The blade was an inch away from her shaking wrist. The hand shook as the cold blade finally touched her warm skin.
She plopped clumsily on the pristine white bathroom floor and buried her face on the trembling knees. And then she cried. First time in weeks, she let out a scream which was hardly audible–she barely had any energy left inside.
She remembered the time when they had first met, and how her world had exploded in technicolor. Head dizzy with happiness, laughters bright as sunshine, spring on every step and bright shiny eyes like the beautiful night sky.
But with time, people change, equations change, circumstances change. It had taken her a really long time to understand that she is stuck in an emotionally abusive relationship. It started with verbal abuses during fights; and before she could realize it escalated into an almost regular occurrence. The constant put downs, the sneers, name callings–he was extracting all self confidence, esteem and happiness out of her, like a slow poison.
There were good times too, though. Because, when he used to be the person she had once fallen in love with, he was almost magical and too good to be true. But there was this constant feeling of walking on eggshells, because when he will transform from the loving guy to the monster, she could never really tell.
Tears started streaming down her face as she recalled last night, how he had started a fight out of nowhere and broken a vase while yelling ‘YOU BITCH!’ at the top of his lungs. She was terrified standing in one corner waiting for the storm to pass, as he hurled abuses one after the other in his drunken haze.
She had once confided her ordeal to a close friend, to which she had said, ‘But he never physically abuses you, right?’ How could she have made someone understand that the psychological abuse is far worse, because bruises and broken bones may heal with time; emotional scars stay put like a nasty stain for years. No one would have believed, that the otherwise, soft spoken, charming man in public, is actually a beast behind closed doors.
She looked around the bathroom. Sunlight was streaming in through the window and bathing the white floor in a warm glow. She loved him. She couldn’t leave him; but she couldn’t stay like this either. He was in office and had no idea that she had decided to skip office and end it all today.
She bravely took the blade and made a little cut near the wrist. A drop of blood oozed out as she shuddered at the sight. She remembered all the times her father used to take her for shots at the hospital and she used to scream her lungs out. She hated injections. She hated hospitals. And most importantly, she hated blood.
She inhaled sharply and told herself it will only take a second and she won’t feel the pain. She saw hazy images of her parents’ smiling face. Her grandparents. Her best friends who knew her since childhood. Her colleagues. Her dogs.
‘Young architect kills herself in her Versova apartment’, she could imagine next day’s newspaper headline. She saw her mother holding her little brother and collapsing on the floor from shock. She saw her father sitting like a stone, too shocked to react. She saw her friends writing ‘RIP’ messages all over her social media platforms.
Everyone was talking about what a talented, caring, funny girl she was. Was. She quivered a little, at the thought. Her parents will probably never be able to forgive themselves and keep blaming themselves for everything, even though it was never their fault to begin with. Her grandparents will probably never be able to live with the shock at all. Years later, she would just a be a story that everyone talks about and sheds a few tears for, maybe once a year.
She decided she won’t be just a story. She won’t be that vulnerable and malleable puppet in the hands of an insecure demon any more. She will live to tell the tale.
She threw the blade away.