He stood there in the darkened room, completely humiliated as he removed the gun from his side. He could feel the thickness in his throat, burning and pricking as he reached for his belt with "BSD" written on it, gently laying it down on the table. His stomach dropped when he felt Aman's fingers on his broad shoulders, reaching with trembling hands towards the three stars that adorned his uniform on either side.
They had questioned his honor, his very sense of being. The organization that was his life had abandoned him because of that chit of a girl, with her long hair and sweet face driving him insane.
He had to give it to her, she had guts to propose to him in front of all of his colleagues. She was manipulative, her khoobsurati hiding her true intentions. She had worked her way into the hearts of his younger female cousins and his own father, enchanting him with her endearing naivety.
He smashed the bottle against the ground in frustration, watching in satisfaction as the dark liquid splattered over the filthy ground, slowly dripping down the shining exterior of his motorcycle.
His anger rose with every second as he thought about her, the bane of his very existence. She had been stubborn, she had been blindly loyal. Her idiotic loyalty was the cause of this entire situation.
When he had met her, he expected her to be pliant and easy to manipulate. It was supposed to be an easy case. She would give them the evidence they needed, they would storm Thakur and take his traitorous organization down. But because of her, he had lost his comrades and his honor. He was quickly finding that he had lost the upper hand to her, and he hated it.
Until now, he had protected her as a witness. But she had pushed it too far. She had revealed her true colors, and she would pay. She would see his wrath, his blind anger that could destroy the world.
He stumbled in, calling her name at the top of his lungs.
He saw her step from behind the gated wall, through the hexagonal shaped grill. Her radiance was dampened by the fear in her eyes at his state, clearly recognizing that he was not in a mood to play.
Great. It would make his task that much easier.
He grabbed her wrist tightly, making sure he would leave dark, blue bruises in the soft skin. He could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes as she struggled, growing hysterical as he dragged her into the main hallway, ignoring the shocked stares of his family.
She flinched as he tossed the chair to the ground, allowing it to demonstrate the danger his anger could bring as it crashed to the ground, splintering into jagged pieces. She stepped back in fear, unwilling to place herself in this warpath. Kakisa's furious rambling faded to the back of his mind as he focused all of his attention on the girl trembling in front of him.
He watched as she shivered in terror, sadistically thrilled by her obvious fear of him. He was sick of her blind devotion to him, of her overpowering love and adoration. He wasn't some God, he wasn't the Shiva to her Parvati. He didn't want her mythology lessons, her metaphors to their relationship. He felt nothing but disgust at her faith. And he would damn well make sure she knew that.
He wanted to bring himself down in her eyes, so that she would never attempt to force her unwanted affection on him again. He burned whenever she attempted to lavish him with love, standing in tapasya simply because he had made an offhand comment about her staying out there. She still hadn't learned from her blind devotion to Thakur, and he hated people who didn't learn their lesson.
He spoke every, dreadful vow with passion, with a certainty that he knew would shatter her heart. He could feel her twisting her wrist, and he only squeezed tighter, making her gasp in pain. He ignored her pleas of mercy, her panicked voice increasing in pitch as he continued to pull her around the fire roughly. She begged him, her voice breaking with the pain he inflicted on her.
For the eighth, final vow that he added, he grabbed her and tugged her close. For a moment, he was spellbound. Her eyes were wide, lined to perfection with the dark kohl. His body tightened as he felt her supple curves pressed against his chest, the soft, rounded, breasts rubbing against his thin, black t-shirt. Even in her fear, she was beautiful. Khoobsurat. The word stuck in his mouth, poisoning it. It broke the spell between them and he proclaimed the final vow, feeling no remorse.
He would never be hers. She would be the target of his wrath, the woman that would suffer for the rest of her life under his control.
He reached for the dark, red powder she valued so deeply. He knew the sindoor held an unimaginable significance for a small, village girl. It symbolized everything she held dear, her dreams for her future. He took a pinch of it, feeling the soft powder stain his fingers a dark red.
For him, it symbolized the breaking of a sacred bond. His mother had worn it every, single day, and she had still left. She had left him, his father- the man she had promised to spend the rest of her life with. The sindoor was a memory of that, a shard cutting deep into his heart. For him, it was blood, vengeance and pain.
He lifted the tips of his fingers towards her part, watching as she shrunk back from his hands. He needed to break the value she put on the flimsy powder he held in his hands. He would devalue it, make sure that she never held it in such high regard again. He would show her that it was powder, not a promise. It represented nothing, meant nothing, and had no value. It was a mockery of a ritual that she respected, and he knew that it would break her completely.
He ran his hands through her part, allowing the red to stain her. She was his. He was not hers, no- but she was his. His property, his possession. He could treat her as he wished.
He expected to feel satisfaction. He had allowed his wrath to manifest itself into revenge, betrayed her in the ultimate way. He wanted this, he wanted his image to fail in her eyes, lose respect and that stupid idealized view of love. He wanted her to detest him, hate him to the very core.
But as he watched the tears stream down her face, the salty water streaking her face like the red powder had streaked her hair, he felt empty. He whirled around and stumbled out of the room, hearing her collapse to the ground in shock.
He felt nothing. Completely, utterly, empty.
Really enjoyed your descriptive insight into Rudra's feelings while all of this is happening. I look forward to the next week.
Topic started by chotidesi
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