The Price You Pay

The Price You Pay: Chapter 05

(Riddhima's POV)

Do you know that feeling when you are absolutely certain that the shit has hit the fan and you're in for it and all hell will break loose and then nothing, just nothing happens? It's like I am in the eye of the storm now, and the anticipation is eating me.

But, metaphors aside, I am so confused that I don't even know how to put what has happened.

I was in the kitchen, minding my own business and trying to finally, finally eat something real, when I heard this voice behind me, asking who I was and why I was wearing his sweater. Well, I didn't hear him come in or approach me in any way so yeah, he scared the shit out of me.

When I turned to face him and to see how angry he was, I dropped the glass with the fluid food I was about to drink in my shock. Of course the muck got flying everywhere and glass splinters pivoted off the floor loudly, but all I could do was look at this guy that was standing in the doorway.

He must be Vansh.

Impossible, black hair, dark brows, fierce eyes and a strong jaw-line, and although I've sworn myself to never ever find a male attractive in whatever way, he was the most handsome man I've ever seen. The picture surely didn't do him any justice.

But I'd never want him. I couldn't.

No, scratch that.

Like he would ever want me. Ha. Ha. Funny, Riddhima.

But, all tackiness aside, he was pissed, and I was up in the middle of the night, and I had just dropped a glass to pieces on the floor, and I was wearing his sweater.

Shit, shit, shit.

I'd fucked up. Again.

I looked down at the floor, then back at him, and stuck my hands out in an apologizing gesture. Not that it would help, but he should know I never meant to do this. Of course I didn't. I would find a way to pay for the glass. And I would clean the kitchen, of course. Hell, I'd clean the entire house if that's what it took.

He needed to get his sweater back. I tried to pull it off as quickly as I could with my shaking hands, all the while haunted by memories of the times I had to undress in front of Stefan or Rajeev. Bile filled my throat at the association. My body was switching to red-alert mode swiftly and my heart rate was escalating. Although a small voice in the back of my mind called out frantically that I didn't need to be scared in this house, that this Vansh, like the rest of his family, would probably not hurt me, I tensed up like I did every time I sensed danger.

I am Pavlov's dog personified.

I folded his sweater and put it on the breakfast bar. There was no way in hell I was going to approach him. If he wanted anything, he should come and get it. But for good measure, and to make myself clear, I pushed the sweater forward in his direction.

He didn't react. He didn't even move. He just stood there, looking at me with those intense, unreadable eyes. My heart started pounding a mile a minute and cold shivers of fear traced down my spine as I knelt down, making myself vulnerable. But I needed to start cleaning up the glass, so he'd know I felt bad about this. I sank to my knees right smack in the middle of the shatters and felt them crunch underneath my knees as I started to collect them from around me.

Quick, light footsteps hurried towards me and I cringed violently, my breathing halting. Before I could even process what had happened, I felt two hands on my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around my head to protect myself as best as I could and bent forward, making myself as small as possible to protect my vulnerable parts. My rational mind finally shut up, thoroughly confused and disappointed that she was apparently wrong about the safety in this house. My evil mind just rubbed some salt in the newly torn-open wounds. See?