One Shot- Awara

One Shot: Awara

Haaye andar hi andar se toota main
Tere ishq mein khud hi se rootha main

As he sang those words, his gaze automatically landed on the woman standing on the right, behind the curtains. But then, when was she ever in front? It was always in the back for her. So why had he expected something different this time around? He ought to have had enough sense not to go messing around with her. But still, he had been painfully attracted to her, so much so that he had followed her around, almost to the extent of stalking her. His efforts had proven successful, but only to fail later on. As his part was done, he tried to smile at the audience. A depressed star never pleased anyone after all. They were obliged to please everyone. It was the same schedule every single night. He waited for the show to get over and he ran away. Away from the lights, away from the stardom, away from her and away from the expectations he was expected to surpass.

Today was nothing different from the earlier days. He slowly got off the stage and ran to his car, not caring that someone was screaming and shouting behind him and calling for 'security'. It was all normal to him now. They did this to avoid negative publicity; he did this to escape from any kind of publicity.

He got into his car and the radio was already switched on. It was a ritual for the driver to do this. He used the music to help block all the thoughts in his mind.

Teri baahon mein jo sukoon tha milaa
Maine dhoondha bahut par, phir na mila

For the first time, music didn't help him. His song was taunting him and there was nothing he could do about it. He wanted to scream, shout, bellow, and ask everyone why this happened to him. But he could only wish to do so. He was human, and that was his biggest mistake. He was expected to maintain decorum. Such unrealistic expectations only succeeded in breaking people down. All the decorum he maintained in public went out of the window in private in the form of glass and blood.

He curtly ordered his driver to turn off the radio, unable to listen to his own voice.

His car pulled up in his driveway and he got off, coat in one hand and a bottle of water in another. His security guard opened the door, asking no questions, expecting no answers in return.

Taking the lift to his penthouse, he collapsed on the bar on the sides. The lift slowly went up, dragging his weight along with it. The doors opened to reveal his penthouse, as clean as ever. Yellow lights lit up the room and furniture decorated it. He went into his room, where no one except his most trusted maid was allowed to enter and he saw that she had cleaned it up according to his liking.

He placed the coat on his coat hanger and took off his shirt, leaving him in a west. He then changed into his shorts and took out his most prized possession from inside the drawer. He picked up the punching gloves and put it on.

As he was done, he looked at the punching bag with a fierce look in his eyes. If only looks could burn. He started punching it furiously, not caring that the punching bag was crashing against the windows. He could feel the pain in his hands and soon enough, he removed the punching gloves and the bandages, which was covered in blood like it always was. Satisfied with the dark red stained bandage, he went into the washroom to remove all the blood.

He kept his hand under the flowing water, cringing at first when the water started running, but then getting used to it. When the blood had washed away and had left his spotless white sink red, he picked up a hand towel and cleaned his knuckles and his hand.

After he was done, he went to pick up the pieces of glasses of the window which was remaining. Soon, he knew he would have to replace it like he had done three times earlier.

One of the pieces of glass pierced him and blood started oozing out. This wasn't an unusual occurrence though. It happened most of the times he cleaned up. Soon, more blood started leaking out. He quickly pressed the remote next to him right before he collapsed.

He found himself clean and on the bed, alone.

Finding himself alone was the worst outcome of their whole ordeal. After the initial weeks of their break up, he had tried to move on with every girl he could find who was attracted to him and there was no dearth of girls who wanted to be with him. But he simply found himself longing for her more than earlier, longing for her touch, her scent and simply her presence. He felt like the others had tarnished her image in his senses. He could see her face in his mind, smiling and moving on happily and he tried the same. He tried to be indifferent with her but on the inside; he knew it hurt me physically to even look at her smile. At times, he felt like she was acting but then he reprimanded myself for even thinking that way but all the reprimanding never worked. His heart and mind wouldn't listen and when they were united, he had no control over them. All he could do was hate himself and try to stop himself from breaking.

Thank you Mugsy for helping me out with this. 🤗 Also, I believe angst is starting to suit me well. 😛

Love,
Ananya