The Workaholic Wife ✅

War Zone

I have to make him guilty enough to follow my instructions, and after, we'll both in the police cursor, and we will be safe.

"I don't care if you love me. All that matters to me, is my love for you; and I promise you that my love for you will only end as I'm taking my last breath." I say, not giving him a chance to speak. I initiate a kiss, bringing his lips to mine. I couldn't really bring myself to stand on my toes, so he pulls me up, noticing my injury, and not once breaking the passionate kiss.

Our lips move on their own accord, forgetting the warning signals our brains start to blare.

My hands move to the back to remove his red shirt, inching my hands beneath the thin fabric.

Why was he so wet? Curiosity getting the better of me, I break the kiss, and take a look at my hands.

A thin red liquid covers me hands. Blood, blood, blood. I shriek at the sight, the shrill sound resonating around the vast room. The shirt wasn't red.

It was covered in red, red blood. His blood.

I place my bloodied hands on his cheeks, the tears start to pour like a rainstorm, and I look into his eyes, for a sign of pain, for distress. Nothing. He seems fine.

I tug at his shirt, and he obliges my request, putting his arms up. His eyes are closed, his lips purse, and the never ending tears continue to fall like a waterfall, swiveling on his smooth face like a snaking river.

He looks calm, but I know that a hurricane must be spiraling in his head. He is looking for ways to convince me to leave him, and what he wants me to see is not going to pretty.

I remove the shirt in one strong pull, and I see his creamy skin, nothing else. Without a request, he senses my need to see all of him, and he turns, his neck turning to see my reaction.

I gasp as I witness the marks. I've traced my hands on his back a million times, relishing in the smoothness of it, but now, now, he has horrible bruises and gashes covering his back. It's a bloody war zone on a alien terrain, and I didn't dare take another breath in fear of fainting.

He's in pain. He was in pain while I recovered, started a riot, while firing a police officer and had a discussion with girls forced into prostitution.

But he won't be in pain any longer.

"Aarav!" I holler and the man barges in through door, alert and ready. Aniket is taken aback at my sudden reaction, and I use his confusion to grasp onto his arm tightly. Aniket struggles, but I don't give in; if he doesn't let me do this, he will be in a lot more pain. "Knock him out!" I yell to Aarav.

Aarav's eyes widen, but he doesn't react. He just stands there, looking at Aniket's bare chest. Aarav glares at him before narrowing his eyes on me suspiciously.

"Who is he?!" Aniket asks, and I want to laugh at his jealousy. Why did he have to be so adorable?

In rage, Aniket has somehow found a way to get out of my death grip, and was facing me. Aarav gasps when he sees Aniket's bleeding back. His expression changes to determination, and he nods at me in confirmation, signaling to me that I should distract him.

Without giving a warning, I distract Aniket in the only way I knew. "I love you," I gasp, before joining my lips to his. Aniket staggers for a second before snaking his arms around me gently, and starting to take control of the kiss. From the corner of my eye, I could see Aarav's face turn a bright shade of red, whether in rage or embarrassment, I'll never discover.

Aarav raises his hand once, high above his hands, and meets it with Aniket's neck. Aniket falls to the ground, bringing me down with him in the process, our lips still locked. I break the kiss, sighing as I stood up to see our handiwork.

"God, I wanted to do that." Aarav exhales, a smile stretching through his clownish face.

"You're going to have to carry him. Or do you want help?" I ask, lifting Aniket's head into my lap.

"No, I think I can carry this lightweight." He announces, titling his head to look at Aniket lying on the cold floor.

I snort at the irony. "Dude, even I can carry him. I wouldn't be needing your help if I didn't have two bullet wounds." Aarav smiles sheepishly and moves to pick Aniket up. In one lift, he throws Aniket on his shoulder, but I could see that he was struggling with his weight. His left foot wobbled for a slight second, before he adjusted it, reassuring himself that I wouldn't have noticed.

"Chauvinistic bastards." I murmur, and Aarav raises his eyebrows at me, silently asking me about my indiscernable comment.

"Nothing." I say, limping before him to open the door.

I open the door to find the the unexpected. I'm dead.

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