One more chance?

 She cried. She cried like a child lost in the crowd searching for her mother. Her hands were trembling. Her eyes were puffy, her face was all red and her messy hair clung onto her face. She had left him. Him? Him, you ask? Who is he? The man who loved her? The man she loved? The man? The sudden feeling of guilt swallowed her up. She looked up at the ceiling of the church. The weather was stormy. It was raining outside. The sound of the thunder was just an unnoticed sound for her. The lanterns were put up and lit with a tone of warm yellow. They were swaying in the wind aggressively. She held onto a bench with one hand and the other on her belly and stood up walking out. There were people outside holding onto their umbrellas and giving her looks. The pain was unbearable and she seemed not to care about anyone. She searched for him in the crowd hoping he would call her name. But will she answer? She wanted to see him, hold him, tell him that she loves him more than anything. Love? Wasn't it enough? Wasn't all the chances enough? Did he want to see her all ripped up in shambles? Did he want to see her dead from all of this? Will he look at her corpse and tell her that she is beautiful? Or will he lust over that too ? Will he still love her? Love? Has he ever loved her? Love? What is that? The potential she saw in him? The number of times she defended him and said that he was a good person? The times she told the same lies he told her to herself to rationalize his deeds? It was a never-ending war in her head. There was a sense of relief that he was not anymore but still she looked for him in the crowd. Crowd? Crowd of what? Crowd of thoughts? There was no one there for her. Who seemed to care about the feelings of a 19 year old married woman? “Married”- that was just her label. She teared up in the rain but who seemed to care. She never cared about anything, not even herself. Is this the karma for not loving herself more than him? Is this a lesson? “I deserve so much better,” she whispered under her breath. Well, that was her coping mechanism. She thought of the times he told her that he loved her. Did he really mean it? Did he really hate her that much? She has even given up on herself. She felt like she was trapped in a golden-covered cage. She felt that there was no way out. She was so attached to him like a victim is attached to the kidnapper. “I am fighting for us” she recalled his words, fighting for what? Trying to make up excuses? Trying to rationalize his lies? Trying to twist things up? What is the point of all this? He is gone. It felt like time stopped. Even after he is gone, nothing seems to be well put. Maybe it was the sudden rollercoaster of emotions with a narcissist, the sudden cortisol and dopamine rollercoaster. She got addicted to the suffering. He was the suffering but did she wish that he should actually be gone? No? “I had pure intentions with you” yes the pure intentions of fucking you up yes! That's what he did. When will this fight end? If she goes back, what is  the point? Lover? More like a loser? That's what she is.  A loser in love. “Please come back” yes please come back so that I can ruin you more. “I deserve someone better” she continued to recall his words. “Am I not enough? Love ! Love! Love ! All of it in the name of love.” She told herself. The sky stopped crying and so did she. “He knows what I'm thinking right? He listens right? Right?” Her train of thoughts was a mess just like herself. The road was empty. The street lamps reflected the lights on the wet pavement. The place was filled with a sense of misery. She walked to their house. She held onto the pallu of her red saree. Her sindoor had washed away in the rain, her lips were pale and her hair was wet and tangled. She opened the door to the silhouette of a man. Was he really one? A man? He placed the cigar on the ashtray, the embers fading into the air. The air was thick. She has returned to him once again.  He knew it. He knew every step of this loser. The living hall was filled with violins. The warm lights gave the polished brown wood a soft glow. The walls were filled with shelves of violins. He stood up from the comfortable chair at the corner of the room, handing her the bouquet of roses. Everytime, after a fight he gets her one . She looked at him confused and angry. The agitation filled her up. She held onto the flowers tightly, pricking myself in the process. He had a serene gaze on her, not moving his gaze. He eyed the crying creature calmly. He took the violin from the table and said “Enough for today. What do you always complain about? You are always dramatic always.” she broke down into tears. The calm look on his face never left. “Why? Am I not enough for you? Why do you hate me so much? Am I that unlovable? Do I not look like a person with feelings and emotions to you? ” she screamed at him. He held the violin close to her face. “ Look. You are just like a violin. I will play you whenever I want. You are just a broken violin to me! Look at your rusty strings, your broken bridge! Your once polished wood is all destroyed by marks and splinters. You! A symphony of pain and sorrow. A forgotten symphony” She touched her forehead with her bleeding hand. “This! This sindhoor-” Suddenly she gasped. The ticking of the clock and her choking echoed in the room. She looked down. There it was! He pushed the knife harder into her stomach. “ I just wanted you to shut the fuck up”. The crimson oozed out of her belly like a ruptured hose. The crimson splattered on the walls of the house, the same walls which have heard the cries of the woman. He looked into her eyes. She rolled her eyes back, her sense of sight slowly fading away. The one she loved, the one she cared for, the one she tolerated stabbed her! Her crying never stopped and she fell to the ground. The sudden realization of what he did hit him. He cried and shook her. “ Wake up! Hey? Wake up. Just give me one more chance. I can prove it to you! Hey?” He cried. It was not the tears of guilt of killing his wife. “ One more chance! DEVI! DEVI!!” He stood up and threw the violin on the ground. He tore the papers and threw them elsewhere, the blood-stained papers fell to the ground on top of the mess. “ “DEVI! DEVI!” He screamed. “ Sir! Security! The nurse rushed to the room and the hospital staff held onto him. “ It was one of his episodes,” said a staff member to the new nurse. They held him tightly to the bed. He was breathing heavily. “I am sorry I didn't kill her. I killed her but I am sorry” he screamed. The staff exited the room and asked the other. “ What's with him? “ He murdered his pregnant wife seven years ago. She was just 6 weeks pregnant. He was diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder and Schizophrenia. All we wish is well for him. He gets hallucinations of his wife and their baby.” “I know,” said Devi walking away to the next room.