*****

It had been a wet, open-mouthed and rough kiss. And right on her pulse point, her point of weakness of whose existence she had come to know when he decided to touch his lips to the skin there. Her neck. Had his hands not been holding her waist tightly, she would've fell as her knees buckled at the contact.

She had been doing this routine in her tiny attached washroom for a week now. And yet, the feelings felt as string as the time they had happened.

She pressed her fingers to the point and looked at her own reflection staring back at her. Scared. Confused. Clueless. She could understand how her relationship with Aamir had gone down the spiral, deteriorating from dislike to disgust to hatred and finally to the need of separation. That made sense. But the sudden show of affection and love? The display of concern and worry? And the splendid performance of the act of being a guardian angel?

What new plot had hatched in his mind?

It had taken her two years to accept the reality of her marriage and of her life. A useless burden. Even painful at times to others who were unfortunate enough to have her as family. She knew she was a liability, and in her want to ease the pain or at least to decrease it to whatever level she could, it was necessary to follow the rules. And she had done that splendidly. Not that it had ensured that Aamir wouldn't hate her as much if she did but she never failed. She had been perfect.

A perfect slave.

She splashed some water on her face. Clarity was what she needed. She knew that the rules of the game had changed and that she had been an unwilling player, but a player nonetheless. She had to learn the new rules, and quickly. She couldn't afford to lose.

Of course she could, laughed an insane part of her mind. What else did she have that was worth guarding anyways? She had lost everything already. She had given Aamir everything she had, her heart, her love, her life. He had rejected everything. She had nothing else to give. Nothing that Aamir wanted or needed from her. Nothing that she hadn't given anyone before. Nothing that she hadn't given any man before.

The horror of the sudden realization had her reeling, her hands grasped the sink tightly for support. Is that how the game had changed and she hadn't realized it? Was that what Aamir wanted from her and she would have to give it to him? This sudden, new physical aspect of their relationship, unchartered territory she had no wish to explore - is that hat he wanted? To consummate their marriage?

Why was he doing this to her? After two years of their marriage, he wanted to give meaning to it now? After all that they had gone through, after all that she had gone through. The beatings, the cursing, the humiliation, the pain, the suffering! The feeling of absolute worthlessness. A wasteful existence. And now he wanted her to give her body to him. He wanted to claim his manly rights over his wife? Didn't he know that she hated his touch? Didn't he know that every time he came near her, the only thing that crossed her mind was how to protect herself when he would hit her? Didn't he know that she spent each and every moment fearing that time when he would decide that the need for this facade was over, that the police wasn't going to come after him and he could resume torturing his wife? Didn't he know that she hated him for it?

Oh, but you loved that kiss, her conscience accused her.

Disgust with herself poured like hot acid in her veins. She had enjoyed it. How dare she! That man, that monster, had to press one kiss to her throat, and she would lose herself completely to him? What kind of shameless, wanton and arrant hussy did that make her? How could one kiss bring back all the love that she had felt for Aamir in the beginning of their marriage, all the feelings that she had locked away in her heart, secure, never to resurface after that dreadful night when he had lashed her with his belt.

The night that changed everything. The night she had accepted that she was worth hating, worth all the punishment, worth nothing at all.

"Mayra, are you ok, darling? You've been in there for quite sometime now."

She splashed some more water on her face and turned to the door. Carefully, she kept her face devoid of any expression, especially anger at the terms of endearment he used for her. He didn't need to carry on this farce anymore. She wasn't going to have him arrested. Why couldn't he just get that? Why all the pretention?

She opened the door, and there he was, the man with the concerned face and tense body posture, ready to break down the door if she hadn't answered for another second. The moment she appeared in the doorway, hobbling a little on her plastered leg, he immediately bent down and swooped her into his arms, carrying her to the bed just as he had carried her to the bathroom. Smiling down at her, he said, "I was going to break the door! You were in there for so long! I was getting worried!"

