by Zeenat Mahal
The door opened and Fardeen walked in. He didn’t even look at her.
Fardeen suppressed the urge to bolt. Why did she keep looking at him as if he’d done something wrong? What did she want from him? A medal of honor? Platitudes for her courageous and selfless act? Or had she thought her kisses would awaken the prince from some spell, and he’d change into someone else? Someone other than what he’d become? There was a part of him that blamed her for marrying him in the first place. Then she’d promised to not manage him and at the first opportunity she’d forced his hand about the surgery. She’d no business going behind his back to his mother.
And God, this great sacrificial Mother Teresa gig that she had going was so bloody annoying! That whole seduction had been part of that sacrificial act too. Why did she keep giving bits of herself away to him as if she owed him? Why did she keep erasing the boundaries he’d erected between them? He was only a man, and she was the one who’d seduced him. He hadn’t asked for anything from her. She should’ve respected his boundaries. He’d been quite clear about that.
She hadn’t been half as enthusiastic that first time he’d tried, even though he knew she’d have been willing to go along like the martyr that she was. If she thought he’d missed the way she’d steeled herself to launch her seduction like a good little soldier, she was way off the mark. He’d taken what she offered anyway, like a beggar taking alms. The familiar anger came like it always did, quick and hot.
“Fardeen, can I talk to you for a second?”
Her voice, soft and hesitant, made his heart sink. He didn’t want to have ‘the talk’. They were married. It was good old married sex. She’d done it out of her sense of duty or whatever. What did she want from him?
“Yes?” The single word rang out between them like a resentful hiss.
“Are…are you angry with me, about something?”
Exasperated, he tried to keep his voice calm and replied, “Don’t be infantile.”
“Why’re you being like this?”
Fardeen laughed. It was a harsh sound. It didn’t use to be, did it?
Zoella flinched. His bitter voice crashed against her very hopes.
“Like what? What do you want me to say? What did you think, that you’d sleep with me and I’d start acting like the sun rises and sets with you? It didn’t mean anything more than what it was, Zoella. We’re married, we had sex. We will again, I’m sure. End of story.”
Every word was a blow to Zoella’s fragile little believing heart.
“It didn’t mean anything more than what?” she asked.
He shrugged and said, “We’re married. You’re my wife, not my girlfriend and we’re not going to discuss this every time we…”
Her whisper was dark and hoarse, “Every time we…what? Fornicate? Fuck?”
“Will you stop with the martyrdom act already? It’s getting old, and this conversation is becoming too tedious for words.”
She had to think of something else or she’d burst into tears. She diverted her attention to her brother’s troubles. She had to think about something else, something that wouldn’t tear at her heart like this.
“I have a favor to ask. I…I need a million rupees.”
Fardeen snorted. “Darling, you weren’t that good.”
Zoella hadn’t really been listening. She was thinking that there had been no feeling of closeness or attachment on his part. He’d really meant to use her then. Like a romantic fool, she’d been a willing participant in her own devastation. Or maybe, Fardeen was just preparing her for the inevitable. He’d agreed to the surgery. He knew he’d have his old life back soon. You’re my wife not my girlfriend. What he’d meant was, you’re Zoella, not Neha.
She was thinking of how tired she was of being treated this way. She was done being the victim. However, in the thick silence that followed his words, her mind registered what Fardeen had just said. She didn’t quite understand what he’d meant till she saw the fleeting look of horror and guilt that passed across his face.
Stunned and still unwilling to accept that he’d actually implied what she thought he had, she whispered, “What did you say to me?”
“For heaven’s sake. Can’t you take a joke?”
His answer was too glib, too quick, and his stance too casual, so that she knew he’d meant it. Some part of him had, she realized. Zoella felt herself detach from the scene playing out, like an observer.
She was composed when she spoke, her voice neutral, “Joke? Yes, of course. Apparently, to you, I am one.”
