THE Slut Chronicles: BetRAYed
Kritika Sharma
Kalamos Literary Services LLP
Kalamos Literary Services LLP
Email: [email protected]
Published in 2018
by
Kalamos Literary Services
ISBN- 978-93-87780-02-6
Copyright © Kritika Sharma 2018
The Slut Chronicles: Betrayed
Kritika Sharma
Cover designed and typeset in Kalamos Literary Services LLP
Print and bound in India.
All rights reserved. No Part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission by the publishers.
The views expressed in this book are entirely those of author. The printer/publisher and distributors of this book are not in any way responsible for the views expressed by author in this book. All disputes are subject to arbitration, legal actions if any subject to the jurisdiction of courts of New Delhi, India.
For
Vihaan, Dwij & Prisha
You are the integral part of my life.
For
Rajat & Anuj
You both made my dream a possibility
Part I
They called me Slut, but I was only an innocent girl looking for Happiness and my One True Love…
Prologue
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the star of the show,” her beautiful melodious voice echoed through the hall as she introduced Sohail Mirchandani, the leading fashion designer of India. And on cue to her words, a plump man accompanied her onto the stage. He looked like a blot next to her beauty but it was his fashion show, and even the most elite members of Indian society dreamt of marking their attendance.
“Ah, you are just a doll, Ishana,” he laughed in his flirtatious tone as he pressed on her waist and kissed her gently on her rosy cheek. Sohail was one of the very few people who were allowed to touch her. She loathed physical contact with men, but given that she had been working with Sohail for years now and he had never misbehaved or abused her physically, she allowed him to cozy up a bit in public. She just smiled at his airy kiss. “Isn’t she a Goddess?” his question was more of a compliment, everybody nodded and applauded in appreciation. After all, she was the beauty that God had carved himself in heaven.
She had a perfect oval face with round hazelnut eyes. Her full lips complimented her face, and her pointed chin added elegance to her grace. She was five feet nine inches tall and had the perfect slender figure. Her beautiful long ebony black hair was tucked in a loose bun, with few strands flirting with her features. She was dressed in a stunning red gown with gold handcrafted work. The beauty of the dress was enhanced by the net just below her upper torso that flaunted her petite and perfect waist. In short, she looked like a ‘Diva’. She was the showstopper, and everybody’s breath literally stopped when she made her presence on the stage. It was as if somebody had added life to the flavorless world – yes, she was that beautiful, and there was not a single person, man and woman alike, who didn’t dream of taking her home!
She was Sohail’s favorite but he also hated her. Favorite because the moment her name appeared on his list, the crowd to his show always doubled. He hated her because in her presence nobody paid any attention to him. The moment they stepped off the stage, reporters rushed towards her. Sohail stayed glued to her waist because he wanted the limelight; after all, it was his show.
“Excuse me!” she murmured to him and stepped aside to grab a drink. She had been on the stage for two hours, smiling, and now she wanted a break from all pretentiousness.
She started walking towards the bar when she saw her assistant, Swara waiting for her with a champagne flute. Swara was a tiny, bespectacled girl who looked like someone who had entered the wrong world. She wore a long black skirt and a plain white shirt. Her hair was loose untidily, and she wore the most hideous shoes. To Swara, they were comfortable shoes, but to the fashion industry, they were a blotch to everything beautiful! People often commented about her looks and appearance, but it didn’t matter to either Ishana or Swara. To Ishana, Swara was the perfect assistant who knew her so well that they worked in perfect sync and harmony. And to Swara, she adored Ishana and being her assistant was the first step towards achieving her dream. She wanted to be an event planner, and managing Ishana’s chaotic life was a great way to move forward.
“I so need this!” Ishana sighed as she reached Swara and pulled off her heavy crystal earrings. She quickly swapped them with the champagne flute.
“The owner of ‘Love Dios’ is here,” Swara informed her, beaming. A radiant smile appeared on Ishana’s face. ‘Love Dios’ was a big cosmetic brand, and they were planning to make Ishana their brand ambassador. It was a big move for Ishana, and she was looking forward to meeting them.
“Should I go get them?” Swara bounced on the balls of her feet; It was just for formality, Swara already knew the answer to the question. Ishana nodded with a muted excitement and Swara left. In Ishana’s world, she was not supposed to show too much excitement or emotions. People always used and abused them. She looked around and waited patiently when a slurred voice greeted her, “Mind giving me some company?” Many desperate onlookers were staring at her; however only one had found the courage to approach her. He was a burly man with a round face and pricked nose. He seemed drunk and had a very unpleasant aura around him. She shirked away.
“Hey, I was talking to you,” he spoke, grabbing her hand. She pushed him.
“Please mind some distance,” her voice was soft and tender, but there was firmness in her tone and gaze.
“What is your rate?” he demanded, checking her from top-to-toe. She was used to such gazes, after all, she was a model and that was the way a lot of people evaluated her. But there was something in his eyes – filthy lust – that made her nauseated. She started to walk away.
