A short story : Rent
"What? You don't even make any sense", Nikhil said while laughing hysterically.
"It makes complete sense to me. You're the first one not to understand the deeper meaning behind Lakshya. Hritik Roshan is his own dad, I tell you", Riya explains with an air of false intellectualism.
"Fuck off. Sutta paas kar". Riya passed the cigarette.
"Chai?", she asked.
"Chal"
They walked out of the dilapidated apartment. It was a cold November night. Two years and fifteen days had passed since they had met. It was Nikhil who kept count and wished Riya every month. "She shouldn't forget", he often reminded himself in brief moments of solitude.
"I love her and she loves me and that is the truth", he murmured.
Riya looked at him with a confused expression. He nodded it off. They kept walking, hand in hand.
Tring Tring
Tring Tring
"The asshole won't leave me alone!", Riya exclaimed before answering her phone.
"Yeah Rohan. Pause. I emailed it to you an hour ago. Pause. Yes, I talked to the client. Pause. The usual order, goddammit. Bye"
"Tough job eh? Lucky for you that you have me. I can show you how live in a minimalistic and yet magnificent manner", joked Nikhil in an attempt to calm her down.
"Yeah. Minimalistic. Not having a gas stove is not minimalistic living, dear. It's miserly. If not for your poems' single reader, you wouldn't even have the money for rent and food".
Nikhil tried to look offended, but failed.
"God bless his soul and the souls of his children. It's very motivating for an artist to know that at least someone appreciates their art. It is the sole reason for my existence. Well, apart from you of course", he said.
"Your poetic lines almost never work on me", she said before planting a kiss on his cheek. "Almost", she grinned.
I love her and she loves me and that's the truth, remembered Nikhil. He never shared his insecurities with Riya. His nightmares mostly comprise of not receiving the next month's rent, or Riya leaving him, or both. He never told her how his suicidal tendencies vanished after she came into his life, or how he had never experienced an attachment of this ferocity.
He never told her that before meeting her, the future was where he did not want to go; the past was what he did not want to remember; and the present was what he did not want to experience. His poems and Riya's company was why he lived.
He justified his mask of confidence as a necessary tool to keep her with him.
I love her and she loves me and that's the truth.
"Bhaiya ji do cup adrak waali chai dena", said Riya, breaking his reverie. "Iss baar masala bhi daal dena".
"Promise me", said Nikhil suddenly, "that in this world filled with men better than me and drinks better than adrak-wali-chai, you will not betray us. Neither me, nor the chai."
"Sure, I won't drink anything other than adrak-wali-chai", she said with a mischievous smile. "As for men, I prefer those with a gas stove."
"Please, I'm serious."
"Of course, dear. How could I leave my favorite poet?"
They drank their tea, and slowly made their way home; hand in hand.
"Have you ever tried contacting him?", asked Riya.
"Who?"
"Your benevolent reader. Your guardian angel."
"Only a thousand times. He just leaves the brown packet in the mailbox.
Wait...
This is the first time you're asking about him", he realizes as he turns to look at her.
"Oh is it?"
"Yeah"
"Nothing. I was just curious."
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
It had been two weeks since then. Things were becoming increasingly unsettling for Nikhil. His rent hadn't come in, for one. He was worried more about Riya, though. She seemed upset, though he couldn't point a finger at it. Rohan's calls had also increased dramatically. There is no connection, he assured himself. She too is worried about me.
Rohan.
He couldn't keep his mind off Riya's boss. He's smart and handsome and rich and whatnot. Every girl would want him. He knew Riya wouldn't. He must have a gas stove, too.
I love her and she loves me and that's the truth.
It was morning. Riya was in her office, working through stacks of paper. She worked for SigmaCorp, which not only wasn't her dream company, but also made her work overtime. Nikhil was at home, trying to get past his poet's block. He needed motivation.
Tring Tring
Tring Tring
"Yeah Nikhil?"
Pause
"I am working, will call later."
Pause
"What the fuck how would I know whether the Sun should be setting or rising."
Pause
"Then do whatever the character likes."
Pause
"Yeah. Book the tickets. The night show; I'm working overtime today."
Pause
"I love you"
Pause
"I'm working on how to reduce the company's expenses while drinking a nice hot cup of coffee. You want any more details?"
Pause
"Hello? Nikhil?"
"Riya!", Rohan shouted from his office. "I want the reports NOW".
Phone cuts.
Riya quickly arranged the sheets and brought them to Rohan.
"Keep them on the table", he said. "Close the door and have a seat, please".
Riya sat down.
"So, you free tonight?", he asked.
"I've to go to a movie with Nikhil, but I can cancel that."
"Excellent. My place. 9 pm."
"Great", she said.
"Wine?"
"Red."
Her smile was able to mask sheer terror.
I love you so much, Nikhil, she thought as she left the office.
Coffee? Okay this could just be a misunderstanding. Well she can drink coffee if she wants. That doesn't mean she's forgotten the other promise. But who drinks coffee when they've sworn not to.
Stop it, you insecure bitch.
Was that Rohan in her office who I could hear?
I have to find out.
No I don't.
Yes I do.
Nikhil opened the phone book and quickly turned the pages.
Rohan Mehta..., he thought as he ran his finger across the long list of Rohan Mehtas. Hmm... here he is, he thought as he dialed his landline number.
Trung Trung
Trung Trung
Trung Trung
"Hello ji namashkaar mein Arvind baat kar raha hu LIC se. Kya yeh SigmaCorp wale Rohan Mehta ji ka ghar hai?"
Pause
"Accha aap wahan kaam karte hain. Ji kya mein jaan sakta hu Mehta ji kab tak aayenge?"
