THE BODY BREAKS
1062 Words
CHAPTER 3: THE BODY BREAKS
“Her body obeyed. Her silence screamed. And he called it love.„
The hospital lights hummed like a judgment.
Riya stared at the ceiling, lips dry, wrists sore, and soul absent. The pills hadn’t worked. Her body had betrayed her again—pulling her back from the edge like a cruel joke.
Silence wrapped around her like a shroud.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak.
When her father had found her in the bathroom, she’d already been halfway gone. Her body sprawled across the floor, vomit on the tile, mascara streaked like war paint. He hadn’t asked questions. None of them had.
They already knew.
Her mother had looked at her once, quietly, and then left the room.
And then... he came.
---
Ahyan.
He didn’t knock. He never did.
He entered her hospital room like he owned it—like he’d paid for the bed she lay in, the air she breathed.
Riya turned her head slowly, her pulse tightening when she saw him. Black shirt. Expensive coat. Lips slightly parted in mock concern.
> “Did you really try to die without telling me?”
She turned her face away.
> “I should be furious,” he went on, walking toward her bed. “But instead... I feel strangely flattered. That you broke down without me even touching you. You carry me in your veins, Riya. Even when I’m not there.”
She said nothing.
Ahyan dragged the chair closer and sat beside her, leaning in until his breath warmed her cheek.
> “You know what I love most about you?” he whispered. “You wear shame like perfume. It never fades.”
His hand moved slowly across her blanket, fingers grazing her thigh beneath it.
She stiffened. “Don’t.”
> “Don’t?”
He smiled. “You’re still mine. Suicide doesn’t change that.”
Riya’s throat tightened.
> “You don’t get to come here—”
> “I do,” he cut in. “I always do. Especially now.”
He pulled something from his pocket.
A flash drive.
He let it rest on her chest.
> “You know what’s on this, right?”
She stared at it in horror.
> “That night,” he said softly. “The one with Rehaan. And Buraq. You remember.”
Her stomach twisted.
> “You said you deleted—”
> “I lied,” he said simply. “Like you lied when you said you didn’t want it. But your body?”
“You moaned, Riya. Even when you cried.”
She turned her face to the pillow, tears leaking silently down her cheek.
> “Now listen carefully,” he said. “You’re going to get out of this bed, and when you're ready, you’ll come home. To me. Or I’ll make sure your father, your brother, and every man who ever looked at you with respect... sees what you are.”
She shook her head. “Please…”
> “You’ll crawl back to me, jaan. And you’ll beg me to touch you again.”
---
Riya left the hospital a day later.
No one asked where she was going.
She didn’t go home.
She went to him.
---
His apartment was still cold and glassy. Minimalist. Sterile.
Just like him.
He opened the door with a knowing smirk.
> “Good girl.”
She stepped inside, her shoulders tight, her breath shallow.
> “Take it off,” he said casually, nodding to her coat.
She hesitated.
> “I don’t have all day. Or should I press send right now?”
She dropped the coat.
He walked to her slowly, circling her like prey.
> “You look fragile,” he whispered, brushing a knuckle down her jaw. “But you’re not. You’re a fire pretending to be ash.”
His hands slipped beneath her shirt. “Lift.”
She obeyed.
He pulled it over her head, tossing it to the floor.
Her bra followed. Then her pants.
Now she stood in her underwear, humiliated, hollow, trembling.
Ahyan leaned in. “You thought I would disappear after you tried to kill yourself?”
He grabbed her waist, pulled her roughly against him.
> “No, jaan. That just made you even more mine.”
---
The bedroom swallowed her like a bruise.
He pushed her onto the bed, eyes gleaming. “Lie back.”
She didn’t move.
His fingers wrapped around her jaw. Tight.
> “You want to die, Riya? Then die beneath me.”
She gasped as he shoved her back, climbing over her like a storm.
His mouth descended on hers—violent, hungry, claiming.
She whimpered, fists tightening in the sheets.
> “Beg,” he growled, nipping at her collarbone.
> “No.”
He yanked her thighs apart. “Then I’ll take what’s already mine.”
---
His touch was brutal and slow.
He moved like a man carving his initials into flesh. His fingers explored her like a map of old wounds. His tongue forced a response from her body that her mind refused to acknowledge.
He whispered filth into her ears.
> “You missed this. You needed this.”
She moaned—soft, broken—hating the sound.
He smiled darkly.
> “See? The body remembers what the mind pretends to forget.”
When he slid inside her, she gasped—more from pain than pleasure.
But her body responded. Traitorous. Hot. Shameful.
He took his time, grinding, thrusting, his hands pinning hers above her head. Her eyes filled with tears. He licked one away.
> “You cry so sweet, jaan. Every drop is mine.”
---
It didn’t end.
Not when he finished.
Not when he lay beside her, panting, satisfied, stroking her hair like she was some broken pet.
> “You belong to me,” he murmured. “Even in death, you’d belong to me.”
She turned away.
> “Don’t forget the video,” he added. “Every time you think of leaving. Or dying. Or talking to anyone. Just picture your father’s face when he sees what you let happen.”
---
She didn’t respond.
She was already gone again.
But her body remained.
Trapped.
Obedient.
Branded.
---
END OF CHAPTER 3: The Body Breaks
- Writer
