She woke up from sleep to silence. She’d lost track of space and time. Her heart beats were racing as if to catch that one last breath. She couldn’t even feel the pain, she wanted to, to feel alive. Her arms and legs were badly bruised, she had no clue what had happened to her. She gathered all her strength to collect herself and rise up from the bed that was covered with her blood all over. As she elevated her left leg, an impulse stream of pain ran down her spine and she collapsed on the floor like a deplorable old house, she grabbed the edge of her bed with both hands and made her way to the bath. It took her 15 minutes of toil to finally reach there. She faced the mirror and couldn’t face herself, smudged kajal, rashes on the face, clothes, as if burnt in the scorching heat. She was surprised to see herself without a clue about the previous night, was it an act of decadence that casted such wounds on her? She wondered in fear. She made her way back to the bedroom which seemed to be a mile away now. The bed was cold, so was her body. She couldn’t feel her heart beats, now, all that was left of her was pain, everywhere. She stared at the ceiling, white and void, like her soul, for a couple of minutes when her phone rang, a male voice on the other side uttered, “Hope you enjoyed the night, Happy Valentine’s”
