Chapter three
969 Words
Muk had a cruel rhythm—he would break me apart, then play the role of the savior to piece me back together. It wasn’t out of genuine care, but to ensure I left him without a trace of his abuse visible to the outside world.
After my panic attack spiraled, he rushed back to the car and grabbed my hands to stop my thrashing. Pulling me into his chest, he held me close, whispering empty reassurances, as if he hadn’t been the one to shatter me in the first place. His hands stroked my hair, his voice calm and soothing, but I had long learned it was all a show. None of it was real.
As I stopped trembling, my reality settled back in: I was in the arms of the man who hurt me, the man who pretended to care just enough to maintain his control.
When my breathing steadied, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed my cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said, his arrogance cutting through his words. “But don’t piss me off, and I won’t get mad at you.”
I stared at him, hollow and defeated, my soul aching in silence.
“You know,” he continued, his tone disturbingly casual, “when you cry, it calms me down. Once I see your tears, all my anger disappears.”
I said nothing, letting his delusions pour out unchecked. He brushed my hair back, speaking as if I were the problem. “You just have to listen to me, and I wouldn’t behave like this. You understand, right?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Deep down, I knew the truth—it was never my fault.
“When I met you, you were useless,” he said, his grip tightening slightly as he pulled me closer. “I made you better. I turned you into a good girl. You were careless, hanging out with boys, wasting your life. But after I came into your life, I fixed you.”
His words stung, each one a lie, erasing the girl I used to be. I remembered who I was before Muk—a girl with dreams, a vibrant life, and a passion for helping others. I played tennis, I swam, I worked at the community centre. I wanted to become a police officer, but he crushed that dream.
“This is a man’s job,” he’d said when I told him. If I pushed back, he beat me until my silence became routine.
Now, I was a shell of the person I once was.
When he finally let me go, he leaned back, his mood shifting again. “Come, baby, let me make you feel better,” he said, reaching for me with hands I despised.
I wanted to recoil but refusing him wasn’t an option. Resistance would only bring another storm. So, I closed my eyes, retreating into the recesses of my mind, and waited for it to end.
Later, back home, I ran to the bathroom, stepping into the shower. The water washed over me, and I scrubbed my skin as if I could erase his touch, his presence, his hold on me.
When I stepped out and faced the mirror, I saw a stranger staring back. My eyes were swollen, red from crying. The spark that once lit up my reflection was gone. All that remained was a girl who faked smiles, her spirit crushed under the weight of a man who claimed to love her.
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That night, I logged into my game, the world where I could breathe again. The moment I signed in, invites from my teammates flooded my screen.
I joined Minimax’s lobby, and he had another player from another team with him—Appu.
Appu was South Indian, with a quick wit and a knack for banter. We joked and argued over which of our clans was better. After some back-and-forth, we decided to settle it in the game—a private room, four players from each team, battling for the most kills.
“Eda, you guys are going to get destroyed!” Appu taunted before leaving to gather his team.
“Queen, you better not make us lose,” Jass teased.
“Excuse me?” I shot back, rolling my eyes at their lack of faith. Sure, they were better players, but I wasn’t *that* bad.
“What gun are we using?” I asked my team. We settled on the M416, a reliable favorite.
Switching chats, I joined Appu’s team to confirm the setup. “We’re using M416,” I informed them, making sure my loadout was ready.
That’s when I heard it—a voice that sent a shiver down my spine, one that awakened something deep inside me.
“Man, what noobs are we playing against?” the mysterious voice teased, smooth and rich, its tone lighting a spark in me I hadn’t felt in years.
I froze, captivated, listening to every word as if it held the power to transport me away from my pain.
“Queen, go make the room,” Appu’s voice broke my trance, pulling me back to reality.
The match began in a flurry of gunfire and explosions. Grenades flew, bullets zipped past, and Jass shouted at me to stay back and not give the opposing team free kills.
On the other end, I could hear Appu and the owner of that captivating voice cursing at Minimax for his notorious prone-and-shoot tactics.
Despite their efforts, we won the first match, sending *Mr. Lovely Voice* into a rage.
Back in the lobby, I rejoined Appu’s team—not for strategy, but to hear that voice again.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—hope.
- Writer
