APRICITY [Completed] - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading APRICITY [Completed], Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of APRICITY [Completed].
After Vihaan left, sleep was a lost cause. Contrary to what one may believe, I did not tell my family anything. My scars did. And when asked about them, I gave them vague answers. I couldn't stomach telling them the truth, mostly because I could not bear going through those incidents again in my mind.
The night we got married, I waited in my room in my red bridal lehenga. The exhaustion was weighing heavy on my shoulders, and I was about to drift to sleep when the door opened and he entered.
My pallu was down, so he couldn't see me. But I could. Neither of us had seen each other before, not even in photos. So when I saw him for the first time, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. He was so handsome. His physique was well-defined, and his posture was straight, authoritative, and dominating.
He strode towards me, and I blushed internally. He threw my pallu back. His stone cold expression didn't waver. If anything, it got harder.
"I thought you'd at least be beautiful," he scoffed.
That was not something a wife wanted to hear on her wedding night.
"Get off the bed. Sleep on the couch."
That's another thing a wife never wanted to hear. Yet, I complied. I knew of the boundations that tied this marriage. But I had hope. I thought that his hate wouldn't last forever.
How naive I had been!
The next morning, I woke up before he did. I went downstairs. The housekeeper, Rekha, greeted me with a kind smile. She was a woman in her late 60s. She offered me some bread rolls to eat. I expressed my gratitude and accepted them. Just as I was about to take the first bite, Vihaan came.
"What do you think you are doing?" He yelled.
Frightened, I immediately stood up.
"I was having my breakfast," I replied timidly.
"Who cooked it?"
"Rekha aunty," I said, unsure of where this was going.
"And who pays her salary?"
"You."
"That's right. I pay her, not your grandfather. She'll only cook for me."
"Okay," I whispered.
That day, I tried cooking for the first time. I was born and brought up by parents who loved me dearly and pampered me. I learnt other things like stitching, knitting, embroidery, etc. but never cooking. I never had to.
I made a toast for myself because that was the easiest.
From here, things only escalated. Initially, Vihaan would only yell at me. He would yell for absolutely anything and everything.
Sometimes, we would say that he doesn't like what I'm wearing even though my clothes fully covered my body. Other times, he would say I was making too much noise and that my existence was disturbing him.
He would stand and shout at me continuously for minutes on end, reminding me of what a family of traitors I belong to. I tried to reason with him and told him that our past was past. We shouldn't let them rule our present.
That was when he touched me for the first time. He grabbed my jaw and pinned me against the wall. He did not like that I talked back.
With time, the number of rough-grabbing incidents increased. And with them came the face slapping. I tried to stay strong for both our sake, but even I had my weak moments.
I didn't tell my family anything. If I had, then they would have gone to unspeakable heights to save me. I couldn't let them do it. I understood where Vihaan was coming from. I saw his scars, and I knew the story of each of them.
I couldn't bring his mother back, but I could sympathize with him, and that's what I did until he showed me the real thing.
Vihaan came home after a particularly bad day. How did I know it was bad? Because he was drunk. For all his demerits, Vihaan never drank. Not after he saw his father die of alcohol consumption and lung failure.
Even though I was awake, I pretended to sleep to avoid his wrath. He fisted my hair and pulled hard. I yelped and got to my feet. He tightened his fist and brought his face closer to mine.
"I hate you. I fucking hate you," he growled.
He unbuckled his belt.
"Vihaan please" I begged.
The first blow landed on my back. Fire spread across the wound and tears pricked at my eyes. I had not even recovered from the first lash when another came. And another. And another. At one point, my ears started ringing and I did not hear the lashes. I just felt the pain.
"Go wash yourself. Don't make the couch dirty with your filthy blood. And I'm going to sleep so be quiet."
I continued sobbing but I knew I'd have to move quickly if I didn't want another such session again.
From then, every time he lashed me, I sprayed water on my back to wash the blood. I waited for the water to play the antiseptic and dry. I did not have an ointment to put on my wounds because none was available at the house.
I could not leave the house without his permission, which he never granted. And I was not supposed to ask the servants for anything because simply put, my grandfather does not pay them, my husband does.
By then, I had lost count of how many times I burnt my hand while trying to cook something edible. They weren't huge burnt marks, small souvenirs of my struggle here and there. They were almost invisible amidst the other bruises Vihaan left on my body every day.
He hated it when I did not keep the things back in their rightful places. Once I forgot to put a glass of water back in the kitchen. So Vihaan held my hand above a pan of boiling water on the gas stove. Steam clung to my hand and left ulcers.
