APRICITY [Completed]

1. SURBHI

Whoever designed the concept of arranged marriages is rotting in hell. And whoever said that the two people fell in love after marrying is sitting beside him.

It has been two months. Two months of our marriage. Two months of him insulting our sacred bond. Two months of proving that he is an asshole. Two months of clearance that a marriage between families does not necessarily repair poor relationships.

We both lost someone close to us that night. When our elders sat at the dining table four months after the incident, we were too young and naive to understand that they were discussing our future; albeit in front of us, but not really.

A contract was laid. It said that when Vihaan and I hit 25, we'd be required to marry each other. 'Required' being the keyword. Because neither of us wanted to.

Yet, here we are. Why? Because the contract specifically mentioned that whoever backs out from signing their part will have to pay a fine amount to the other. The kind of amount I don't have.

Now, I'm leaving him. Now, I have enough evidence and doctor reports of domestic violence to blow a police case at his face. With his money, he can probably buy his way out of anything. Still, I will try. I won't let myself wither away like this anymore.

I am not going to get him arrested. No. But I will use these papers to get out of the marriage unscathed, without having to pay the money. Maybe, someday it will come to bite me in the ass but staying with this ruthless man would kill me.

I roll my suitcase over to the living room, eager to make my escape quickly. Just as I reach the corner, the front gate opens and the devil walks inside.

Vihaan Singhania- The Bane Of My Existence.

No, no, no. This can't be happening. He wasn't supposed to come this early. He wasn't even supposed to come home today. He had a meeting with his friends.

Home. Did I just call this hell hole home? And the realization hit me. This was my home. Even if Vihaan didn't let me decorate or put my things out, this was still my home.

The walls have witnessed the brutality I had to go through. The coach has heard my muffled cries. The pillow has been wet with my tears to the point of saturation.

And the kitchen has seen my failed attempts at cooking something edible in my first few days here because Vihaan wouldn't let one of his chefs cook for me.

Right now, he's looking at me with the same stone-cold expression he has always given me. His eyes roam down to the bag on my arm and the suitcase beside my leg. He again looks up and our gazes collide. Anger shines on his face and his nostrils flair.

He strides towards me and grabs my jaw.

"What do you think you are doing? I told you you're not allowed to go anywhere without my permission," he seethes

"You're hurting me," I choke out, struggling to get free of his grasp.

He squeezes my jaw harder. I grab his wrist and dig my nails so deep into his flesh that I'm certain I draw blood. His grip on me loosens. More from shock and less from my strength.

I've screamed and thrashed and cried and yelled but I have never hurt Viransh back before today.

I take advantage of the precious 2-3 seconds of his distraction and get away from him.

"Stay away from me," I shout with as much authority as I can muster. I can't let myself go weak now. I have to do this.

He takes a step closer. I instinctively turn around and pick a metal candle holder. It is heavy enough to break someone's head and if Vihaan's expressions are anything to go by, he knows it too.

"I said STAY AWAY FROM ME."

He smirks. The devil actually smirks.

"What are you gonna do? Hit me with it? You think you have enough courage to do it?" He asks taking another step. Flinching, I take a step back and his smirk only widens.

"Don't tempt me," I warn him.

"You know how I know that you wouldn't throw this at me? Because for all your exterior strong facade, your soft heart still yearns for my touch. You are a hopeless romantic who believed that she could change me. But what you don't understand is that the damage is irreversible."

He walks towards me. I hold my ground and suppress the urge to back off and run away. We are nose to nose now. My heart pounds loudly in my chest. I keep bringing my eyes down to his hands, just in case he raises them and tries to hurt me again.

"I want a divorce," I state but my words come out as a breathless whisper. I'm scared. I'm so scared of him. My hands start shaking and my knees go wobbly. It's a miracle that I haven't fallen down yet.

"You want a what?" He asks and if I didn't know better, I'd say he sounded amused.

"A divorce."

"We want a lot of things in life but we don't always get them Surbhi? I also didn't want my mother to die. I wanted her with me in my childhood. I wanted to make more memories with her. And finally, when I grew old, I wanted to marry someone I love. Someone I would want to have a family with, not some ugly hippie who I don't even want to touch."

My heart breaks for the thousandth time in two months. Tears sting at the back of my eyeballs but I don't let them loose. This is no time to cry.

I am not proud of what he and his mother had to go through because of the actions of my elders. But then, is it alright for him to punish me for it? For something I wasn't a part of?

I lost my uncle too. It's not equivalent to losing a parent but it's not like all the men in my family went home and had a party. They didn't intend for a woman to get caught up in the crossfire and become collateral damage.

I know, because even today, every year on the 25th of August, my family mourns the loss of two souls. The women pay hostage to his mother while the men to my uncle.

Ugly hippie.

I almost snort a laugh. No, I don't have sexy curves and an hourglass figure. I don't have defined facial features or hair like silk or skin like milk. But atleast I have something my husband doesn't. I have a heart that beats. I have the capability to feel and show emotions.

"It doesn't have to be this way. Divorce me. Take me out of the picture and we can both live on our own terms," I suggest but it's obvious he has other plans.

"I want revenge," he barks and fists my hair in a death grip. "And I will have it by ruining you."

I shriek and try to get away but his hold only tightens. I struggle for a long time before remembering what I'm holding in my hand. I raise the candle holder and hit his arm with all my might.

A howl of pain echoes in the room as blood starts to seep from the impact. He lets go of me and clutches his wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

His eyes meet mine. For the first time, they aren't throwing daggers at me. For the first time, they have a hint of doubt in them, that he had judged me wrong.

For the first time in a long time, I felt fearless.

I felt free.

And most importantly, for the first time, I don't fear him.

"Make no mistake Vihaan Singhania. I have all the medical reports and enough shreds of evidence on my body to lock you up in jail. Touch me again and I will follow through it. I'll send the divorce papers to your office," I utter my last words to my husband.