Falling Destiny

Episode 52 : "The Demon Has To Wait"

(Veer POV)

The first sliver of dawn, cold and merciless, sliced through the heavy velvet curtains, painting the opulent room in shades of bruised purple and sickly gray. My head throbbed, a relentless drumbeat mirroring the escalating guilt that had begun to pound a frantic rhythm in my chest. A vile, metallic tang coated my tongue, and the very air was thick with the cloying stench of stale alcohol, acrid smoke, and something else… something that made my stomach clench with an icy dread.

I stirred, each movement a Herculean effort against the crushing weight of the hangover and a deeper, more profound sickness. Blinking, I struggled to clear the suffocating haze from my mind, and then I saw her.

Neha.

She lay beside me, a small, crumpled heap amidst the rumpled silk sheets, her body a horrifying canvas of my brutality. My breath hitched, caught in my throat like a shard of ice. Bruises, vivid and cruel, blossomed across her delicate skin – angry, purplish-red marks on her slender neck, dark, unmistakable fingerprints imprinted on her collarbone, and livid bite marks staining her stomach and ribs. Her lips, usually so full and soft, were swollen and split, a trickle of dried blood crusted at the corner of her mouth. Her hair, typically pulled back in a neat braid or allowed to fall in soft waves, was a tangled, matted mess, fanning out around her head like a dark, accusing halo.

A fresh wave of nausea, colder and more bitter than any hangover, washed over me, threatening to overwhelm what little composure I had left. What in God's name had I done?

Flashback:

The Night Before

The world had been a swirling vortex of rage and whiskey. Sanchit’s face, that smug, triumphant smirk, had been burned into my very eyelids, a brand of infuriating insolence. And then Neha, in that moment, had pushed me away, her gaze flickering, however briefly, to him… a surge of irrational fury, hotter and more consuming than any fire, had taken hold of me. I remembered the intoxicating scent of her, the terrifying thrill of feeling her tremble beneath my hands, the metallic taste of her blood. Each desperate plea, each tear that streamed down her face, had only fueled the roaring monster within me. Her struggles, her choked cries for mercy, had been swallowed by the deafening roar in my ears, by the insatiable, primal need to brand her, to claim her, to make her pay for the perceived slight. I remembered the tearing of flimsy fabric, the sharp, stinging crack of my open hand against her cheek, her terrified screams as I… as I continued the brutal assault.

The memory fractured, mercifully incomplete, yet the raw, agonizing sensations remained.

The Aftermath:

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my palms against them, but the images flashed behind them with sickening clarity. My chest tightened, a cold, hard knot of self-loathing twisting deeper and deeper in my gut. What I had done was beyond unforgivable. It was barbaric. Animalistic. The rage I’d felt, the flimsy justifications I’d clung to in my drunken stupor, now felt like a pathetic excuse for an act of pure, unadulterated brutality.

I stumbled out of bed, the plush rug soft beneath my bare feet, but it offered no solace, no comfort. My reflection in the full-length mirror showed a man I barely recognized – hollow-eyed, disheveled, a monster staring back at me.

I had to do something. Anything.

My hands trembled violently as I fumbled for my phone, scrolling through my contacts, searching for a doctor. I needed someone discreet, someone who wouldn't ask intrusive questions, someone who would simply treat her and leave. Dr. Rina Sen, a private physician with a reputation for absolute confidentiality, came to mind.

"Dr. Sen," I rasped into the phone, my voice hoarse and raw, "I need you to come to my residence. Immediately. It’s… an urgent medical matter."

She arrived within thirty minutes, her expression one of professional curiosity, quickly morphing into apprehension as I ushered her into the bedroom. My gaze remained fixed on Neha, who was still motionless on the bed. Dr. Sen’s eyes, initially questioning, widened with an unmistakable horror as she took in the scene. Her professional composure, usually an impenetrable mask, cracked, replaced by a raw expression of shock, disbelief, and a flicker of… fear. She didn’t utter a word, but her face spoke volumes, screaming accusations I couldn't bear to hear.

She moved to Neha’s side, her movements precise and efficient despite her evident distress. I watched, a hot, nauseating knot of shame tightening in my stomach, as she carefully examined Neha, her touch surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to my own brutal actions just hours before. She meticulously cleaned Neha’s wounds, applied antiseptic, and then, her hand trembling slightly, meticulously wrote out a prescription.

"She needs rest," Dr. Sen said, her voice barely a whisper, tight with barely suppressed emotion, as she handed me the crumpled prescription pad. "And these medicines. A lot of them. And… she needs careful tending, Mr. Roy." Her eyes finally met mine, and in their depths, I saw not just professional concern, but a deep, palpable fear – fear of me, of the monster she had just witnessed the aftermath of.

I nodded, . " clean her and make her wear some clothes", I ordered her. The words felt inadequate, hollow, a pathetic attempt to undo the damage.

Dr. Sen looked at me, her expression unreadable, but the fear was still there, palpable in the tension of her shoulders. Without a single word, she carefully and gently cleaned Neha, her touch almost reverent. Then, with quiet dignity, she dressed Neha in a fresh nightgown that must have been in the closet. The sight of Neha, now covered and somewhat less exposed, eased only a fraction of the suffocating guilt that consumed me.

I took the prescription from Dr. Sen and immediately called Mary, my housekeeper. "Mary," I ordered, my voice clipped and devoid of emotion, "go to the pharmacy, get these medicines, and make sure Neha takes them as prescribed. And… ensure she has everything she needs. Do not disturb her unless absolutely necessary."

Without another word, I left the room, the heavy silence a suffocating shroud around me. The entire house felt stifling, choked with the palpable echoes of my brutality. I needed to get out.

I drove to the office on autopilot, the morning rush hour a chaotic blur around me. But even amidst the traffic and the noise, Neha's bruised face haunted me relentlessly. Her tear-filled eyes, silently pleading for mercy, replayed themselves in my mind’s eye with agonizing clarity. The memory was a searing brand, burning deeper with every breath.

"Damn it!" I roared, slamming my fist with bone-jarring force against the cold, unyielding wall of my private office. The impact reverberated painfully up my arm, a sharp, searing jolt of agony, but it offered no relief. It was a futile attempt to punish myself, to somehow atone for the monstrous act I had committed.

The anger, the disgust, the overwhelming self-loathing… it was all there, churning within me, a toxic brew threatening to drown me. But then, Sanchit’s face flashed in my mind again. A cold, hard resolve began to settle over my chaotic emotions, pushing the guilt down, down into a dark, inaccessible place. What happened last night, it was his fault. He was the catalyst. He was the reason.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the images of Neha’s pain back into the recesses of my mind. I had to focus. I had a plan, and Neha, despite everything, was a crucial, irreplaceable part of it. The objective remained unchanged, unyielding: she had to go to Kayish’s office. This was about vengeance, about power. My personal demons could wait. They would have to wait.