Love Me Thoda Aur 💕💞

2.

Drishti's POV

It has been two weeks that I shifted here and I have already started my work on the project.

Staying here is pretty fun especially when you have a neighbour to annoy.

Although I feel bad because it looks like he is not sleeping well but he was the one who annoyed me first.

I know it was because of me that he got hurt but I apologized. That too twice. But instead of being humble and accepting my apology he started to rebuke me.

I hate jerks and I hate my neighbour.

Since, the whole day I am at work, so I irritate him at night by playing loud music.

One of the wall of our houses is connected so the voice is very loud for him.

Honestly speaking, the way he looks at me with those intense eyes of his giving me glares, it sends shivers down my spine. 

Lekin mai bhi mai hu. Peechhe toh hatne nhi wali. 

Today also I reached home and took a nice shower.

After that I connected my phone to the speaker and started playing loud music waiting for him to arrive banging at my door.

I waited for half an hour. An hour. Two hours. But nothing happened.

Is he dead? I switch off the music and put my ear to the wall trying to listen any voice from the other end.

Usually I hear a lot of shuffling and other voices throughout the day.

But today it is silent. No movement.

I look at the time. Its only 10. Is he asleep so early? Is he sick? He seemed like he was really tired when he came last night. Should I check on him?

'Ek minute! Why are you so worried?'

He is my neighbour ofcourse I am worried. Itni buri insaan nhi hu mai. I love to annoy him but I do have humanity in me.

After convincing myself, I opened the door of my apartment and stood in front of his.

I rang the bell and waited for an answer. Nothing.

I rang the bell again. Again no response. 

Maybe he not at home. Yeah! It could be.

I shrugged and went back to my apartment.

I slumped on the bed and looked at my ceiling. My thoughts were constantly running around him. Rakshit. Yeah! I got to know his name.

His name is hot though!

'So is he!'

Just a week and I got habitual of him banging my door. Today he is not here and...I miss him.

Argh! No Drishti! No you don't!

Yeah right! I don't miss him. I just-I just-

I sigh. I close my eyes trying to sleep.

Rakshit's POV

*Trigger warning. Mention of physical abuse*

I arrive in my apartment shivering badly. I enter my bedroom and lock it from inside. I get inside the sheets and lay in ball position with the blanket clutched tightly in my fists.

"Its ok. Its fine. She is not here. She can't come here. Its fine. Its fine."

I mumble continuously trying to control my breaths and heartbeat.

This is what happens whenever I visit them. I wanted to deny but I had not excuse left.

I hate myself because whenever I go in front of her I become the 8 year old boy again.

All those memories and those nights that I spent crying and shivering in fear comes back to me.

I remember how I used to hide inside my room locking it from inside to prevent her from coming to my room. How I used to be curled up like this and cry in fear the whole night. 

I feel so useless and worthless because I know that she holds that power on me and she knows it too. She uses it for her benefit.

I was eight years old when all this started. 

I was sitting in the living room watching tv and enjoying my favourite show when I heard shouting voices.

I tiptoed towards the noises and peeked in through the door to see my parents fighting.

Mumma was yelling at papa.

"Kya kehna chahte ho tum? Ki kami mujhme hai? I am the one to be blamed?"

(What do you want to say? That I am the one who is at fault?)

"Maine aisa kab kaha meri jaan. But meri baat toh suno-"

(When did I say such. Listen to me-)

"Mujhe kuch nhi sunna. Chale jaao yaha se."

(I don't want to hear anything. Go away from here.)

She yelled angrily and papa sighed. He slowly left from there. I hid behind the door and waited for him to leave.

I stood in front of the door and smiled at her.

"Mumma!"

I exclaimed happily in order to make her smile. But today, instead of smiling, she looked at me with anger and accusation.

She marched towards me angrily and slapped me. Hard. I fell to the floor clutching my cheek and whimpering.

I looked at her and she seethed in anger.

"Kaam nhi hai tumhe kuch? Kya kr rhe ho yaha?"

(Don't you have any work? What are you doing here?)

She yelled and pulled me up harshly ignoring my whimpers and cries of pain.

"Mumma! Dard ho rha hai."

(It's hurting.)

I cried holding my cheek and wiping the blood of my busted lip.

She threw me in my room and shouted.

"Achhi baat hai. Tumhe aur tumhare baap ko pata lagna chahiye ki kaisa lagta hai jab dard hota hai."

(Good. You and your father should know how it feels when it hurts.)

She shut the door hard and left leaving me alone crying in pain and fear.

I was eight at the time. I didn't know why I was slapped and what was my mistake. I told papa and he said that she was my mother and she would never want bad for me.

And that's how it all started. In the beginning it was slaps for every little thing. I did not do my homework. Slap! I asked money for picnic. Slap! I asked papa for the same and he gave me. Slap!

I would get slapped for every thing that I did and did not. 

For two whole years this continued. I always used to think about why was I getting beaten. Why was my own mother hitting me. And that's when I got to know the truth.

I accidently found a photo of a lady in my father's almirah and when I inquired he told me that she was my birth mother. My real mother. 

My father had remarried because my mother had died a month after my birth. And since I was very young and he needed someone for me, he remarried.
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