One Day At A Time

Chapter Twenty Three - Through The Wringer (1)

Seventy-two hours of promised hell and Kabir was burning in it. The withdrawals were meant to be the worst for the first three days, he had been told. But the knowledge was not helping one bit as the craving kept thwarting the resistance to that one puff without which he thought he would lose his mind very soon. The intense pangs had brought on a severe headache which refused let go of its hold, and as a result, sleep had evaded him the whole night. The following morning had been worse, and he had come back home in the afternoon after rehearsals to spend an entire day in absolute misery. It was a day before his show on Christmas Eve, and he wondered how he was going to perform with the persistent tingles in his hands.

He picked up his guitar and tried to concentrate on the songs he was meant to perform on stage the next night but felt restless and claustrophobic in his room and decided to go to the terrace to get some fresh air.

"Beta, have dinner. I have made your favourite—"

"Nahin chahiye." He snapped at his mother and closed his eyes when a stab of guilt pricked his conscience instantly. But the nausea was back with a vengeance with the mere mention of food, and he was struggling to cope with it. "Sorry, Ma. Not hungry. I'm upstairs if you need me." He said softly and didn't wait for her response. He picked up his guitar and left the house.

—-

His head was pounding as Kabir rested his back against the parapet of the terrace and began to strum the strings one by one. The cool evening breeze played with his hair as he took in a lungful of fresh air and closed his eyes hoping to relax for a bit and maybe even catch a wink, something that seemed to be evading him for the last twenty-four hours. The craving came back to bother him again, making him more fidgety by the second. One goddamned puff won't kill, he thought despite his brain protesting, after which he would quit forever, he was sure of that.

Not being able to ignore the pang anymore, he got up and walked towards the row of plant pots kept at one end of the terrace. He fumbled for the pack of cigarettes, and lighter he had stashed away behind the Tulsi and found it instantly. A red frilly dress and a pair of lambent round eyes staring at the cigarette pressed between his lips in disgust flashed in front of his eyes for a fraction of a second and disappeared quickly. He blinked a couple of times and frowned. Shirley. He shook his head and let out a big sigh. These withdrawals were making him delirious. Of course, he wasn't quitting because of her, why the hell would he?! He hadn't quit when Khush was after his life night and day for so long! His father's minacious words had finally made him do it. He looked at the pack in his hand and was about to throw it away when he heard a soft footfall behind him.

"Quit this shit, Chhotu." Arnav walked up to him and glanced at the pack in Kabir's hands. "De mujhe, let me throw it away."

When Kabir looked into his eyes so full of love for him, a strong urge to hug him rippled through his heart, but he ignored it. He reminded himself that his brother was his nemesis. Someone he fought with often and fought dirty to prove himself or a point. His guardian, his friend, someone who always had his back, yet had stabbed him exactly in the same place. Someone who had always shown him how to play fair, yet had played unfairly himself. His fingers twitched for a cigarette. "Why?" Kabir asked as he looked at him and pulled his arm away from Arnav.

"Why!" Arnav chuckled. "I have said this to a few of my peeps who need to quit as well, but no one has ever asked me this question!" He said as the slight curve to the lips met the dimple on his cheek.

When Kabir didn't respond, Arnav ruffled his curly quiff fondly. "It's your health that I am worried about, Chhotu. This shit is poison."

Kabir felt a burn of anger build up inside him, and he moved away from Arnav. "Bhai! My ultimate saviour in life is here!" He said with a mock smile.