7 days

November 12 ( Part Two)

Trigger warning: Self harm + S/A + suicide.

Note: If you are having moments where you feel blue, and you can't seem to handle it on your own, then please seek help. Whether it's professional help, or from family and friends. No matter who you are, where you're from, no matter what burdens you carry, no matter the amount of sins on your head. You are important. You deserve love and understanding. Sometimes, simply talking about it, helps as well. If you don't have anyone then text me. I will respond. So don't ever think that you are alone. Maybe a jinn is watching over you. * Bad joke*
Anyways, I love you guys.
Bye.

POV: Mayank Markande

Mayank sat on the cold floor, legs crossed holding a scalpel he stole from a medical cart. The metal felt cold against his skin. He closed his eyes and touched his collar and thought of Shubman again. Seeing Shubman in front of him, having his skin brush against Mayank's neck, touching his hair was everything he had ever wanted to do. His life felt complete now.

The room got colder as the storm got worse, the dim light flickered on and off and burnt out, plunging the room into total darkness. Mayank took a deep breath and surrendered to the crawling sensation all over his body. He felt a sharp pain on his back, which traveled up his neck, then to his face. Mayank felt excruciating pain, and immense pressure all over his body, he gripped his pants and groaned, till he couldn't handle it anymore and a scream escaped his lips. He wasn't himself anymore.

' Hi Mayank'

Mayank tried to straighten up. He leaned back on the bed frame and wiped the sweat off his face.

' Are you afraid?'

'No..' Mayank's voice trembled.

' You realize this will end only in one way'

' I know'

Mayank's eyes wandered over to inky blackness tainting his veins.

' Any last words?'

Mayank slowly let out a deep breath.

' No'

Mayank saw his hands gripping the cold scalpel and bringing it towards his wrist. One quick slash, and the skin on his right wrist ripped open, splattering blood everywhere. Mayank stared at the scarlet drops staining the whites around him. His hand lifted again, and made another slash. A metallic smell engulfed him. He smiled to himself, at least the reek of rotting flesh was gone. He watched as his right hand took the scalpel and made a similar cut across his left wrist.

Once.

Twice.

Mayank lay down on the cold floor and watched the blood slowly flowing across the white tiles.

' What do you remember about your life?' a whisper.

' I...I remember the deafening darkness of the closet my father locked me in. I remember the warm hugs from Dadu'

Mayank heard the melody of the sitar and smiled.

' The sweetness of ripe mangoes that the servant used to cut up for me'

Mayank thought of the wrinkled hands of his servants as he used to make all of Mayank's favorite foods.

He brought his knees up to his chest as he started to shiver.

' I remember the muddy graveyards...the smell of the decomposing bodies...I ...I remember how she used to sneak into my room, after Dadu passed away..'

Mayank sobbed as he remembered how he used to beg her to stop. He gripped his shirt the way he used to grip the bed sheets. He could still feel her hair across his face, sliding down his chest, how it used to fall onto his thighs.

' Make ...make it stop' Mayank cried out.

' What about the boy you bound me for?'

He thought of Shubman. The first time he had laid eyes on him; love at first sight. It took Mayank seven days to gather the courage to admit his love for him. Seven days to recover from the rejection. Seven days to complete the ritual which stemmed from his obsession. Seven days to break Ishaan and Shubman apart. Now, Shubman belonged only to him.

' Woh...woh fitoor hei mera' he smiled.

Mayank felt himself getting sleepy, he blinked slowly and thought of the state he was in. Locked up in a psychiatric hospital, possessed by a jinn. He always knew he would have an end like this. He was nothing but a waste of space, nothing but a disappointment. No one ever loved him, no one ever touched him out of love, it was always lust. No one was going to miss him. He was going to be forgotten the minute he got cremated, and that's fine too. He didn't want to be remembered. He wasn't worth it. His absence won't hurt anyone.

His fingers messily scrawled something on the tiles.

Shubman Gill.

Even in his final moments he thought of Shubman. Shubman Gill, for whom he had lost everything. His mind, his life, his soul.

'Itna toh kisi ne chaaha bhi nehi hoga,
Jitna meine sirf socha hei tuhje.
Khoob yaad rahega daur humko,
Kya tarse the tere liye paane ko tuhjko'