|: Just My Soul :|
A/N : Before I start, let me warn you, Abhijeet is not, I repeat, NOT in the story. Those who are virtually incapable of seeing Tarika having a life without Abhijeet, or having a self-dependent, respectable life at all, can happily skip this.
Contains some very dark content and swearing. Not recommended for kids.
Inspired by several other stories and movies. Song credits: Bless Myself by Lucy Hale.
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Disappointment.
A sudden wave of unexpected disappointment seeps into her as she holds the paper in her hand. Ninety-two percent, third in the entire college. She frowns. Her eyes focus on one particular spot on the consolidated mark-sheet. Mathematics- the subject reads in a bold font and what is more shocking for her is the number that lays below. Fifty-eight. 'Just a fucking fifty-eight in that bloody bitch of a subject!' She swears under her breath, wanting to scrunch the mark-sheet beneath her fists.
'Thank you so much for not pitying with me and screwing up my marks' She mutters narrowing her eyes at the subject in question and flops the result into her handbag. She sees people approaching her to congratulate- some genuinely, some just for the sake of being in her good books. She walks off, closing her eyes momentarily.
She wants to see and talk to no one at the moment. Stepping out into the premises, and sensing her mood returning closer to normal, she heads to a nearby ice-cream parlour, ordering for a Magnum Chocolate Truffle. 'Congratulations, Tarika, for standing third in the college. And Maths, screw your ass. I won't let those useless integrations and derivatives take control of my career. One more term and I'm done with you.' She assures herself, letting the chocolate cream melt in her mouth.
Smiling satisfactorily, she pays the vendor and looks for an auto. To head towards her world of solace.
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Relief.
She senses a much-wanted feeling of relief take over her, as she sees her parents walk out the house. Four long hours, all to herself. That's what she has been longing for, since ages. She remembers grinning inwardly when she tells her parents of her not wanting to come to the Goddamned movie and dinner on the pretext of- just not wanting to come. She needs no valid reason.
Picking up the phone, she dials a number. "I'm sorry, I won't be able to make it to the plan. My relatives are coming over and I need to be at home, you know." She lies, trying to sound as innocent as she can, and rolls her eyes as she hears the disappointed voice of her friend on the other end. "You always have some excuse ready for ditching us, Tarika." She hears her friend complain, and cuts in abruptly. "Sorry, they're here. I got to go. See ya!" She disconnects, her face still displaying a smug smile.
She knows a huge list of swear words would be waiting for her the next time she would be meeting them. She will be tagged as mean, inconsiderate and an antisocial loner. But, she doesn't care.
Unfazed by the impending complaints of her friends and parents, she picks up her book, left unnoticed since days and wastes no time in getting drowned in it.
With a pin-drop silence manning the house which is all to herself, she smiles again. Ohh, how she loves being alone!
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Stress.
She feels deep painful stress encroaching into her as she straightens herself, after having bent down to examine the corpse for a good ten minutes. After spending the night staying up to complete a report and with four dead bodies shoved in the lab for post-mortem, it isn't helping her much.
She winces in slight pain, gently massaging her lower back, her eyes subconsciously scanning around for any signs of a helping hand. Sadly, there isn't any with Dr. Salunkhe being away on a conference. Sighing wearily, she gets back to work.
This isn't the first time she has to handle the lab single-handedly. For times like this, the forensic expert Dr. Tarika knows it best to handle it herself.
She presses her nape to release the stress, just before the team barges in, ACP Pradyuman leading them. Wasting no time in routine enquiry, he comes straight to the point. "Tarika, what did you find? What's the cause of murder?" He demands and she shakes her head, ready with the answers.
"All four, murdered at approximately the same time, same place. Rigormortis has just started approaching, which means the murder took place not before six-seven hours. So far, the likely cause of death is poisoning, if we go by the whitened faces and bluish lips. Upon checking their roughened feet and hands, it might be a possibility they were employed in an ice-factory or so. Because these marks are similar to the ones you get when you play with ice for long." She finishes, pointing to one of the deceased victim's hand.