He looked away and asked in a low voice, “What do you need the money for?”
Zoella couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d loved him so. Her innocence truly ended in that moment. When she spoke again, she was amazed that her voice was still calm and without any tremor of emotion.
“What does it matter? You already gave me your answer. I’m not worth that much.” She cocked her head at him and asked, “So how much am I worth then, Fardeen?”
Her brother didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered. Life itself had ceased to mean anything. Where was the Prince Charming she’d always envisaged Fardeen to be?
He got up, and said wearily, “We’ll talk about it when you can have a sensible conversation again.”
He didn’t even make an attempt to apologize. Just vanished into the bathroom.
So this was what it felt like. Heartbreak. This was how it happened. Quick. Sudden. Final. She’d always thought it was something slow and torturous. It was unadulterated vicious pain. Immediate and intense, blocking out everything else, all other emotion, all thought. Like a fool she’d only seen what she’d wanted to see in him. She’d focused on his vulnerability, rather than the complete disdain he always showed for her.
She felt as if she was floating out of her body and she saw a Zoella that she despised. She was weak. She was too trusting. This new Zoella that had taken over her body wanted to slap her and shake her. Her old self had wanted to find her prince so badly, she’d invested a monster with qualities he couldn’t begin to understand, let alone possess. Stripped of any delusions of happiness or joy she may still have harbored, she stood naked and exposed in harsh reality. He’d never once treated her as his wife. Now, he’d given her the final proof of it. She was a joke. Her life was a sick, sick joke.
She stared at him when he came out of the bathroom. How she could have ever thought he was still nice looking was beyond her. He looked cruel. The way his lips pulled to one side in a grimace was terrifying. How had she never seen this before?
Fardeen watched her out of the corner of his eye. He felt her eyes taking in every scar and every blemish, as if she was seeing it all for the first time. Maybe she was, he realized. He’d wanted to hurt her before she could hurt him. Another part of him had wanted to prove to her that she couldn’t remain happy despite the misery that life threw at her. No one could. If she couldn’t see it, he’d show it to her. Her determination to be happy despite everything had made him feel angrier at everything. At her. Himself. Life. She made him feel as if he’d given up on life and happiness, when he should’ve fought. As if what he’d suffered was not as big of a deal as he had let it become. As if he wasn’t enough of a man.
He’d wanted to make himself feel better by pulling her down with him. Maybe now he had shown her. He’d succeeded. He’d brought her to the point where she understood that she couldn’t be happy, that he was indeed not her knight.
He’d won.
Why then, did he feel as if he’d lost everything?
NINE
Fardeen’s assistant entered his office looking harassed with someone he vaguely remembered having seen before. The man came forward and shook his hand vigorously.
“Fardeen. I can see my sister’s taking good care of you.” He laughed a sycophantic little laugh. Realizing it was Zoella’s brother, Fardeen pasted a polite smile on his face and called for tea.
“No, no, I’m just here for the matter Zoella must have discussed with y
ou.”
Fardeen looked blank.
A flare of righteous temper rose in his brother-in-law’s eyes, as he fired, “I knew it. She must have forgotten. Tell me Fardeen, does any sister who cares for her brother forget something like this? I’m hanging by a thread and she just…”
“Why don’t you tell me what it is that has you so worried?”
Wearing that man-to-man expression Fardeen had often seen weak men revert to as a sign of their non-existent street smarts, he replied, “Well Fardeen Bhai, I’m in need of some money and you’re like my brother so I thought I could ask you. I’ll return it I assure you but at this time…”
Fardeen remembered exactly how brotherly he had been while throwing accusations at him and his family, but it didn’t bother him. Thinking that perhaps this was a chance to start mending fences with Zoella, he nodded.
“How much do you need?”
“A million rupees. For a man like you, I’m sure it isn’t much but for me it means life and death.”
So this was why she’d asked. Why couldn’t she just have said it?