The other time, I forgot to keep a cutter back in his drawer. So Vihaan took out the blade and told me to hold it in my fist. then he took a stick and taunted me with it. About 10 times he actually did hit my hand hard with the stick.
Other times, he only pretended to. My fist instinctively tightened every time and the expression of relief on Vihaan's face seeing the red liquid drop from my hand broke my heart.
Nobody came to help me. The walls were my companions. They heard my screams and cries for help. The couch was my sound muffler. I often found myself crying and the sound annoyed Vihaan so I dampened the voice. And my pillow. It has seen more tears drop from my eyes than any other human.
Except for Vihaan, that is. But he's not a human, is he? What kind of human treats his wife so badly? I wanted to get rid of him.
So I somehow managed to let me get out to buy some supplies. He reluctantly agreed. Instead of the supermarket, I went to a hospital. I got a medical made and the doctor assured me that police would take legal action against my husband. I also talked to a lawyer and she had the same opinion.
I knew the divorce would be difficult but I never thought this much. That day when I hit Vihaan and it was him bleeding instead of me, I felt relieved. I'm not a sadist by nature, but some people deserve a dose of their own medicine.
After I left his house, I lived at a friend's apartment for a while. I worked as a waitress and a salesperson at different hours of the day. Simultaneously, I kept looking for tech jobs.
I had good qualifications and I had the caliber companies wanted. With my brain, it wasn't difficult to clear the exams and interviews at HEX TECHNOLOGIES.
However, fate definitely has its own twisted ways, as Vihaan quoted.
Grandpa assured me today that I'll never have to see Vihaan again. He'll make sure of that. And Vihaan got his revenge. He broke me. In return, he broke my grandpa. I've never seen Dada cry. Yet, I'm sure his eyes were wet when he left my room.
I wonder what Vihaan will be doing right now. His sad eyes were expected today. I did think that he would try to manipulate me. Maybe he's not that satisfied with his revenge after all.
Whatever, he's not allowed near me or my family anymore.
"We're selling the house."
"We can't sell the house," I urge grandpa.
"There's no other way," he explains.
"There has to be."
"5 crores is not an amount you get with other ways Surbhi," grandpa says placing a hand on my shoulder.
"But dadu where will we live?"
"At your grandma's house. It's old and shabby and unused. I know. But family can make any place home."
He has a point. Damned Vihaan Singhania. If only he would have just signed the papers.
The night we got married, I waited in my room in my red bridal lehenga. The exhaustion was weighing heavy on my shoulders, and I was about to drift to sleep when the door opened and he entered.
My pallu was down, so he couldn't see me. But I could. Neither of us had seen each other before, not even in photos. So when I saw him for the first time, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. He was so handsome. His physique was well-defined, and his posture was straight, authoritative, and dominating.
He strode towards me, and I blushed internally. He threw my pallu back. His stone cold expression didn't waver. If anything, it got harder.
"I thought you'd at least be beautiful," he scoffed.
That was not something a wife wanted to hear on her wedding night.
"Get off the bed. Sleep on the couch."
That's another thing a wife never wanted to hear. Yet, I complied. I knew of the boundations that tied this marriage. But I had hope. I thought that his hate wouldn't last forever.
How naive I had been!
The next morning, I woke up before he did. I went downstairs. The housekeeper, Rekha, greeted me with a kind smile. She was a woman in her late 60s. She offered me some bread rolls to eat. I expressed my gratitude and accepted them. Just as I was about to take the first bite, Vihaan came.
"What do you think you are doing?" He yelled.
Frightened, I immediately stood up.
"I was having my breakfast," I replied timidly.
"Who cooked it?"
"Rekha aunty," I said, unsure of where this was going.
"And who pays her salary?"
"You."
"That's right. I pay her, not your grandfather. She'll only cook for me."
"Okay," I whispered.
That day, I tried cooking for the first time. I was born and brought up by parents who loved me dearly and pampered me. I learnt other things like stitching, knitting, embroidery, etc. but never cooking. I never had to.
I made a toast for myself because that was the easiest.
From here, things only escalated. Initially, Vihaan would only yell at me. He would yell for absolutely anything and everything.
Sometimes, we would say that he doesn't like what I'm wearing even though my clothes fully covered my body. Other times, he would say I was making too much noise and that my existence was disturbing him.
He would stand and shout at me continuously for minutes on end, reminding me of what a family of traitors I belong to. I tried to reason with him and told him that our past was past. We shouldn't let them rule our present.