“You must be having a rate list. I don’t mind paying a premium amount for tonight.” He was stubborn, but she chose to ignore him. After enduring endless misery in her past, she was immune to chaos. There were very few things that riled her up enough to react and lose her façade – and this drunk’s blabber was not one of them. Also, she wanted to stay calm and smiling for ‘Love Dios’.
Hoping he would give up, she stood next to Sohail. But Sohail was way too occupied in finalizing some deal with a movie producer.
“I know what you are!” he whispered from behind and nibbled at her ear. A lusted touch was one of the things that riled her, and his action made her blood boil. How dare he do that?
“What do you mean? And how dare you touch me!” she pushed him forcefully, losing her manners and etiquette.
“Dear-dear, what’s going on here?” Sohail demanded, stepping between them.
“Well, I just asked her rates, but she is too shy,” the man yelled at the top of his voice. Sohail pointed at his bouncers, and two men with huge builds sped in their direction.
“He is just drunk, please ignore him darling,” Sohail consoled her, but before the bouncers could come to her aid, the man shouted again, “Oh darling Ishana, I know what you really are.” Her face flushed with anger. There was pin-drop silence in the room now. Even the live-band had stopped and all eyes were on her. She squeezed her eyes shut and clasped the flute tightly to gain some control.
“A slut!” he screamed, laughing. And his voice reverberated through the corners.
“Ishana darling, calm down and ignore him,” Sohail muttered in her ear. He knew well enough how she reacted to such slang.
The bouncers caught the man from both sides and started dragging him, but this didn’t stop him. He was way too drun
k for any sanity, “So, you would fuck this pimp but not me. Aren’t you too choosy for a slut?” And forgetting where she was, whom she was meeting and how it could impact her career - she just lost her control.
Her next action changed tomorrow’s headlines for every single newspaper in the country – she smashed the champagne flute in a million pieces – right on his balding head!
Headlines Today!
‘Ishana Khatri’s rowdiness put a man in the hospital.’
‘A gift from Ishana, five stitches on the head!’
‘Wonder what makes Ishana mad? SLUT!’
‘Dare to bare Ishana Khatri? She will SLUT shame you.’
And so many more headlines popped up on Ishana’s phone the next morning. She had been ignoring all newspapers, social media sites and television because she had expected this. But her PR head, Adil Menon, made sure she read them all. He was furious at her; he had been trying to repair her public image ever since she hired him, but this was beyond control.
“You need to put a leash on that temper of yours!” he had yelled at her last night. But she chose to ignore him. She knew he was right, but the word ‘slut’ always opened a rift between her actions and reasoning.
She glanced through his messages and, sighing she turned her phone off. She was just not in the mood. Such headlines were common in her world, but usually, she was not the one causing them. Adil always made sure she stayed within limits, but yesterday she had crossed them. She put a man in a hospital and was she feeling guilty? Well, guilt to her was a very subjective concept, and she always found ways to keep it out of her mind. She couldn’t even recall when last she felt guilty for anything she did! She had lost her conscience long ago.
She expected Adil’s knock on her door any minute, but a confrontation or a lecture was the last thing she wanted. She contemplated for a moment and decided where she could go. Going to the gym was not an option because media often mobbed her there. And she couldn’t go to the studio or the office; Adil would know immediately. She could go to some friends, but they would lecture her too! She wanted peace and quiet, and finally, she knew where she should go. Quickly changing into a simple yet stunning dress, she stepped out. She was still putting on her coat to avoid the December cold when numerous flashes blinded her in a second. As expected, paparazzi were surrounding her entrance. She retraced her steps. Damn! Why hadn’t she foreseen this? She cursed and turned towards another exit. The back gate of her building opened up in her neighbor’s backyard, but they didn’t mind it. They liked Ishana and allowed her to sneak out whenever the media hounded her. She did the same today as well, and upon reaching the road, she hailed a cab.
Ishana entered the most popular bar in Delhi. It was her favorite place, and it was not just because she fancied their cocktails, but because it was this place where the love of her life chose to propose to her. The memory was still fresh in her mind, and she came here every time she wanted to relive those good old days. An involuntary smile appeared on her face as she sat at the edge of the bar. Making herself comfortable, she looked around. It was 12 P.M. on a Tuesday, hence it was practically empty, thank God! She didn’t have the strength to fight off any more morons. The music that surrounded her was peaceful and soft. She concentrated on the tunes and recognized a popular song. Smiling, she scanned the bar to have her pick.
“Cosmo-Explosion please,” Ishana ordered, glancing down at the counter. The lights were dimmed, and the memory of his smile was flirting with her now. She relished it and it was immensely peaceful, but only for a few moments. Because next to her was a stack of daily newspapers and she found her own face smiling back at her. Yes, she was the headlines as Adil had predicted.
“I am a huge-huge fan, Ma’am,” the bartender chimed in with excitement. Ishana’s frown disappeared at her words. “Will you please sign this for me?” Autograph, selfies were very common requests for Ishana. She glanced at the bartender’s name-tag and obliged her with an autograph. Her name was Rumi. Rumi seemed new; and as Ishana looked down the counter, the entire staff was unfamiliar. Ishana was a regular here, but she had never seen them before. She assumed them to be tending on weekdays because she frequented on weekends.
