Page 82 of Born in Grief

“And I don’t know any virgins,” Virat added, laughter in his voice. “None that would offer their hymen up for your blood rite, at least.”

“Please.” Amay grinned. “You just have to breathe in the same room as women and they’d offer everything up for you.”

“I breathed in the same room as Dhrithi. It had zero effect on her.” Virat leaned back in his seat, the pained anger that lined him seeming to leave his body.

“That’s because she was into me,” Ishaan retorted.

“Nobody with even half a functioning brain cell is into you,” Amay groaned, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “And Dhrithi has way more than that. She’s the only one who beat you at school in academics.”

“I beat her with half a mark,” Ishaan protested, outraged.

“I’m pretty sure you cheated on that exam,” Amay said.

“I always thought so too,” Virat seconded.

Ishaan glared at them. “Don’t piss off the man with the knife.”

Amay’s mind wandered to Virat’s earlier words. Dhrithi was packing up her life and getting ready to move on. From Varun or from Amay too? He’d screwed up. He needed to fix it but how? What was Dhrithi doing right now? Was she still awake or had she gone to bed early?

“Oh dear lord,” Ishaan said disgustedly. “Please go pine somewhere else. For our luck, that fucking emotion would be infectious also.”

“Don’t pine,” Virat added. “Go, get her back.”

“Yeah please. You’re more fun when Goody is around.”

Amay pushed to his feet, his resolve cementing itself. “I’ll see you guys later,” he told them. “Or maybe not,” he added with a cheeky smile.

“When you meet Goody tell her I didn’t cheat. I beat her fair and square. That trophy is mine and will stay mine forever.”

“Shut up Ish!” The groaned chorus only made Ishaan twirl his knife more like a maniacal idiot.

Amay was still laughing as he walked out of Virat’s flat. His smile faded as he considered what he planned to do. What happened if Dhrithi didn’t want him back? What would he do if she told him to take his conflicting emotions and go to hell?

He’d go, he thought. Because there was never a day when he didn’t do what Dhrithi asked him to do. Somedays she didn’t even need to ask…he did her bidding anyway.

But tonight, if she wanted Amay Aatre out of her life for good, she was going to have to say so.

Chapter Forty-Seven

DHRITHI

Dhrithi walked through the rooms bustling with activity. All around her, workmen packed, wrapped and crated furniture. Pretty soon this house would be just an empty shell. An empty shell that was being offered to her as a bribe to keep her mouth shut.

Varun’s father had reached out to her the previous day. When Dhrithi had offered her support to the police in full view of the press recording the search, Varun’s father had lost his always slippery grip on his temper. He’d lashed out at her, his foul language causing more than one shocked gasp and muttered outrage to find space in the high society crowd that had gathered to watch the drama. He’d stopped himself from raising a hand to her, but the damage was done.

All the news channels led with the clip, painting her out to be a helpless widow at the mercy of rich and powerful in laws who were looking to throw her out on the streets. Hence, the house.

She looked around at the rooms she was emptying out. Everything in the house was being sold, donated, or sent to theGokhale Residence. Was she going to take it? The house? The scene of her many miseries. Her every instinct screamed no. And yet…

There was so much she could do with it, with this house. Sell it and use the money for a suitable charity, or to start one of her own. An idea took root in her mind, not yet fully formed, more of an instinct but one that resonated through her soul. Maybe she could work with women who were victims of domestic violence, help them when no one else would.

“Madam.” The packer hovered by the open doorway. “Woh bada wala tv ka crating ho gaya. Ek baar check kar lijiye.”

She got up and followed him into the den in the basement. Varun’s little man cave from which he’d essentially barred her. It was the first place she’d taken the cops to that day. Sadly, they’d found nothing there beyond some pornography. Varun had quite the collection, magazines, pen drives, and strangely enough, even CD’s. She hadn’t known anyone still used CD’s anymore. The whole disgusting mess had filled six, large carton boxes.

She looked around once more and noted the crating of the television and the home theatre system. She was just making a note of it in her phone, adding it to the ‘sell’ column when she heard a loud, shattering noise from the upper floor.

The packer swore and ran up the stairs leaving her to follow more slowly. Every inch of this house made her bones ache, as if the pain from her life here had seeped so deep into her consciousness that it was a permanent stain on her soul. Maybe the best thing to do would be to sell it, after all.

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