Treacherous Souls

XVI. "I wish for a divorce."

Third Person

Mishka stared in clear rage and helplessness at the hooded figure in front of her, bracing herself for yet another random hit by a drunk man who sought pleasure in beating helpless women.

In this past month, she had grown to hate her husband as much as he did, if not more. She blamed him for all the things she had gone through, and all the things she would have to go through. She believed that he was responsible for all the scars that littered her body, and she was right in believing so. Dhruv Rajput was to be blamed for the endless nights spent in agonizing over her suffering.

Initially, she had harboured a strong feeling of hope, believing that her husband would come to rescue her within a few days itself. But, that changed when a few drunk men came inside her little cage, beating her up until she passed out, holding a perfect pretext for their action. A pretext that made her heart cry out in betrayal.

"Mr. Rajput ordered us to beat his wife until she dies." That's what they said, and she believed them because she didn't have any reasons left not to believe them.

"Mishka? Let's go! You have finished your punishment quite well. I hope you won't sneak around my house like that again." She was stunned into silence when the man's voice, delivered with remarkable coldness, reached her ears.

All Mishka could do was watch with cold contempt at the man who had the audacity to imply that all of this was her fault, when clearly he was to be blamed.

"Mishka? Get up! I don't have the whole day reserved for you." He snapped, impatience clear in his voice.

"I am not stopping you to leave." She coughed out, her voice hoarse because of all the screaming she did in the past days.

"What happened to your voice?" He frowned.

"Oh, don't pretend as if you don't know." Her sarcastic remark sent a jab straight to his heart, and he became even more eager to know what had happened for her to be like this.

"No, I don't. What happened, Mishka?" His voice, carrying a soothing undertone, reverberated in the otherwise silent room, making her eyes tear up at the sudden burst of pain.

"Don't pretend, Mr. Rajput. Just, leave me alone. I don't want to go with you." She would most probably regret her words in the future, but for now she wanted to satisfy her already crumbled self-respect, as stupid as it may sound.

"No, you are coming with me." He declared, stepping forward towards his wife.

Mishka, who had grown quite wary of men because of all the beatings and harassment she had faced, crawled back, and this peculiar action of hers was frowned upon by Dhruv, for his wife had never backed down from him.

'What exactly happened here? Why does she look so wary and afraid?' He thought, his eyes reflecting a little concern for his wife who had always stood proud and fearless before.

"Mishka, you know I won't raise my hand on you." He asked, approaching her with cautious steps.

"I can't be too sure now, can I?" She scoffed.

"What do you mean?" He crouched down to match her height, and almost gasped when he saw her scarred face.

His sudden gasp forced her to turn her head away from him, but Dhruv put his index finger under her chin and pulled her face closer to his, closely examining her battered face.