With the news of last night’s events staring her in the face, an ominous feeling overpowered Ishana. Suddenly, she felt lonely and strange. A sense of nostalgia started to overwhelm her. ‘You don’t want to go down that wretched path,’ she scolded herself, controlling her emotions. Memories of the past were one thing she always shied away from because they tormented and anguished her. Yes, she loved him and often remembered him, but there were way too many dark spots in her history that she would rather erase.
Rumi placed a neat cocktail glass in front of her and smiled. The glass held a stunning red drink, with peeled lemon on the side. She sighed at the sight of the lemon; it was beautifully carved, just like her life – sliced from inside out. She looked up at Rumi to thank her, but Rumi was already busy making the next drink – by the mix of ingredients, it looked like a margarita. She amused herself by observing her. Rumi was a short yet beautiful girl in her early twenties. She had a small round face, short pixie hair, and a slim figure. She wore a white top and a black skirt. She was the only female employee at the counter, and the way other customers were eyeing the tiny bartender made Ishana uncomfortable. Ishana always wondered why men abused women by putting them in such positions - why did the bar owners felt that it was acceptable to flaunt a young girl to attract drunken bastards. Sighing, she looked around and found a few men staring. Maybe they recognized her, or perhaps they considered her as a ‘damsel in distress’. She didn’t care; all she wanted was her drink.
Ugh!
“Excuse me,” she called Rumi the moment she took the first sip.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Rumi rushed over excitedly.
“Umm…Can you tell me which brand this is?” Ishana pointed at the glass. What she drank was not the Cosmo-Explosion she had expected.
“Err…” Rumi looked around at the bottle she had just poured from. She was clearly an amateur.
“You gave me some cheap vodka?” Ishana was scoffing inside, but the look on Rumi’s face forced her to keep her tone leveled.
“No, Ma’am, it’s a branded vodka,” Rumi corrected with haste and pointed at the sparkling bottle on the counter.
“Just the same.” Ishana pushed the glass away. She was already in a foul mood and the poor vodka even worsened it. “No chance of Belvedere?” Ishana enquired about her favorite and usual vodka brand. Rumi just looked around vacantly. It was clear she wasn’t even aware of the brand. What bartender doesn’t know that? Ishana thought, sarcastically.
Ishana sighed as she started to get up, but Rumi whispered in a panicky tone, “Ma’am, please don’t complain. I am new and desperately need this job,” she gave a teary sideways glance; Ishana followed her gaze and saw a bulky man eyeing them cautiously.
“Fine,” Ishana hissed, pulling back her drink. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lit one between her lips. “Well, if I have to drink this,” she murmured to herself and stepped to the smoking zone. Smoking always gave Ishana a unique kick. People smoked for tobacco, but she did it to kiss something she was not supposed to.
Ishana sat alone writhing in her misery for some time. She planned to drink the entire menu today, so she ordered Rumi to keep up the flow of assorted drinks in her direction, and Rumi indulged her. The moment Ishana finished her Cosmo-Explosion, Rumi arrived with Arctic Circle. She was about to gulp down her second drink and light her third cigarette when a man came and sat next to her.
“Sorry, Ma’am, can I bother you?” he requested. Annoyed with his boldness, Ishana blew her smoke in his face. To her, it meant ‘leave me alone’, but he just coughed and stayed put. Ishana looked at him. He was a young man in his late-twenties. He had an oval face and blue eyes. His hair was disheveled, and he seemed rather frantic and nervous. Ishana gazed at his face for a second and realized that he looked s
trikingly familiar.
Ignoring the nostalgic feeling creeping at the sight of his familiar face, Ishana barked, “Go and bother someone else.” She wanted to be alone. But he had been planning this for quite some time. He had been hounding her and stalking her for weeks now, and he knew very well that this was the one place she would end up after last night’s event.
“Ma’am, I am Ravi, a freelance writer, can you please spare some time for me?” he practically begged. It had taken him a lot of courage to muster up the strength to walk up to her. He was not going to give in so easily. She ignored him and pointed at Rumi for the next drink.
Rumi placed a sparkling white drink in front of Ishana and turned to take Ravi’s order. “Water, please,” his words made Ishana laugh. Water? Really? He blushed in embarrassment, and the moment Rumi arrived with his water, he gulped it down in one giant sip. He was extremely nervous; sitting across from her was like a dream come true moment for him. And not to mention he found her breathtakingly beautiful.
“Seriously?” Ishana demanded, pointing at his empty glass. He shrugged carelessly. “I was thirsty.” His tone and his words made her laugh harder. It had been really long since she had laughed heartily.
“Call me Ishana.” She offered him her hand. They shook; his hands were freezing and trembling. Ishana felt pity for the poor creature.
“Should we sit somewhere comfortable?” he offered as he glanced up and down the room.
“I am comfortable here.” Ishana smiled as she took another puff. He considered it for a moment and ordered himself a drink. “So, shall we start?” he requested.
“Start what?” she raised her eyebrows skeptically.
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