Fardeen tried to repress his growing distaste for the man, for his wife’s sake. He wrote a check and handed it to his brother-in-law.
“I’m doing this for my wife. Consider this a gift, but do not think for a moment that you can make this a habit.”
He was certain the odious man had stopped listening to him the moment the check landed in his hand but there was nothing else that he could’ve done but help him. He felt better after having given him the money. He felt less guilty.
Because Zoella had changed. She no longer bore any similarity to the effervescent girl with the sunny disposition he’d married. It had been almost two weeks since she’d asked for money and he’d said…that.
His heart sank every time he remembered.
That unfortunate night loomed dark and terrible between them. He was embarrassed, ashamed even, at having said what he had but he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t unsay the words. He only wished he could. She showed no reaction to his nearness or his accidental touches, which weren’t so accidental at times. He was having sleepless nights with wanting her and she’d turned into an ice queen.
A week went by. He waited for her to find out about the money and say something to him. Another week went by. Even after she’d found out that he’d given the money to her brother, she didn’t soften towards him one bit. He knew he should apologize but the truth was that he was too disgusted at himself to even address the issue. He wanted to pretend it had never happened. He hadn’t meant it of course. He hadn’t. A groan of utter despair escaped him. Good God! What was wrong with him? Had he actually said that to her? There was nothing else for it but to shove it out of their minds.
That night, determined to put it all behind them, he said, “Zoella, I’m getting the surgery like you wanted. Let’s just forget about the past now and look forward to a better future.”
Fardeen waited for her response but realized none was going to be forthcoming. Put off, he turned away. His mind had become a cesspool of conflicting thoughts of anger and shame, affection and hate, guilt and the perverse indiscriminate desire to hurt, and the schism was killing him. He wanted to rip out all the thoughts and throw them away. So what if he’d said something stupid? People said horrible things to each other all the fucking time.
“What’s with the attitude?” he snapped at her again after a few days. “You were eager enough to marry me, and you initiated our physical relationship not I, and now you’re behaving as if it’s some sort of sacrifice I’m exacting from you. Just remember that you’re my wife. You’re not doing me any favors. All this melodrama’s a bit much.”
Zoella laughed as if genuinely amused and said with scorn, “You’re the drama queen here, Fardeen. We both know this is a marriage of convenience. I’m doing my bit. What else do you want? Flowers and paper hearts? A vow of everlasting love?”
She smiled but her eyes were cold, so unlike her usual warm expression.
He faltered, “I didn’t say that. I just…you’re not…”
Fardeen didn’t know what he wanted. What could he say? He’d given her brother the money hadn’t he? What else did she want? It was his bloody conscience that pricked him. How could he blame Zoella for her coldness after what had happened? Every night he thought of making love to her again but couldn’t because of his guilty conscience. Every night he found himself thinking of that first time, when she’d given herself to him so sweetly, her warm, soft body that she’d offered so willingly, and somehow he was turning towards her and, delving his hands into her beautiful silky hair, he kissed her. He’d show her exactly how sorry he was, and he proceeded to do just that. He couldn’t get enough of her, and it was a long time before he realized how still she was.
“Zoella?” His voice was husky and unsteady.
“Yes.” Her voice didn’t sound all that cool either. It was shaky. He smiled to himself in the dark and whispered, “I almost thought you’d gone to sleep.”
“I’m awake.”
“Do you mind acting like it then?”
“What would you like me to do?”
The ice in her voice penetrated his heart. He was too far gone to stop and so he pretended he hadn’t heard it. Afterwards, when he was able to think again, he felt self-righteous indignation stir along with a horrible feeling of shame. He couldn’t meet her eyes the next day, or his own, for that matter. Why’d she have to behave like this? It wasn’t his fault if she’d thought that her kisses would change him into a prince or a knight in shining armor. He’d warned her about that.
