won't hold back Sahil anymore," Harshini continued.
"No, Harshini! I can't let you both get in trouble over something as silly as this," she argued, sniffing a bit as she looked at them. "I…Just…Just don't leave me alone for awhile, okay? Please. I just don't want…I don't want to…I never want to see him again."
OOO
Angad strode out of Chemistry, his white lab coat billowing behind him as his eyelids gracelessly drifted shut and he turned the corner. He wasn't watching where he was going, and his elbow hit her, accidentally.
"Hey! Angad! What was that for?" Harshini yelled after him, ignoring Kripa's plea to remain quiet.
"Harshini, surely with your 20/20 vision you can see an accident for what it is?" Angad responded without glancing back, continuing his walk.
"Why can't you just leave her alone, Angad?" Sahil shouted, grabbing Kripa and hooking his arm around her waist.
Angad turned around slowly, willing himself to remain calm. He noted Kripa's cowering stance, her face turned down as she let Sahil be her champion. It was so unlike her, so astonishingly uncharacteristic, that he nearly commented on it.
He wanted to ask her why she was letting someone so unworthy protect her; why she wasn't fighting her own battles, why she wasn't being as brave as he knew she could be. He wanted to pry Sahil's fingers from her body, replacing them with his own and proving his ability to defend her.
He could do it so much better than either of them, if only she'd let him.
Shaking his head at the three of them, he sauntered away, paying no heed to their loud protests and pointless indignation at being snubbed.
He didn't trust himself around her anymore: and it was the most frightening thought he'd ever had.
OOO
Kripa stared after him, her heart beating too fast and her lips remaining parted too long.
She'd never been more conscious of physical contact as Sahil's skin rubbed intimately against hers. It was supposed to be comforting.
Yet rather than providing a heady reassurance of friendship, it made her nauseous.
She'd turned into one of those simpering females that required a dramatic rescue every time she was assaulted by even the most mundane danger. She was letting Harshini and Sahil be her saviors, and it had never felt so wrong.
Trust Angad to point it out to me, she thought dismally.
OOO
PART 14
OOO
Kripa had berated herself too many times for falling prey to Angad Khanna and his illicitly dishonest, unspoken promises. She was too tired of making excuses for him, allowing his lies to maladroitly permeate her senses while her sanity spiraled out of her control and straight into his.
She was tired of feeling torn whenever she criticized him, tired of being driven away from her derision by simple acts of humanity. He kept letting her believe him, letting her think the best and then proving her wrong.
He was so much craftier than she'd ever imagined. So much more adept at wily behavior and cunning schemes of revenge. He'd pegged her weakness with almost disturbing precision; he was exploiting it with the kind of single-minded dexterity that she hadn't dreamed anyone but herself capable of.
He was taking pleasure in her pain, turning her into someone she didn't like, turning her into the type of person that hid behind her friends, too scared to face her greatest fear: infinite knowledge of her character.
With that almost imperceptible shake of his head, he'd summed up his power over her in a wonderfully neat little package: a gesture, a word, a look, and she was gone.
It was ironic that in a world full of opportunity, the place where she should technically come out victorious, given her vast knowledge, he would triumph. In the supreme confidence she'd lorded over him for years, she'd never thought of herself as vulnerable. She'd never considered the idea that he might be in possession of something that could eventually spell her downfall.
He'd broken her heart, and she'd never had any intention of giving it to him.
She'd always assumed that she'd have to be in love for something that ridiculously excruciating to happen. She'd always assumed that she'd be able to dictate who held her fragile embodiment of romanticism in their hand.
But somewhere along the line, at some long-past moment she couldn't pinpoint, she'd let it slip out of her grasp, and straight into Angad's. And he'd realized it and taken advantage of it, like some kind of nightmare come to life.
It wasn't him she was afraid of; no, she was terrified of what he could do to her. She could insult him all she wanted, could engage him in long-winded arguments that served no purpose other than to illustrate her hatred.
As long as he didn't guess that she wished, more than anything that he hadn't lied to her. That he'd been telling the truth and she could go back to alternately fantasizing about him changing and him dying a horribly violent death.
As filled as she'd been with confusion and doubt and a thousand and one other unidentifiable emotions, it was only in the aftermath of their dramatic encounters that she understood what she'd been so oblivious to for as long as she could remember: the wistful ecstasy that encompassed her blind faith in him was almost worth the agony of his dissension.
But only almost.
OOO
Angad lifted a trembling hand to his temple and considered the emptiness that had engulfed him since his run-in with Kripa and her friends. He kept picturing the lanky, unworthy arm of Sahil draped so carelessly across her back, his long fingers gripping the curve of her waist.