She turned her face away from him. She didn't need to hear this. She didn't want to hear it.

Aamir sensed instantly that something was wrong. He had now learnt to read Mayra's silences, to decipher her feelings from her eyes, as her face remained blank. She was tensed. He could feel it as he lowered her into the bed. "Is everything ok, sweetheart?"

She nodded, her head still averted from his gaze.

"Has something happened?" he pressed further.

She shook her head.

Aamir looked down at her, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms. "Mayra, if something has happened, you can tell me. I'll just sit here and listen if you want to talk. I won't say a word. Even if it is about me, I promise, I won't get angry."

"Everything is fine, thank you," she replied in a tiny voice.

Frustrated, Aamir sat on the spare bed and stared at her. He kept staring at her nonstop till he knew she was getting uncomfortable with him watching her as such. Only when she had started to fidget, he prodded, "why won't you talk to me, Mayra?"

She looked at him, uncertain. "There is nothing to talk about."

"Yes," he objected, "there is. For example, we can talk about why you are feeling so uneasy right now."

She didn't answer him. She had no idea what to say. Not knowing what else to do, Mayra lowered her gaze not wanting to maintain eye contact with him any longer.

"Look at me, Mayra!" Aamir snapped angrily.

Tears burned her eyes as her eyes lifted to his in direct obedience to his command. Aamir knew what had happened. His tone, so cold and abrupt, had brought back her memories of the past, memories he never wanted her to remember.

"Shit!" he swore to himself.

Getting up from the bed, he moved towards her. She backed away into the pillows as he advanced towards her. She wanted to run away.

A whimper escaped her as he drew closer, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Mayra, I'm sorry. But please don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you."

She looked at him with tear glazed eyes, clearly disbelieving him. "I swear I won't!" He promised. "Ever. Okay look, I won't even come close to you, alright?"

He sat back on the bed and waited for her to calm down. The last thing he needed was for her to breakdown now, when after the last gruelling week, they had come so far. The doctors had removed the bandage turban from her head, only a tiny plaster now graced the scar of her surgery. She had been completing her physiotherapy amazingly well, her hand was back to normal, and she was able to walk short distances even with her plastered leg.

And the best news of all, the doctor had told him just that morning that she could be discharged within two days. He had yet to tell her that but seeing her as she was, he decided to wait. He needed to know what was so wrong.

"Now, can you please tell me what's wrong?" He begged.

She was torn. A part of her wanted to demand what his expectations of her were - physically - and the other part scoffed at her. Did she really think she could demand anything of him? Probably ask him for a simple answer, at least that he could give her.

"Mayra," Aamir begged, impatient, "please, tell me what's wrong! I'm losing my mind over here!"

"Sorry," she whispered, the safest answer, the only answer she ever gave him throughout their marriage.

"I'm not asking for an apology, Princess. All I want to know is what is troubling you?"

"D.. do you.. umm .. do you think that.. uh.. what you.. umm.. no.. what we did.. that day.."

Aamir looked utterly confused. "What did we do? When?"

"Uh.. last week.. when.."

Understanding dawned in a flash as he asked her, "you mean when I kissed you?"

Colour rushed to her cheeks as she blushed at his bluntness. Did he have to say it like that, he wondered as she nodded, her face flaming.

She was so innocent that her she blushed at the word kiss. How on earth could he have accused of having an affair with that scumbag Jaffar, he thought to himself, feeling so angry and disappointed. "I probably shouldn't have done something you weren't comfortable with but I'm not sorry that we shared that beautiful moment, Mayra. Did you not like me touching you?"

There it was, she thought, that impossible question. The same thing that Faizah had asked her. Was she, or wasn't she, ready to take the next step? To further their relationship? To seal the bond of marriage in the most intimate way it could be sealed, the strongest way it could be sealed?

Clearly, she was not.

"I.. I don't know."

Aamir knew she was evading. "I'm not asking you if it was right of you to like what happened. I'm asking you if you liked it. Simple question, darling. Simple answer. Yes or no."