ACP Pradyuman says nothing, clearly indicating his dissatisfaction. She continues smiling to herself. "I've sent their blood samples for a DNA test, Sir. The reports will be before us in an hour." She speaks, her voice paler than anticipated.
The Assistant Commissioner understands, and without uttering a word in protest- unlikely to his usual self- he nods. "All right, then. Let us know." With that, he strides off, the team following him out.
Once they are out of sight, she rolls her eyes. Not a single soul has bothered to notice the weariness, the tiredness in her, she ponders over. If Vivek and Tasha were there, things would have been different altogether. With them not being by her side, she knows just too well how to handle it.
She stretches. Stretches her arms to ease the stress, forgetting the fact that she is standing in the forensic lab, with half a dozen cameras watching over her. 'It's ok, Tarika. You'll be ok.' She tells herself, smiling ruefully before resuming the pending examination.
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Fury.
A violent flame of fury mingled with shock knocks itself on her as she sees the lifeless body lying in front of her. She clamps her hand on her mouth to ease her ragged breathing.
Her hand trembles vigorously as she bends down to check his pulse. Dead. A soft gasp escapes her lips, and she feels her body turning pale. Composing herself, she carefully pulls the pen-knife out from the man's chest, more blood oozing out of it.
Having one look at his face, then at the knife in her hand and back at the remorseless face, the feeling of shock and regret suddenly changes into an intense hatred and disgust. "The pen-knife was intended to go into the bastard's chest and not his shoulder where I'd aimed. Serves him right, the asshole!" She shouts to herself and to the empty streets.
She clenches her fists tightly, remembering the moment when the evildoer had advanced on her, his eyes shamelessly traversing every inch of her body, causing her to use her pen-knife as a mechanism for self-defence. "I hope every despicable scoundrel ends like you for misbehaving with a woman!" She spits on the dead-body and runs. Runs until she is out of breath.
The cops would be knowing of the accidental murder any time soon and they will be questioning her. ACP Pradyuman would probably throw her out of CID. She will be facing trials at court. But, she cares the least.
Letting the agony, the anger out is what she knows is the most important of all. Or she might end up killing someone else. Deliberately.
She runs until she knows she has reached just where she wants. Throwing one look at the sleeping security guard, she marches inside the shooting range which appears more barren and haunted than the streets outside.
Her breathing still running as ragged as before, her lungs possibly waiting to explode out any moment, she plunges for the gun placed on the counter. Steadying her breathing, she positions herself in front of one of the targets in the soundproof firing range. She does not need the protective head-gear against the ear-splitting sound of the gunshots.
The sound of the firing rings in her ears as she pulls the trigger. But, it has no effect on her for the hatred, the turmoil in her head is violent enough to dissolve any external factors surrounding her. She continues pressing the trigger, her hand gripping the gun as forcefully as it could, her jaw stiffened over her gritted teeth.
Another one. And another. She goes on without blinking an eye, until the gun is out of bullets. Until the target is filled with bullet marks, its head blown off to a distance. She throws the emptied gun to a side.
She pants. Pants and grunts. Until she feels herself calming down. Her soul, however, still seems insatiate. "AAAAAAAHHHH!" She screams. Yells at the top of her lungs and her breathing becomes heavy yet again.
Her mind is just not ready to calm. She gets agitated. Paranoid. She takes long strides back and forth in the room, trying to soothe her mind.
No, it is adamant for its own.
Closing her eyes momentarily, she finally pulls out her pen-knife and does something she has never imagined herself doing in the wildest of dreams.
Holding it right before her palm, she draws a neat line across it, not a single nerve of pain showing on her face. She watches it turn red. Dark intense red, identical to the uproar in her mind. Blood drips down to the ground. She watches it, her face devoid of any unfathomable expression. The turmoil in her head has still not pacified.
Her eyes are dry, empty of any emotion as she dips her finger in the blood. Her lids frozen at their place, she walks ahead and scribbles on the wall behind the target. 'A Woman Is Not A Toy!' It reads in a big bold font in a dark shade of red.