Nothing had ever so forcibly struck him as wrong.
He couldn't name the gnawing sensation that was growing in his stomach, couldn't distinguish with any certainty what it was that had consumed him and was causing him more heartache than anything else ever had.
He'd recognized the bereft bleakness that had enveloped him after his father's whereabouts had been declared unknown. He'd recognized the disillusionment that had encased his soul after having his senseless apology thrown back at him.
But he didn't recognize whatever it was that was tearing him up so much more efficiently than fear ever had.
Kripa was so deliciously imperfect, for all her condescension and pretentiousness. He was enthralled by her ability to hide her flaws, to only show her brilliance and her kindness and her morality; he'd seen past her faade of accomplishments, but only because he'd been looking so hard.
He'd wanted so badly for so long to just hurt her, no matter the consequence. He'd wanted so badly to see her cry, to see her break, to make sure that everyone else knew she was a fraud; he'd wanted to destroy the serenity of her self-assuredness, to have her be viewed as the cowardly victim for once.
But then he'd done it, he'd somehow gotten hold of her, and he'd hated himself more than her. He'd finally managed to crush her spirit, ruin her, and he'd said he was sorry.
What had started out as a fake show of contrition and ethical buoyancy had turned real; he wasn't pretending anymore, he wasn't showing off his "newfound benevolence" for her sake. He didn't want to see her degraded and broken, corrupted with the hypocrisy that had been his sense of self for as long as he could remember.
She was his little piece of sincerity, and he needed her. It didn't matter that she was the only one to inspire him, it didn't matter that he was still the jaded and generally unpleasant bully.
He needed her, and she had to know.
OOO
"Kripa!" he called out, jogging after her retreating form as she ascended the steps to the top of the school.
As soon as he reached her, she whipped her head around, piercing him with a glare and not speaking.
"Kripa, I need to talk to you," he said breathlessly, thoroughly winded from his exertion.
"Well, I don't want to talk to you," she replied with some petulance, inwardly shaking at his nearness.
Any second, she'd be in her sweet nirvana, allowing herself the satisfaction of thinking he could be different.
Any second, and she'd be in his grasp once more.
Only she knew that if she didn't get away, if she didn't escape him and his silent duplicity, she would be lost.
"Please, Kripa. Please," he whispered desperately, his heightened awareness picking up her resignation.
"What do you want?" she inquired tonelessly, refusing to meet his probing gray eyes.
She'd once thought that she could see everything he was feeling, everything he was thinking, in those facets of perspicuity.
It was just one more thing he could prove her wrong about.
"I want…no, that's not the right word," he muttered to himself.
"Just say it, Angad. You want to see my heart break all over again, because let's be honest: that's all you've ever wanted, isn't it?" she demanded harshly.
"No! That's what I thought I wanted up until about ten minutes ago," he responded, imploring her to understand.
"Right," she snorted, ducking behind him to leave the room.
"Kripa, please don't leave," he said softly, begging her. "I…"
"You what, Angad?" she asked, her back to him and her eyelids snapped shut. "You what?"
"I need you," he answered helplessly, taking note of the stiffness of her shoulders.
Kripa couldn't let herself move, couldn't let herself think. If she did, she'd realize that he was fulfilling that impossible dream she'd been fostering ever since he'd instigated his deceit. If she did, she'd let herself realize what that meant and fly into his arms, finally being able to know what it felt like to be held by them.
If she did, she'd set herself up for the kind of misery people only read about, but few had the misfortune to actually experience.
So she remained motionless, willing herself not to speak.
"Kripa?" he said cautiously, taking a step forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't touch me," she choked out.
"Kripa, I--"
"Stop lying already! It's practically sadistic what you're doing, do you realize that? All you do is…all you want is…it just hurts so much…"
She was crying then, tears falling so inelegantly and so sporadically she almost didn't notice. She couldn't feel the bittersweet moisture trickling down her cheeks, couldn't feel anything but his arms as he swept her up in an embrace that was more despondent that tender.
She sobbed into his chest, refusing to remember that it was Angad who was comforting her, Angad who had hurt her to begin with.
But then again, hadn't it always been him?
OOO
PART 15
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Despite her almost helpless clinging, he was conscious of the indecision radiating from her body, cutting into his heart so much more effectively than a knife; she was desperate to not have to bear the burden of a broken heart alone, and he was convenient.