What incensed him further, though, was that Zoella didn’t seem angry. She seemed unperturbed, indifferent, as if it wasn’t even worth being angry about. He nursed his own growing ire in sullen silence. Hadn’t he done what she’d wanted? He’d given the money to her wastrel of a brother. If that wasn’t an apology, he didn’t know what was.
TEN
They left for the U.S soon after.
The process of one surgery after another began like a groaning avalanche that swamped them in a sudden, complete shift. Life became an endless cycle of emotional, psychological and physical battering. There were meetings with the doctors and psychologists. Fardeen was under a great deal of stress. It was a big step for him, and the changes difficult to adjust to. His therapists could only prepare him. He was the one who had to go through it alone. Four months went by in a whirlwind of surgeries. Often it seemed to him that time was playing cruel tricks on him. It crawled to prolong his torture. He couldn’t think or feel beyond the physical discomfort and pain.
They’d rented a studio apartment near the hospital. Zoella stayed with him for the duration of the surgeries, despite his insistence that there was no need. When she came during the visiting hours, she always had a book to read to him, or a newspaper, so that she wouldn’t have to talk with him. She dutifully saw to his comfort as much as she could. She kept in touch with his parents. When he was up to it, she made sure he talked with his family.
Fardeen was in far too much agony to think about anything. He felt weak and cranky. He didn’t make a good patient, apparently. He couldn’t care less. There was nothing but anguish, medicines, the cold sanitary smell of hospitals and operation theaters. He lost track of time. Every day was like the next. The whole process had brought out the worst in him. Every time the pain became unbearable he lashed out at Zoella.
“You’re the one who convinced me to be here, and go through this hell. Now that I am going through it, you’ve abandoned me emotionally. You’re the one who started me on this road to recovery and now you’ve left me hanging.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard, but it’s what I thought was best for you. We all did.”
“You think you’re some great good-hearted saint, don’t you? I’m the wicked sorcerer, who’s imprisoned the good princess in his evil snare.”
“I’m no princess, Fardeen.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.
I’m the prince,” he laughed cruelly.
She never rose to the bait. That just goaded him on. He attacked again.
“I was fine the way I was till you started playing Florence Nightingale. You teamed up with my parents and forced me into this hell.”
Finally, she turned, and her eyes were hot and mournful.
“Is that why you’re angry? Because I ‘teamed up’ with your parents? Or because I married you in the first place?”
He was too shocked to reply. She wasn’t doing herself any favors showing him things about himself he didn’t want to see. He just became even crankier. Even more determined to push her to her limits. A few days later, after a particularly grueling surgery, he called out her name, like a cry of help.
“Zoella,” he croaked, yet again.
She emerged from behind the screen with the small smile she had manufactured just for him. It wasn’t warm, or bright. It was tolerant.
“Where were you?” he snapped.
“In the other room. I thought you were asleep.”
“How can anyone sleep with all this racket going on? Where is it even coming from?”
“I think there’s something going on in the children’s ward,” she said.
“Well, tell them to shut the hell up!” he spat and turned his face away.
“Okay, I’ll try, but you know you can’t just…”
“Just go, will you?”
In silence, Zoella exited.
It hadn’t taken long for her to realize that Fardeen had meant every word he’d said to her the day he’d agreed to have the surgeries. There was no controlling his wrath. It eroded the man in an unceasing slow poisoning. He snarled and cursed, nothing ever pleased him.
Every time Fardeen lost his temper, she was reminded of her position, of her broken dreams and inverted fairytale. Sometimes for a few hours, in those lulls when the pain of the previous surgery had receded, and the next one was not scheduled too soon, she tried to forget what had happened between them. Zoella knew that she had her debts to pay and pay them she would. This was it. This was her, paying her debts. She was going to see him through this ordeal and then all debts would be paid. Then maybe she could get a divorce. Go away. She couldn’t be with him like a normal wife now. He’d made sure of that. She’d never be able to look at herself without that thought, without that memory. She was just a commodity. Neha was his love.
