All Strings Attached

Chapter Twelve

"Fuck off," I refuse to back down. "I'm not apologising. You apologise. You said shit that made me mad. You can't speak to me like that."

"You threatened to murder me," he accuses, "anything I said was based on facts— who else will I speak to, about these things, if not you?"

"What things?" I ask, wanting nothing but to turn around and smack him in his smug face. "You're such an asshole."

"You're mad at me because I'm crude and then you're asking me to tell you what I just said— what do you want?" Dhushyanth argues.

"It was a rhetoric, Reddy," I explain to him with prevalent frustration. "If you don't let me go now, I swear to god I will break your head."

Dhushyanth leaves my wrists, allowing me to move away from him and rub my aching shoulders. "Does it hurt?" He enquires, forcing me to turn around, by my arm.

"No, it feels very comfortable to have your arms twisted behind your back," I retort, shrugging him off.

Dhushyanth sighs. "Don't make me repeat myself, Sita—"

"This is like abuse!" I argue. "You're just trying to dominate me and make me think I'm crazy or something!"

"Dominate you?" He gasps, exaggeratedly, and covers his mouth. "I wouldn't even think of it." Dhushyanth shakes his head as if the mere thought is unfathomable.

"Overreaction cheyaku," I tell him, holding back a giggle, as I slap his abdomen with the back of my hand. [(Telugu) Don't overreact.]

A smile breaks out on Dhushyanth's face, but it quickly flickers with hesitation before completely dying out. I don't realise I'd been mirroring him until I feel my lips droop.

"I hope you know," he says, his chocolate-brown eyes fully focused on me, holding a quality within them that makes this moment all too intimate for me. "I would never cheat on you."

"If you do want to look for intimacy elsewhere—"

"Sita," he cuts me off, his tone firm, but still warm. "For your sake, do not complete that sentence."

I look down at my feet in shame, as realisation of what I was just offering my husband dawns upon me. "Dhush— Reddy—"

"Dhushyanth," he says. "I want you to call me Dhushyanth. You're my wife."

I look up at him when he calls me his wife, the word sliding off his tongue without a single thought as if it is the most natural thing for him to say. Why am I struggling with this as much?

"You know when we first started doing the no-strings attached thing?"

I nod, yes. Of course I remember. I never thought we would end up here when we first started it, but I do remember.

"We said it would be okay if we were seeing someone, or if we got involved with someone else," he reminds me.

"This isn't that," he says. "This is different. This is strings attached."

I chuckle at how he puts it. "Like we're puppets someone else is playing?"

"No," he scoffs, as if I had suggested the most ridiculous thing ever. "We're not puppets— you shouldn't feel like you're one. You can do whatever you like, you don't have to decide what to do based on what someone else is telling you—"

"And when you win the election, that will change, won't it?"

"No," he almost yells, raking a hand through his hair— something he apparently does as a means to control himself. "Even then," he says, "be your own person, do whatever you like, if you don't want to support my campaign, you don't have to. If you have different views on politics, I don't mind. I don't expect you to agree with everything I say and do, but when you disagree, I expect you to communicate it to me in a productive manner. We don't have to fight each other on everything."

"I don't want to fight you, either," I tell him, my eyebrows scrunching up as I struggle to find the words to explain my thoughts and feelings to him. "I'm just— I feel— I don't know how to explain it."

"You feel claustrophobic?" He offers, dipping his head to look at my lowered face.

I look up, struck by the appropriateness of the word to my situation. It's certainly not a compliment to him. Would he mind if I agreed?

Dhushyanth nods, continuing to look at me, waiting for me to say something. I gulp, intimidated by his encouragement. "It's not because of you—"

"Sita, you've called me far too many names to worry about my feelings at this point," he jokes, raising my chin to look at him. "I only got mad at you because you thought I was cheating on you. Which I would never do. If you feel claustrophobic about this situation, I can understand that it's not entirely my fault."

I blink, processing what he's just said. "How are you so—"

"—mature?" He finishes, his lips turning up ever so slightly. He continues when I nod. "I guess I've just had a lot of experiences."

"Of course," I agree, "the experience must come with age."

Dhushyanth's eyes narrow at me. "I'm not that old."

"You are," I insist, patting his shoulder in mock-consolation.

"Careful," he warns, "don't mess with me."

"I'm not scared of you," I scoff, shrugging. "What will you do? Marry me again? It couldn't be more horrible than the first time."

Dhushyanth laughs out loud, making me chuckle as well. "Gosh, you're that type, are you?"

"What type?" I demand, sobering up immediately. He's going to put me in a box now?

"Holding a grudge type," he clarifies, making me frown. Why would he think I would hold a grudge?

"I'm not any type," I defend myself. "I was only joking, cause you said it first."

"Yes, cause I joked about it first," he says, "if it was something else, you would return that as well, wouldn't you?"

Unsettled by his argument, I turn away and return to the bed, turning the TV on to help me ignore the man in this room. "I would not." I answer, anyway, stressing my words to get the point across to him.

Dhushyanth doesn't respond as he makes himself comfortable on his side of the bed. "I thought you didn't sleep well if you fall asleep to the TV," he comments, calmly.

"I'm not sleeping now," I offer as an explanation.

"So you can watch TV before bed, you just have to turn it off when you sleep?" He asks.

I turn to look at him, trying to judge the question based on his facial expression. When I come to face his innocent curiosity, I nod in answer. "Yes."

"We could do better things than watch TV." Dhushyanth wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, causing me to choke on my spit and start coughing uncontrollably.

However, I manage between my coughing fit, "fuck off," as he laughs his ass off, and reaches to fill a glass with the jug of water on his bedside.