She didn't trust him, and he ruefully had to admit she had no reason to. She was sensible, and he was dangerous: he'd done nothing but resent her for her talents and torture her mercilessly for years. The fact that he had so ruthlessly exploited her trust in him, that he had so callously wanted to delight in her suffering only made it worse.
He was ashamed of his past actions, but he could not entirely regret them. She'd played her part in aggravating him and she couldn't deny a small portion of the blame.
In a different world, a different time, they might have been perfect for one another; in different circumstances, they might have grown to love each other.
But it wasn't a different world, and it wasn't a different time: they'd grown up hating each other with a passion that exceeded the boundaries of a childhood rivalry. There was no real chance of reconciliation. Too many factors stood against them, too many people and too many words.
Neither of them could take back what they'd thought, and felt, and said, as much as they wanted to.
He wasn't even sure he did want to. Now that he held her in his arms, now that he could savor the heady sensation of having her body pressed against his, her cheek against his chest, he doubted himself.
What did it matter if one person could change him? He still had his ideals, and she still had hers: it wasn't reassuring to know that their respective principles were complete opposites. They were too dissimilar to be compatible, too suspicious of each others intentions to be complementary.
He despised her friends, and she was disdainful of his; he already knew what his future entailed, and it wasn't her; she had the patriotic fervor that implied she would gladly die for her cause.
But besides the practical reasons, he couldn't shake the creeping sense of inferiority that was so unnerving in its precision. She was the one crying, the one holding on to him as if for dear life; but he was the weaker one.
She didn't try to run away from her opinions, didn't try and escape what she knew was inevitable. He looked back and was disgusted with his cowardice. But she, she had so magnificently held her ground, so strongly maintained her derision, her scorn. She had given in to his offer of a comforting embrace, but was still fighting him.
He didn't think she'd ever stop.
They both knew he couldn't make her happy, could never fulfill her blurry dreams of romanticism. His only choice was to let her go, to pry those warm fingers from his shoulders and let her walk away.
He didn't know when she'd come to mean so much to him, when he'd decided that her feelings were paramount to his own.
It was his deference to her character that made him pull away, holding her at arm's length to keep her from scrambling back to him. He gazed down at her tearstained face, her puffy red eyes and her forehead creased in confusion.
"I can't be what you need," he stated bluntly, avoiding her searching glance.
Rather than slowly bursting into hysterics, as he'd half-expected, she snorted and crossed hugged herself.
"I expected this, you know," she replied with practiced indifference. "I was sort of waiting for it."
"What," he asked slowly, "are you talking about?"
"Never mind," she snapped back, turning away to descend the stairs. "It doesn't matter." He grabbed her elbow and spun her around.
"Tell me," he demanded dangerously, glaring at her.
"No," she answered loftily, quickly.
"Fine. Don't. I don't even know what I was thinking, coming up here, trying to explain something I probably made up to pass the time," he shot at her, sneering.
"Undoubtedly," she said, spinning on her heel. When she reached the archway that led to the steps, she twisted her head back towards him. "Oh, and Angad? Thanks for shoving me away. It felt a lot more normal than anything else that's been happening lately."
He gaped at her back, too stunned to respond. She had just called his bluff, and he was too surprised to be embarrassed.
She'd seen through his selfish faade, seen through what he'd deluded himself into thinking was for her benefit. He'd been spineless once more, hadn't been able to face what she did with such ease.
He'd lost once more in their battle of wits, had let her defeat him so soundly he expected that her inner turmoil was thriving on his trepidation. He hadn't done what he'd done to protect her, to make her happier. He'd done it because he was afraid of doing something else.
He had known all his life what he would become, who he would become. He'd thought that he'd tricked fate into forgetting about him. He had been so unwilling to allow anything unplanned or unknown effect him; he didn't want to be unaware of what was happening to him.
But then he'd snatched up that paper in a crucial move of impetuosity and he was paying for it. Fate had intervened and forced him to see a side of Kripa that was vulnerable and brave all at once. She'd awakened in him an emotion that was as much fantastical as it was painfully real.
Around her, he was sentient of more than just her: he could see himself through her eyes, and he didn't like what he saw.
He was a boy who had more aspirations than accomplishments, more power than he was capable of wielding; he had more problems than solutions, more questions than answers. He was weak and indecisive, jealous and bitter.
And he'd just thrown away his last chance to change that.
OOO
So did you guys like it? Letting you guys know ahead of time. The next post i post will be the last setion to this story. In that post there will be 3 parts plus the epilogue! And also I changed it to where Sahil had a thing for Kripa as you can see. Anyways ENJOY!
-Natasha
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