That was when he touched me for the first time. He grabbed my jaw and pinned me against the wall. He did not like that I talked back.
With time, the number of rough-grabbing incidents increased. And with them came the face slapping. I tried to stay strong for both our sake, but even I had my weak moments.
I didn't tell my family anything. If I had, then they would have gone to unspeakable heights to save me. I couldn't let them do it. I understood where Vihaan was coming from. I saw his scars, and I knew the story of each of them.
I couldn't bring his mother back, but I could sympathize with him, and that's what I did until he showed me the real thing.
Vihaan came home after a particularly bad day. How did I know it was bad? Because he was drunk. For all his demerits, Vihaan never drank. Not after he saw his father die of alcohol consumption and lung failure.
Even though I was awake, I pretended to sleep to avoid his wrath. He fisted my hair and pulled hard. I yelped and got to my feet. He tightened his fist and brought his face closer to mine.
"I hate you. I fucking hate you," he growled.
He unbuckled his belt.
"Vihaan please" I begged.
The first blow landed on my back. Fire spread across the wound and tears pricked at my eyes. I had not even recovered from the first lash when another came. And another. And another. At one point, my ears started ringing and I did not hear the lashes. I just felt the pain.
"Go wash yourself. Don't make the couch dirty with your filthy blood. And I'm going to sleep so be quiet."
I continued sobbing but I knew I'd have to move quickly if I didn't want another such session again.
From then, every time he lashed me, I sprayed water on my back to wash the blood. I waited for the water to play the antiseptic and dry. I did not have an ointment to put on my wounds because none was available at the house.
I could not leave the house without his permission, which he never granted. And I was not supposed to ask the servants for anything because simply put, my grandfather does not pay them, my husband does.
By then, I had lost count of how many times I burnt my hand while trying to cook something edible. They weren't huge burnt marks, small souvenirs of my struggle here and there. They were almost invisible amidst the other bruises Vihaan left on my body every day.
He hated it when I did not keep the things back in their rightful places. Once I forgot to put a glass of water back in the kitchen. So Vihaan held my hand above a pan of boiling water on the gas stove. Steam clung to my hand and left ulcers.
The other time, I forgot to keep a cutter back in his drawer. So Vihaan took out the blade and told me to hold it in my fist. then he took a stick and taunted me with it. About 10 times he actually did hit my hand hard with the stick.
Other times, he only pretended to. My fist instinctively tightened every time and the expression of relief on Vihaan's face seeing the red liquid drop from my hand broke my heart.
Nobody came to help me. The walls were my companions. They heard my screams and cries for help. The couch was my sound muffler. I often found myself crying and the sound annoyed Vihaan so I dampened the voice. And my pillow. It has seen more tears drop from my eyes than any other human.
Except for Vihaan, that is. But he's not a human, is he? What kind of human treats his wife so badly? I wanted to get rid of him.
So I somehow managed to let me get out to buy some supplies. He reluctantly agreed. Instead of the supermarket, I went to a hospital. I got a medical made and the doctor assured me that police would take legal action against my husband. I also talked to a lawyer and she had the same opinion.
I knew the divorce would be difficult but I never thought this much. That day when I hit Vihaan and it was him bleeding instead of me, I felt relieved. I'm not a sadist by nature, but some people deserve a dose of their own medicine.
After I left his house, I lived at a friend's apartment for a while. I worked as a waitress and a salesperson at different hours of the day. Simultaneously, I kept looking for tech jobs.
I had good qualifications and I had the caliber companies wanted. With my brain, it wasn't difficult to clear the exams and interviews at HEX TECHNOLOGIES.
However, fate definitely has its own twisted ways, as Vihaan quoted.
Grandpa assured me today that I'll never have to see Vihaan again. He'll make sure of that. And Vihaan got his revenge. He broke me. In return, he broke my grandpa. I've never seen Dada cry. Yet, I'm sure his eyes were wet when he left my room.
I wonder what Vihaan will be doing right now. His sad eyes were expected today. I did think that he would try to manipulate me. Maybe he's not that satisfied with his revenge after all.
Whatever, he's not allowed near me or my family anymore.
"We're selling the house."
"We can't sell the house," I urge grandpa.
"There's no other way," he explains.
"There has to be."
"5 crores is not an amount you get with other ways Surbhi," grandpa says placing a hand on my shoulder.
"But dadu where will we live?"
"At your grandma's house. It's old and shabby and unused. I know. But family can make any place home."
He has a point. Damned Vihaan Singhania. If only he would have just signed the papers.
End of APRICITY [Completed] Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to APRICITY [Completed] book page.