Page 141 of Sumanika

I didn’t even have the right words to curse him.

I wasn’t sure how to refer to him. He was such a womanizer.

I sighed heavily and cried quietly once I reached my room and closed the door. I shouldn’t have seen him as a manwhore. He saved me. He fought to protect my life.

But that didn’t mean he could destroy my life.

Who granted him the right to play with my life? Who allowed him to hurt me like that? Furthermore, who gave him the authority to do this to me?

“Suman,” his low, deep voice suddenly caught my attention from the other side of the door.

My heart raced even faster as I wiped away my tears and shook my head.

"Go away," I said, and he responded from the other side of the door.

“Suman, please open the door so I can explain. You’re misunderstanding everything. It’s not what you think,” he said as I gritted my teeth, feeling the anger rise inside me. I had dealt with this before. This was just the talk of a cheater, a bastard.

“I said, go away and don’t create a scene here,” my voice raised, and I heard him inhale deeply before attempting to push my limits even further.

“Suman, I understand you’re angry, upset, and hurt by what you saw and heard. Can you give me a chance to explain? Rashmika is just a friend. She was having a tough day.”

I closed my eyes and fisted my fingers in anger.

“Oh really? Is that how you console someone? That’s how you treated women on all those trips to the brothels. You comfort them because they have bad days and tough lives. You know what this is—it’s who you are. You disguise your actions with sugar-coated wor—”

"Suman,” he cut me off.“I told you everything with my true intentions. Why would I sugarcoat them?” A few more tears rolled down my cheeks.

"You sugarcoat them because this is who you are,” I said.“You are a coward and do not want people to know your reality. You want to hide it from everyone under your charm and handsomeness. I feel really bad to say, but actually, you are a man whore,” with pure anger, and my chest rose and down with each passing moment. The vision of him sitting with Rashmika blurred my mind along with the imagination of him doing all the romantic and intimate things to brothel women.

I didn’t understand why it was hurting so much. What the hell did I expect from him? What the hell did I want to hear?

I stared at the door, and with each passing moment, the walls closed in on me. The silence pierced my heart, and fresh tears rolled down my cheeks when the reply didn’t come.

I bit my lip and averted my eyes, blinking in confusion.

My body shook, and I stared at my trembling hands.

What on earth was happening to me?

Why did it bother me so much? Why did it hurt this badly? Over the past seven years, I had trained myself to be as unfeeling as stone, refusing to cry at bad moments or laugh at good ones.

What had become of that Suman? Why was this Suman crying over a man? What exactly was I weeping for?

I swore I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t want to be like him. Why would I? Would he find hundreds of other women? He had asked me to hide my feelings from everyone, too.

I wouldn’t fall for him, not at all.

I wiped my tears and tried to calm down. I had to forget him. I couldn’t keep hurting myself like this. I wouldn’t cause myself such pain. I was happy before him; I could remain like that for the rest of my life. Yet, at that moment, it felt unbearably difficult to even think of him, and impossible not to believe him.

It was as if I couldn’t exist without him.

I lay back and wrapped myself in the comforters, seeking some sleep. It was becoming overwhelming.

The idea of going to Mahabaleshgarh with Daadisa for a while seemed appealing.

Neither of us would be hurt by seeing each other.

I swallowed hard and became lost in countless thoughts of him—both painful and joyful—before I realized I had fallen asleep.

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