Having one look at it, she walks out, her breathing finally returning to a normal pace.
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Indifference.
Indifference is all she can feel as she answers the call from ACP Pradyuman. "I've had a word with the higher authorities. They're ready to take your case into consideration and pass it as an accidental death." She feels the hesitation and discomfort in his voice.
She finds her voice unnaturally calm. "Sir, I've never denied killing him. I'm ready to go through the trials." She speaks a bit too casually. "It's all right, Tarika. I'll handle this." ACP Pradyuman interrupts and after a long pause, ploughs on, albeit in a more fatherly tone. "I wish all girls were as brave as you."
She simply smiles as she disconnects the call. The outcome does not affect her, for she knows she was prepared for the worst- even to end up in jail. She doesn't know how to react. She doesn't feel happy, and she was never disheartened either, because of the whole situation.
No, she isn't heartless or emotionless, as people around her would be judging her by her attitude. She just has a way to handle every emotion. To trust no one but her own soul for whatever the hell life throws at her.
Her eyes wander to her bandaged hand, and she merely smiles at it.
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Pain.
A sharp pang of pain rushes through her veins she tries sitting upright in her bed. She grimaces, her entire body emerged in soreness as she reaches for the button beside the bed, but decides against it. Just two days, and she is already bored out of her wits in the isolated hospital room.
No one can help it, anyways. She is diagnosed with dengue, and the team is not supposed to visit her for long for the fear of catching an infection. She sighs heavily and clutches her head as sudden pain surges through it.
Her mobile buzzes indicating the arrival of a message and she gives a wry smile as she reads the name on screen.
'Yo sleepyhead! Hope that dengue is not troubling you much. I and Vivek have sent love... to the mosquito which bit you, of course. ;) :P Anyways, can't wait to annoy you again. :)'
She gives a soft laugh as she types a reply. 'Bitch! I'm in pain and you're least bothered as always. Wait till we meet, you pea-brain. And give that pig my love.'
Her head starts throbbing as she puts the phone away. Sitting up isn't a good idea after all. She lies back on the bed, attaching the ear-phones and turns the music on. She isn't allowed to listen to stuff with the ear-phones, but that's all she needs at the moment. She listens, waiting for the tranquilizers to take effect.
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Peace.
All she needs is a moment of peace as she returns home after a long, hectic day. Coffee doesn't always do the trick for her. Freshening up as hastily as she can, she heads straight to her best friend in the house- her guitar.
After her own self, it is the second thing she trusts for the much-needed dose of a stress-buster. Positioning it on her lap, she strums, singing her favourite tune.
There's a little secret
I would like to tell you
There's a book of lies
I know they'll try to sell you
And they'll try, and they'll try
To convince you to buy you need 'em
So the next time you're down
Look inside not around.
I can bless myself
There's no need for someone's help
There's no one to blame
There's no one to save you but yourself
I can justify all the mistakes in my life
It's taught me to be, it's givin' me me
And I'll survive
'Cause I have blessed myself.
She continues stringing for an hour, oblivious of the surroundings around her, sensing the weariness carried away by the melodious tunes floating in the air.
"I will survive the darkest of times. Cause I've blessed myself with my soul. Just my soul" She speaks to her best friend, gently caressing its edges before putting it safely in its place.
~~ The End ~~
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A/N : Slaughter me, strangle me, burn me alive for this. I care the least and I regret nothing. This story was for myself and I feel utterly satisfied to have written it. Sometimes, all you need to do is, understand a woman very deeply, for you never know what situation she has to go through at every point in life and what she does to get her out of it, all by herself.
Being lonely, going antisocial or living for herself does not mean a woman doesn't need anyone. Sometimes, she trusts no one but herself capable enough to handle her life. She relies only upon her soul, being confident enough to emerge out of any mess life throws at her.
Quick clarification. Tarika doesn't break up with Abhijeet. In fact, she never falls in love with him or anyone else, for that matter. A guy by the name Abhijeet never exists in her life. That's how it is, and that's how I wanted it to be, in this story.
No compulsion on liking it, no qualms on hating it either.