I Am His Bride… { An Indian Bl Saga } My Mind is a Spiral…

If I was being truthful, I would really admit how envious I was of Ash and Bhabi. They had found love so easily but how was my love and different? Just because I love one of my own sex I am perverted, nalayak (unworthy) and a disgrace! Dinner was quite a gloomy affair with everyone else enjoying and me brooding. Even bari ma noticed and asked if I was unwell. But to be honest, I couldn’t keep down anything after I came to know the truth about Zayn. Though unknowingly, I had abandoned him at the toughest hour and know the guilt was eating at me. After closing myself in the safety of my room, I finally let the dam break. The tears that pooled out of my eyes were of no value against the injustice I had done to him for my own fucking doubts.

The sharp blade between my fingers felt familiar. It’d been long since I resorted to self-harm but today, I just can’t take it anymore. The pain was good, it was comforting in a twisted sense. The burning of the fraying tissue was so similar to the burn in my heart that a maniacal laughter bubbled out of me. It was all my fault. I destroyed his life, just like every other thing I touch. The pain helped me clear my mind and by the time my breathing was normal again, there was a pool of blood on the bathroom floor and I found myself squatting by the wall, the bloody blade in my hand and a pathetic “SORRY” etched on my left wrist over all the other lines from before. Pushing my self up, I hid the blade in its box under the towels. The blood was easy enough to clean with a bucketful of water but then I realized I had to clean my hand as well as clear up the mess of my relationship with Zayn. The alcohol burned and so did the iodinated antiseptic but I deserved the pain, I deserved it more than Zayn ever had. Securing the multitude of bracelets and dhagas (sacred threads) I normally wear I exited my bathroom.

The fresh air from the balcony sobered me a little as I fiddled with my phone, finally growing enough balls to message my Zayn.

“Can we meet tomorrow at the same café? Same time if you are free?”

The reply came sooner than I had expected, in a minute.

“Have you thought it through?”

“Even after knowing about what happened to my family and me?”

“I have.” And I had, probably more than what was safe for my health.

 “I have some work to take care of tomorrow. Can we reschedule to the next day?”

“Yeah! Of course.”

“Ok. See you on Sunday.”

“See you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

And till the time came, it was just wait – a gut wrenching agony as my mind conjured up every single situation that could land me out of Zayn’s life forever. It would kill me but if that was what he wanted, I would never show him my face again. I feel toxic and immature that my mind has resorted back to hiding in its darkest caverns but I can’t just help it. Zayn completed me, he made me feel better about myself, worked his way through my baggage of mental trauma all for me to discard him the moment my fucking judgmental family uttered a word against the LGBTQIA+ community. I am such a sore loser, I can’t fucking stand up for myself or my lover and yeah who gave me the right to call him my lover. And thus I spent the two most chaotic days and nights of my life – all of my past issues – insomnia, anxiety and depression – back to haunt me anew as I struggled this time, all alone. Without him everything is so difficult, maybe I just got used to living with him so much that without him my life feels valueless.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This is just my traumas projected on Arthit. Yeah, I know it’s not healthy, but who cares. Enjoy anyways. 

Signing off,

Addie.