Give Your Heart a Break

Proloue

Someone once said that life is all about perspective. But is it really? The first time he punched her in the stomach in the middle of an argument, waves of excruciating pain coursed through her fragile body as she fell on the floor, struggling to open her eyes. In a trivial argument, he left her with severe bruises and an emotional trauma. One punch, and her dreams shattered before her eyes like a house of cards. Such was her dilemma. Her 'prince charming' was not a prince anymore, and was certainly not charming. She tried her best to fix things, but her tolerance had a limit. You can keep shit under your pillow and call it adjustment, but it will stink. Stink miserably. Stink beyond repair. She was not afraid of her broken self. She was afraid of her broken heart. How could someone change so much almost overnight? Her future seemed bleak and she perpetually lived in fear. The same man who had promised to treat her as his queen had turned her into a damsel in distress. His lethal actions knew no bounds. He could do anything—and that scared her to death. Recalling the past, she tries to think of the good memories rather than the bad ones. If only she had any good ones. The memories associated to negative emotions overpower her every time she looks at the wire, broom and knife in the balcony. How these sinless weapons have reluctantly tasted every part of her soulless body. The Sunday morning is foggy, and she is lying on her bed. It is 5 a.m., and she cannot sleep. She is curled up under her sheet. The memories of her sufferings hit her back and forth. They would ask her questions and if she failed to answer, they would whip the soul out of her. She cannot f ind the energy to confront the challenges of life. Though she is awake, she does not want to get out of bed. She is physically exhausted. Mentally drained. She wonders what is wrong with her life. She contemplates if she is living or just existing. 'It's tough for me, I can't live like this. If I want to live, I need to make a decision. Otherwise, it's not worth living.' By now, the sunlight is streaming through the gaps in the blinds. Now awake, she looks tired and her hair is messy. She walks to the mirror, and lightly touches her broken jaws and bruised cheeks. She feels damaged. She thinks of her present, the frustrations that seemed to have gripped her mind. She is unable to think rationally. Her head is throbbing. She approaches the balcony once again, and thinks of her weak defences—this time, unhesitatingly to seek vengeance.