The Life Of An Indian Girl

Can't Hurt You No More

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"The rain falls because
the sky can no longer
handle its heaviness
Just like tears.
They fall because
the heart can no longer
handle the pain." —Anonymous
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Rahul

My fingers grazed the smooth surface of the photograph, trembling slightly. Smiles and laughter frozen, reminder of days where happiness was kind of always there.

I was in my dorm, where I'd rushed back after breaking down in front of  Tarai. Men aren't suppose to cry. My mind wondered if that was true, because holding in all this pain was slicing away my sanity, slowly but painfully. If crying was so wrong, then why'd it feel so —good? What did being the tough guy bring to me? Bullshit, complete and utter bullshit.

I sat in front of a cardboard box, it was crisp around the edges because I took care of it. Much of my childhood was in there. It laid open, the first picture I found within it was a old fashioned Polaroid, it was slightly crinkled. Arjun had gotten a Polaroid camera for his 10th or 11th birthday, so we took a bunch of random pictures. I remember Leela Aunty getting mad at us for using all the film in a day, she was his mom. I often go visit her, with my parents and sister.

This photograph was one we asked a stranger to take, we had ice cream cones in our hands and we'd sneaked out to the local carnival. I remember the weather was warm and pleasant and by far one of the most amusing days of my life. We'd scraped together some money we'd earned from walking the neighbours' dogs and mowing lawns. We played one of those carnival games that no one could possibly win, we had to pop a balloon with a dart and win a prize. Eventually, we'd played four times, with no luck. Arjun was getting frustrated so he bought another round and in his pissed off state of mind, he threw the dart and hit one of the balloons. The stall owner was surprised and tried making excuses to why the throw wasn't good enough but still let us pick our prize. Arjun told me to pick so I chose the switchblade knife, figured it looked nice. So we kept it and returned home after buying two cones of ice cream. I'd gotten cookies and cream and he'd gotten mint chocolate chips.

Reaching into the box, my hand brushed against something sharp and slick. I grasped it and realized it was the switchblade. A small smile finds my lips as a rub my thumb onto the numerous engravings that were carved into the rustic wooden handle. The sharp blade reminded me of physical and mental injuries I longed to forget, gaze landing on my left arm, the sickening scar was still there— it would never fucking go away. It was so repulsive that I couldn't look at it without feeling guilt strangle me. I held back tears and bit my lip, so hard that I drew blood. I wanted this constant guilt to stop. I shut my eyes tightly, breathing in and out. I don't need help, I just have to suck it up, damn it! My eyes burned as I rubbed them with the sleeve of the hoodie I was wearing. My room mate had left a bottle of vodka in his closet, I remembered. So I started downing the substantial amount of transparent liquid. It didn't take much time for my senses to be flooded and corrupted by the bitter sweet taste of alcohol as it washed away the worries for a few seconds. But that's the thing, don't you see? It only takes the pain away for short lived moments, then it comes back to intensify everything you feel and make it all worse.

Holding my head in my hands, I rocked back and forth hoping it would stop. The memories of that fateful day came back rushing at a speed so colossal .I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.

Blood. So much blood. Some of it was mine, other was his. I didn't want to see any of it. I could see from my peripheral vision, Arjun's head limp on my lap. I was shaking but he wasn't. He just laid there, body blocking me from taking on the impact of a fatal blow. His scarlet blood seeped onto my hands as I tried to shake him, with whatever power I had left. His ribs were broken, shirt ripped as my gaze fell onto his broken leg, shattered bones protruding through his pants. Convincing myself that he was sleeping, I caressed his damp hair that was streaked with blood. I wanted to force oblivion to just drown me, I hoped this was a nightmare, nothing more. That's when I realized, my left forearm was pierced by a sharp and thick metal rod. I guess the adrenaline made me ignore the tremendous pain. My cries were choked, I couldn't hear anything, my vision was blurry and I felt the light around us diminish. We were okay. He was okay. He had to be okay. Wake up, Arjun! Please.

I was panting, laying on the floor in a fatal position, rocking back and forth. My breathing was ragged and harsh. Skull being pounded on and chest being crushed, I tried breathing, but couldn't. The air wouldn't go in. Damn it! Fucking hell. Please make it stop! The walls seemed like they were closing in on me, locking me in with my fears. Leaving me trapped between this madness of the real and the unreal. I looked at the door that seemed miles away now, I could escape — what if I didn't want to? Letting my head fall back, my throat felt constricted as the demons slowly tied a noose around my neck so I could choke on thoughts I wished to forget desperately.

Reaching over to my duffel bag, I pulled out the anti-depressants and popped a pill or two in my mouth and began to unscrew the cap of a half empty water bottle. I chugged the the whole thing down as I calmed down. My chest heaving up and down, breathing allowed once again.

How can you put Tarai through this, you selfish bastard.

I cradled my head once again in my hands, hoping the voice that echoed through my being would silence itself.

Can't you see the way you're hurting her?

Fucking hell. I'm not blind, the pain behind her beautiful smile was visible. Even if she tried to hide it.

Why'd you ever think, that such a girl would ever want a messed up kid like you? Are you oblivious?

My heart was pounding, I was scared that it'd leap out of my rib cage. My sobs were like the ones of a animal that'd been beaten and on the verge of dying, trapped between the world of the living and the dead. I was praying, for what? I didn't know.

Sweat pooled on my forehead, chills ran down my spine as the voice who was nothing more than my own true thoughts kept taunting me. I got up, ran for my closet and started dumping all my clothes into my duffel bag. Zipping it up, my head kept pounding against my skull and my hands were shaking. I felt weak, and I hated it so much.

I threw the duffel onto my bed and went to the wall by my desk, it was covered in various posters. I took one down, ripped it violently in half and crushed it into the dustbin. Just like that, I proceeded to take down everything, threw some text books in a box with some other necessities and pocketed my keys. Erasing myself from this room.

I slung my duffel over one shoulder, carried two cardboard boxes that were stacked one on the other and with difficulty, closed the door to my dorm.

Because I was leaving, unable to hurt the people that cared about me. I heard the door slam shut behind me, the Harvard emblem stared back at me from the hallway's burgundy walls as I stalked down to the main entry to return the forms and documents that'd let them know that I was leaving Harvard for good.

Setting the cardboard boxes in the backseat of my Porsche I thought of everything.

Memories of her laugh clouding my thoughts, body remembering the feel of her touch, mind desperately memorizing every detail about her and heart saying goodbye to a love so powerful that none other could compare.

I'm so sorry, Tarai.