He wasn't sparing her any room for escape from this conversation and she cursed herself for having started it in the first place. But she hadn't even started it, he almost read her mind!

"I.. I don't know.. I've never done.. I mean.." she trailed off not knowing how to continue.

Aamir smiled at her innocence. "Never done it? Never?" He teased her.

Her pride, long subjected to torturous accusations of infidelity sprang up in a monstrous fury. "Never! Never ever! No matter what you thought, or what my parents thought! I'm not a slut! I'm not a whore! I've never done it. Not with anyone! Not even with -"

Aamir was stunned. He knew she had broken off at his name. She had thought he was accusing her again.

"Jaffar"

Mayra's fury broke at that man's name. As she heard that man's name from her husband, who had never believed her.

Pain erupted in her chest as she recalled what that man had done to her, how he had started a chain of events that had sucked her deeper and deeper into a dark abyss of sadness.

"I.. I never knew him," she began. Aamir listened, shocked to his core. She was speaking of him for the first time. "My best friend, Sameera, had met him during our annual college fest. She was my only friend, since school. I would tag along with her all the time because I never spoke to anyone else. She was very outgoing, she was a really good speaker. She met him - J..Jaffar - during a debate competition. He was our senior. They starting texting each other, calling each other. I always tried to talk Sameera out of it, she never listened.

"He knew what I was doing and he hated me for it. We never spoke to each other, ever. He always complained to her, asking her why she would allow a loser like me to stick to her like glue. She laughed him off. After he graduated and we were in final year, Sameera started bunking college to go meet him. I was shocked, but I was really scared for her. Sameera was from a very wealthy family with two older brothers who would've killed Jaffar if they got to know. I knew her actions would shame her parents and break their heart. They probably would never forgive her again." Mayra hiccuped, wiping her tears, and Aamir knew she was talking of how her parents had never forgiven her when they thought of what she had supposedly done.

"Anyway," she continued. "After, our finals, Sameera was going to get engaged to someone her parents chose for her. I knew about it, Sameera told me that Jaffar didn't know. She was planning to elope with him. I knew he was after her because she was very rich. And he wasn't from a well-off background. I threatened Sameera that I would tell her parents. I was desperate. I didn't know what else to do.

"Since that day, Sameera never spoke to me. I tried and tried, but she never answered my calls or texts. She didn't even invite me to her wedding! And she was like the sister to me that I never had, being an only child. Next thing I know, my parents are accusing me of being involved with a guy from college. They said they had proof. When I asked them to show it to me they locked me in my room without food for three days! Thy forced me to get married as soon as possible. And just last week my mother tells me that she had believed those lies because.. because Sameera had visited her and showed her pictures of me .. of me.. hugging.. that .. that despicable man!"

She was crying badly now, but this outburst of her's had rendered him speechless.

"They believed her! They believed her and not their own daughter!" She cried. "And for two years, I spent every night apologising to their photograph for something I didn't even do!"

Aamir went up to her and sat next to her bed, "I know you've never done anything wrong."

He held her hand as she continued to cry, "I'm so sorry, Mayra. For .. for everything. I'm just so so sorry!"

Her head was still turned away to the side. Her shoulders were heaving, she was breathing deeply. "Mayra, no one is going to force you to do anything. You can talk to your parents when you're ready. Forgive me when you are ready. I'm not going to push you, I won't let anyone do it. I promise you!"

Mayra tried to stop her tears an bring herself under control and as if sensing that she was calm now Aamir added, "also, if you're worried that I'm wishful of consummation then I assure you that I'm not. We will do whatever you wish when you are ready."

Mayra nodded.

Aamir smiled and got up to get her a glass of water. Sipping the cool liquid she tried to wash away the surge of guilt that spread within her as she thought of how she had only told him half of the story of how Jaffar had messed her life.

She didn't know if she could ever tell him the other half.

*****