Destiny's Gamble

Gone

Manik's POV

"What the fuck makes you think I'll still believe you after all the lies?" I scoff in disbelief. "I'm a fool for believing in you once, but know this without a sliver of doubt, I won't allow myself to fall into your trap again." 

"You're a fool if you don't believe my words." Angel snaps, turning around. "If I wanted a chance with you then I could've seduced you before our marriage. In fact, I would've not started off on the wrong foot with you; we would've jumped straight to the love sessions. But I didn't because guess what, Manik? I didn't care!" 

Angel lifts herself on her tiptoes, reaching for the suitcase that's resting above the closet.

"You want a spoonful of truth? Fine! Here it is," she continues. "I developed feelings for you back when you were still in a relationship with Alya. I could've confessed then, made advances on you, but I didn't. Why? Because I respected what you had with my cousin." Angel turns around to face me as she lowers the suitcase to the bed. "I'm not an opportunist, Manik. Not once has my love for you been influenced by the number of notes in your bank account, by the lifestyle you lead, or by anything other than who you are." Angel's voice cuts off towards the end, tears filling her eyes. "My heart opened up to you because of the man you are, not because of what you own. Clearly, though, my emotions are misplaced." She forces a smile onto her lips. "Thank you for opening my eyes, Manik." 

Without a word, I turn around and yank open the room door. I need to get out of here - out of this house - and away from any other human being. The walls are closing in around me, the oxygen in this house wearing thin. Inhaling and exhaling controlled breaths, I pinch the material of my shirt between my index and thumb finger, shaking it vigorously. Sweat breaks out across my brow as I head down the stairs and towards the main door. 

The world may end for others sometime else, but today it has burnt to ash for me. How could Angel say I'm a bloody rapist? If she views me from those eyes then I don't want her to ever look at me again. Had someone else accused me of this sin I wouldn't have bothered to defend myself even once, but Angel... 

I let out an agonizing scream, burying my face in my palms. Unable to remain standing I sink to the floor on my knees. 

"Manik?" Angel calls, her tone clouded with concern. I look up to find her rushing towards the railing of the upstairs landing. Her eyes land on me, worry evident on her face. Seeing I'm okay, Angel purses her lips and turns around to head back into her room.

Why do you care for a man who's a rapist in your eyes? Defeated, I hang my head low, my palms resting on my thighs. An odd mixture of anger and disappointment is spreading through my veins. A few minutes ago I was angry at Angel, but now that emotion is directed towards me. How could I misjudge her in such a manner and treat her with such harshness in the former days of our marriage? She's right, not once did I hear her out. Rage was all I showered her with. The culmination of the anger I felt towards Alya, her family and for being betrayed once more was all taken out on Angel. Back then, just like today, she became a victim of my anger. 

My head jerks in the direction of the upstairs landing as I hear Angel's room door click open. She's making her way towards the stairs with a suitcase in tow. I've fucked up. My gaze travels around the interior of my house, a boulder settling itself onto my heart. What will I do in here all alone? Until Angel stepped foot in my house I didn't realize how quiet and lonesome this place was without her presence. Not one day passed when she didn't fill this space with her excited voice; a sound that has become my favorite sound in the world. Even when I would be sulking in the lounge or in my room, I could hear the muffled sound of her clattering dishes in the kitchen as she cooked food – not an ounce of effort spared – only to have me chuck it in the bin. The thought of my house returning to its quiet state is quite upsetting.

I keep my eyes fixated on Angel as she descends the stairs. I've let her down. Not only because I mistreated her before, just like I did today, but because she thinks I'm a man who can abuse a woman. Angel stops at the base of the stairs, her gaze traveling towards me. My eyes land on the rivulet of dried blood which is seeping down Angel's arm and towards her wrist. What have I done? This sight snaps me back to reality. I've done that. The very emotions that make me a Devil are sucked out of my system in a mere second. Angel is bleeding because of me. 

 She opens her mouth to say something, but then shuts it, shaking her head as if I'm not worth her words. I absolutely agree with her thoughts; I'm not worthy of her. She loved me wholeheartedly and pain is how I thank her for all that affection. The proof of her pain is trickling its way down her arm - a wound I've inflicted upon Angel. 

Tearing her eyes away from me, Angel makes her way past me and towards the door. My gaze follows her movements like a hawk. Don't go. Even if I was left with minimal energy I'd invest it all into holding her back. My actions of today are irreversible and I doubt that regret will help to rectify their results. 

She pulls open the front door, a cold gust of wind making its way into my house. A shiver passes through my spine. Angel stops and turns around, her hand still resting on the handle.

"Back when we got married," Angel says. "I didn't stay because I thought you to be a golden egg. In fact, a point came when I had decided to leave, but I stayed even after. Do you wish to know why, Manik? Because you upheld my respect in front of your mother and in public. That meant you viewed me with dignity in your eyes too. Today, however, you showed me where I stand – a point of no respect – and I can't compromise as far as my self-respect is concerned. Nobody should." Her eyes continue to watch me. The longer she stares the greater is the buildup of tears in her eyes. "The worst part of it all is that if you tell me to stop and stay even now, I might just."

I meet Angel's gaze head-on with a neutral expression. Externally I may seem unaffected by this entire situation, but little does Angel know that I'm dying internally. Without another word, my wife steps out of my house and onto the driveway. I watch her back as she makes her way further away from me and closer towards the gate. No, wait! Stop. I see Angel hesitate momentarily as if she's heard me. Her head tilts towards the side causing my heartbeat to quicken. Should I stop her? No, I can't make her a victim of my anger and watch as she wastes her life with the poor excuse of a man that I am. But what will be left of me once she's gone? I will perish into nothing.

I continue to watch her as the distance between our bodies increases. Increases. Increases. Until she's finally gone – out through the gate and my life.

Suddenly, the sun's rays begin to poke my eyes. I feel devoid of any emotion like an empty vessel.

"Don't go," I whisper hoarsely, unable to speak in a louder tone. I bite down on my lower lip, tears of frustration and utter helplessness seeping out of my eyes, with no intention whatsoever to stop. I have never been faced with such a situation in which I'm rendered useless; my hands tied behind my back. With shivering knees, I step back into my house and shut the main door, darkness spreading throughout the entire house. Unable to remain standing any longer, I sink to the floor, my back resting against the door. Even though I'm sitting on the ground it feels like I'm falling into a deep pit, with no way of escape.

"Please stay," I gasp out. "Angel, why can't you see how desperately I need you?" We've spent months together but I view this length of time as mere moments. You promised me a lifetime together. All my life I've despised myself except for the times when you've stood beside me, showing me the sunlight during dark days, explaining the true meaning of life to me. By now my face is a canvas for the tears that have no intention of stopping.

Grabbing the door handle, I pull myself off the ground. Somehow I make my way up the stairs and into my room. Plopping myself onto the bed like an empty sack, I grab my guitar, positioning it on my lap. Music – it has always helped. My fingers make contact with a chord, the sound resonating around the four walls of my room. The words of my favorite song – one that never fails to uplift my spirits – come to my tongue, but stay there.

"For I'm not a warrior," I whisper, my voicecracking. I'm unable to string together the proper lyrics of the song. With agroan the guitar string snaps from one end of the instrument. My life hasalready begun to reel out of control without Angel.