The Damaged Woman (18+) [Under Edition]

11. Thoughts.

Khushi.

I regret everything I blurted out in the heat of the moment. I shouldn't even be here right now, I feel suffocated, but I don't have enough to survive on my own, if it wasn't for my child I would've left along while ago, yet here I am crying on the bathroom floor like an idiot.

Do I even love him?

Is my mind playing tricks on me?

I dry my tears, I feel sick; nauseous. What was I thinking? Maybe the things he does is getting to me far too much.

My stomach churns, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything all morning. I drag myself from off the floor, and walk into the room to my utmost surprise a tray of pancakes, fruits, and a glass of apple juice is placed on the bedside table.

I smile, without any delay I indulge into the delicious breakfast. The pancakes is buttery, soft and slightly sweet, the fruits is fresh, and juicy. I haven't had the pleasure of eating fruits like this in forever.

I vaguely remembered picking strawberries with my mom in her garden, I use to be too full to eat the pie she made, each basket we fill I would sneak a hand full. It was one of the best memory from my childhood. I set the plate down, and take a sip of the juice.

A piece of paper falls from the bottom of the cup. I frown, placing the glass down. I stoop down to pick it up. I unfold the paper.

I'm sorry. I thought about what you said earlier, you have every right to be upset with me. I don't know how to act and how to make you feel better, so I made you breakfast. I know you like pancakes. I just need time to think this through. If you need me I'll be in my study.

Yours, truly.

Arnav.

He cares! I smile, doing a little happy dance.

I tighten the robe around my waist, my clothes was still in the wash. I don't have anything better to wear, tying my hair up. I take a quick look into the mirror.

I walk down the large quiet hallway, my feet tap noisily on the cold wooden floor. I never realized how beautiful it is until now. The natural light coming through the french windows shed more light onto the structure and modern decor.

I find the study quicker than I thought I would, the door is ajar. I peep inside. "No, I want it done. No more delays, have them finalized the deal or I'll be forced to cancel the arrangement. We already wasted enough time and effort into this project." He sounds furious, the authority in his voice is powerful enough to make you petrified.

"I don't care how, make it happen!" He spats.

I softly knock on the door, not waiting to barge in unannounced. "Come in." His tone is a lot softer than before.

I take in a deep breath, and enter the massive study it looks cozy inside, not at all what I was expecting, the shades of brown made it seems like any other traditional office, there is a french door leading to a balcony, a coffee-coloured leather couch on the other side of the room that has way too many throw pillows than I can count, a glass top wooden frame coffee table, and shelves after shelves of books that looks old and might be too boring to read. I run my feet through the soft feeling carpet.