THE BETRAYAL
CHAPTER ONE
The darkness was soft, muting the otherwise bright designs on the curtains. The thin fabric billowed and curved around each incoming breeze. Both windows were left ajar, allowing all of the sounds of New Delhi's restless nightlife into Neha's room.
Neha hugged the sheets to her chest, curled up in bed. The cacophony of late-night peddlers, car horns, humming of scooters and revving of motorbikes was not unlike the chaos of thoughts that swirled inside of her head. Somehow, it was worse now that he was back. The week without him had been relentless torment, but knowing he was with her mother down the hall was gutting her.
Was he touching her, kissing her? Did her mother love him? Every question was another thorn scraping at her jealousies. Neha heaved onto her other side, her hair blended in with the humid darkness, splattered like ink around her head.
She couldn't help but harbor resentment for her mother. Asha knew nothing, an innocent in all of this, but it didn't matter.
She
was the one able to share a bed with him and enjoy a loving honeymoon at his side.
She
was his wife. And, what did that make Neha?
The breeze was cool and moist but Neha was burning. She would never have that future with him. The one she longed for the most. While they had been gone, she had tried to console herself, but it had been hopeless. After a day, she had to bury herself in her studies, but that made her no less miserable. It was nearly impossible to keep up with all of the assignments while she thought of him. The interim lecturer made her favorite class painful to endure. Every time she looked at that perpetually smiling face, she thought of how much she wished he was at the lectern instead. Lecture wasn't the same without his clever remarks and those knowing, surreptitious glances in her direction.
Hari was the definition of irresistible charm. Sleek black hair that he often ran a hand through while instructing the class; the brusque jaw framed by an immaculate beard that he kept trimmed short. He was always wearing dark blues and browns that illuminated his eyes. They were reminiscent of cognac when the sun shone through it. They were called cat's eyes and folk tradition often equated them with cunning, but she saw an otherworldly nobility.
There was a fluttering feeling between her legs at the thought of him making her squirm against the bed. Even with the window open, she felt claustrophobic. The night clothes felt too tight and constraining. Yet another leading reason that the week had been utterly unbearable while he took her mother on their honeymoon. She craved his hands wrenching her
kameez
up and the way his tongue circled her nipples as he fucked her. The way his thumb made those nipples so hard. She wanted to move against him, the way he had taught her.
There was no relief for the thoughts in her head. No lips to satiate her longing or give her completion. She had attempted to touch herself but it was not the same without him. Her thoughts were too scattered. She wanted him inside her.
The only way Neha had kept up on everything at college was by telling herself that she didn't want to disappoint the spirit of her father. Otherwise, she would have stayed in bed all day and missed all of her classes, but she knew her father would disapprove. That instigated another tumultuous cycle of thoughts. Her father wouldn't have approved of her relationship with Hari either, or her mother's marriage to the man his daughter was fucking. She wanted to scream in her pillow and rake the curtains down, but instead she clawed herself into a new position. The sheets coiled in a wrinkled heap around her, adding to the suffocating air.
Her mother was a reserved woman and had been quieter still after her husband had died. She had withdrawn into herself, her work, and Neha. Her life was only more complicated by the strictures society put on a widow. A sense of shame that no amount of modernization could clean. Even still, Neha was convinced that her mother was glowing when she returned from the honeymoon. Her mother's spiritual awakening mirrored Neha's own sexual awakening. All because of Hari.
The way she touched his clothes as she put them away was almost affectionate. The only thing that Neha had noticed that brought her any relief was that they almost never touched in public. There were rare occasions when Hari placed his hand on the small of her mother's back. He'd done so only twice. It had been enough to make Neha's skin prickly and her mouth go dry. Such simple gestures. Her mother touching his clothes. Him touching her back. Neha felt like she was going to go insane over the most minute details. Her mother
said
she didn't love him. She had all but confirmed it on numerous occasions. It was a marriage of convenience. For her mother. And, for Hari. And, to be honest, for Neha.
Neha had asked her some prying questions upon their return about her feelings for him. Asha had told her that 'Marrying him was the sensible thing to do.' And, 'I enjoy his companionship but will always miss your father.'
It was merely transactional. One day, most likely after graduation, Neha would be arranged into a marriage. Another transaction. But it would never be Hari. Why couldn't she just accept that? This was the only way for them to be together. Yet, she was writhing in an empty bed again, same as when he was gone.
It was infuriating that she couldn't have him when she wanted him. She wished she could rewind time, and simultaneously couldn't see any other options than what she had done. What they had done. Her bare legs were damp with sweat and her hair was a messy sprawl. She stretched out and pulled one of her pillows to her stomach, but all she could think of were his lips.
She imagined Hari's mouth drifting between her thighs, complimenting her before licking her clean. She had not known before meeting him what that was like. Had no comprehension of it. The pleasure that he could bring with such experienced lips. He was older, closer to 50 than he was to her age.
His age translated to confidence and authority. Underlying his mature eloquence, was his lust. His desire for her was palpable. He was not shy or timid like boys her age. Sure, there were some who were cocky, but it was the cockiness of insecurity. She knew that none of them could touch her like Hari.
She had her own insecurities. What if he was bored of her? She was 22. Inexperienced. Once, naïve. But maybe still? Was her mother all he really needed? Neha's nails snagged on the embroidered design on the pillowcase.
Her mother was beautiful, although she never seemed to think so. She was too modest. Even though being a widow had made her untouchable, her beauty had continued to unfold, unhindered.
Neha shook her head. She didn't want to think about whether Hari thought her mother attractive. She only wanted to hold onto him, her fingers in his hair, but the pillow would have to do. Neha pressed her face into it and time slipped away. The sounds of cars passing and people talking were less frequent and all of it was fading into the background.
Finally, her mind was greeted by the tranquility of sleep. So, when the bed shifted and arms wrapped around her from behind, Neha thought that she was dreaming. He murmured her name into her ear. His hands rubbed her arms and held her. When his lips closed on the nape of her neck and traveled to her cheek, her eyes fluttered open.
Was it really him? More kisses on her neck. Warmth radiated from his naked chest. His hand pushing the
kameez
down her skin. His mouth trailing to her bared shoulder. He whispered her name again. She turned to him, barely able to distinguish his features in the darkness, but she could see his smile.