Pause
"Nahi shaam ko bahut deri ho jayegi. Mujhe bas chhota sa kaam tha. Mujhe Mehta ji ka address confirm karna hai."
Pause
"Ji aap hi bata dijiye"
"Ji"
"Ji"
"Ji. Dhanyawaad."
Phone cuts
Overtime, eh?
"Welcome, Bitch. How have you been the last two weeks?", asked Rohan, gently swishing a short whip
It was a dimly lit room. A small bed in the corner was almost an oddity, considering the other objects in the room were not at all home-like. Riya was lying on the bed, all her limbs cuffed to the bed posts; naked. Rohan was standing next to the bed; also naked.
"I said HOW HAVE YOU BEEN THE LAST TWO WEEKS?", Rohan thundered while pacing around the bed.
"I've been good", she replied meekly.
"No you haven't; haven't you missed this?", asked Rohan pointing to the whip.
"I have"
"What's this attitude about? You should be glad to be here. Aren't these your only moments of solitude? Isn't all of this so peaceful? Just you and me", said Rohan before laughing hysterically.
Riya broke into sobs, but quickly controlled herself.
Do it for him, she thought.
"Alright", he said, "enough of the foreplay"
He passed a small envelope to her and untied one of her hands.
"You know the drill", he said, "start".
She flinched. Rohan sat down in the corner.
"START!", he screamed.
She took out the blade from the envelope, and started to cut herself.
"Oh yes, that's it. Deeper and longer, Bitch. Come on, you've done this", said Rohan as the bright red blood started to pour out of the cuts.
"How do you like your wine?", he asked lovingly.
"R...", she tried to reply.
"Can't hear you", he said while cracking his whip in the air.
"Red. Red goddammit. I like my wine red", she said as she controlled her tears.
Do it for him, she remembered.
It was at these moments when her love for Nikhil grew immensely. In a morbid way, she tried to think of the pain as a sacrifice.
It had all started two years and twenty-nine days ago. She kept count; she knew he did too. A struggling poet! How romantic..., she thought when she first met him. I will earn while he creates history with his art.
She never knew how loving someone could be so easy and so hard at the same time.
She never knew that her regular salary would never be enough.
She never knew she would have to do unmentionable things just to support his poems.
And yet she knew now. She knew how Nikhil would either away if not for her. She knew how she would too, if not for him.
Hence she did the unmentionable things.
This isn't love, it's codependency, her rational self warned her.
It's love at its purest, her emotions replied.
And she kept cutting. She didn't care about the blood. Or its colour. Or the wine.
Bear it for him.
"Okay, that's enough", said Rohan after he had finished pleasuring himself. He tossed her the keys for the rest of the three handcuffs along with tissues for the blood. "Wash up and fuck off", he ordered, "we shall meet next week"
She incurred herself and limped to the washroom. She always cut her thighs. More difficult to detect, she calculated. The explanation is easy too, but it only works once a month. The misdeeds were done once a week.
Chapter 4
Nikhil raced towards the Rohan's house. Tears rolling down his face ceaselessly, he assured himself -
I love her and she loves me and that's the truth.
He thought about how roads invariably become longer when all you care about is the destination, not the journey. He briefly thought of making this the topic of his next poem, and then reached for the glovebox.
Aha, my trusted friend. I can always depend on you, can't I?, he thought while pulling out his knife. Suicidal tendencies make perfect knife connoisseurs.
He took out his phone and speed dialed her number.
Trung Trung
Trung Trung
Nikhil: "Riya where are you?"
Riya: "At the office. I told you about the overtime right?"
Nikhil: "I booked the tickets. The movie is in ten minutes."
Riya: "Oh my god I completely forgot. I'm sorry. I'll meet you directly at the theatre?"
Nikhil: "No need. It's a shit movie anyway. Where are you?"
Riya: "At the office, idiot. I just told you. Wait...
Are...
Are you crying?"
Nikhil: "I visited SigmaCorp, dear. You were nowhere to be found. And yes, I am crying."
Nikhil disconnected the call. He changed the gear and raced ahead.
Riya: "Hello? Nikhil? Nikhil?!"
"Tell him not to worry", said Rohan while passing a brown packet to her. "His next month will be spent in prosperity, provided you serve me well."
She quickly grabbed the packet and walked out of the house, but not before thoroughly checking for any signs of blood.
She exited the house, but the timing couldn't have been worse. Nikhil swerved his car directly in front of Rohan's house. He could see someone through his misty eyes. A staggering, limping shape. He squinted, and his suspicions were confirmed.
I love her and she loved me, but one of them is false.
Riya froze where she was standing. The weathered, old Maruti in front of her was unmistakable.
I will explain it to him. He is reasonable, she thought, as she finally started moving towards the car.
"Nikhil? Nikhil open the door dear. Let us talk this through, please", she begged.
No door moved. No window rolled down. Riya was frantic and started punching the glass.
"Open the door dear", she said with moist eyes, "I'll explain".
Growing alarmed at the lack of any response, she quickly grabbed a nearby rock and flung it into the rear windshield. The glass shattered and she opened the doors.
Thick, rich blood. Everywhere.
The knife was stuck in his neck perfectly. A clean stab.
Riya grew numb.
Poets know the best ways to die, don't they?
She placed the brown packet in his lifeless hands, and started to go back towards the house.
Ding Dong
"What the fuck are you doing here now", asked Rohan in a confused tone, "come next week"
She ignored him and made her way to the dimly lit room.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
She entered the room, and almost instinctively opened a drawer.
I'm coming to you, my dear. You will either away without me.
She took out the envelope and opened it.
My sweet release, she thought as she pushed the blade deep into her throat.
I loved him and he loved me and that's the truth.
The brown packet turned red.