Shape of the Sun

Twisted rope

A week later

The tension in the air could be sliced with a knife. It was that thick.

No one wanted to be the first to speak, too afraid to try and Prithvi watching them felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, too irritated with this farce.

He couldn't believe the effrontery of the trash standing before him. 

Ha. How the mighty had fallen. It was too wretched to let it touch the ground.

"You." He directed his words to the senior doctor out front.

"M-me?"

"Don't be an idiot."

"Y-yes!"

"What's the meaning of this? Explain yourself." Elegant fingers tapped paper, barrier between fingertips and mahogany the desk was made of.

Thump. Thump. A chill passed through the hearts of everyone standing in the room.

This was a beast.

The doctor hurried to reply, eliciting mixed feelings from the rest. Not that Prithvi cared. He was more interested in the answer to this farce.

"S-sir, it's Madam Harita's sick report!"

Prithvi nodded.

"I'm giving you one more chance. Say the right thing."

"Uh- I mean- Umm..."

The doctor felt his throat tighten, the pressure in the room driving him to near-nausea. Prithvi tched watching the man tremble like a reed in the wind. Prithvi tsked when he fainted, body going limp.

What a useless sight, he thought.

The others were alarmed yet none could offer help, even though he was their senior colleague. They were all trying to rein in their fear - except one. A nurse - her first day on the job - screamed and the string called reason in Prithvi's head snapped. He had held back for too long to be healthy.

"Come here." There was a terrifying steady in his voice. His eyes were anything but steady though.

"P-please..."

"I said to come here."

The woman stumbled over. She was scared, manifested by the unshed tears in her eyes, an unstrange feeling in the presence of such a man.

Snap.

She had gotten within a few feet of him when Prithvi hit her hard across the cheek. The others held their gasps to the point of choking, the air caused her cheek to sting, bloodied by the metal ring that he wore. Yet, she didn't dare to cry out loud or even hold her cheek.

She cut out a sorry figure, but Prithvi felt no pity or pleasure, as unusual as the latter was. Were these the consequences of a dead heart?

Instead, he felt disgusted.

Her palpable fear, the tears and mucus running down her face reminded him of a person who disturbed him, even more so that she was a part of him and he a part of hers in ways that were meant to be beautiful, but only sickened him.

Harita.

The name evoked a mix of anger and revulsion, the thought processes behind those emotions more hateful than themselves. They always swept across him, body and soul.

In the eyes of others, he had gone silent, scaring them to death, especially the woman whose blood dripped from her cheek to the ground, Prithvi watching, an unreadable look in his eyes. It was burdensome.

He knew too.

"Get out."

Those two words had everyone rushing out, the two who went to carry the unconscious doctor leaving last. The door shut and Prithvi stayed a bit, watching the carved panel doors before looking away and back to the desk.

The print was glaring.

Madam Harita is sick. She has refused to eat and might die at this rate.

That witch's guts...

Prithvi placed the paper back down and rubbed his eyes. His fingertips came back moist.

He paused to take a closer look, rubbing them against each other to make sure. And when he was, he felt pissed all of a sudden, an unexplained ache and anger rising up from nowhere. Prithvi grabbed the paper and ripped it in half and then another. He was so angry that he pitched it everywhere, scattering the pieces across the desk, some strewn on the flooring.

It was good riddance to bad rubbish. It was. It wasn't. It was?

He wanted, needed to put all these useless thoughts to rest.

A glass of vodka later and Prithvi was settled on a chair on the patio where he could have a direct feel of the cool night air. It always did wonders for his temper. It hadn't failed here.

He took a sip and pressed the rim to pursed lips, a peculiar habit, the ring on the middle finger of the hand used to hold glass conspicuously missing. His mind refused to settle. Instead, it chose to wander, go back to something that Bhairav said when they spoke on the phone a few nights back. Perhaps, he had said it in passing but it had stuck with Prithvi.

You are so resilient, Prithvi.

It was a compliment. Yet he had felt offended. Why was he always resilient, strong, and tenacious?  Weren't they such good qualifiers because all he had ever faced in life were hurdles? Bastard, half-breed, weren't those tags a forever stain despite all his hard work?! 

Thump. Thump. Damn. 

There it was again, that throbbing in his chest. He hated this, the entirety. Prithvi grabbed his phone from the table. He took another sip of vodka. The number that he dialed picked up on the first ring.

"Do everything to save her." Then he cut it off immediately.

He didn't wait around because he knew what he'd hear. Any longer and Prithvi thought that he would have retracted his statement because he wasn't quite certain that this passion was strongest.

He had let himself go. Perhaps, he'd be glad that he did in the future. Perhaps, he would regret it.

That old sack would be sorry if she made him regret this day. He was giving her one chance. But if she made him wish that he hadn't, all he could say was that she'd wish that she had thrown him into a river to drown and not left him on those steps.

What a powerful bond that they shared like a twisted rope. It could save. It could plunge. It hurt without end, the reflection of his own hurt without end.

Prithvi took another sip.