Dedicated to its_dark_soul_

How could I let him kiss me?

How could I, in all my sanity, let him ever touch me?

How could I feel good when he touched me, instead of wrenching my guts out in a toilet seat?

I had no answer to that as I stand under the shower. Not in Basheer's room. The one at the far end of the floor. My pride had taken a hit when he discarded me like nothing.

I meant nothing to him.

Why does my heartache?

Do I want to mean something to him other than his captor?

Nehali! Wake up Nehali. Remember all those faces from your camp? Remember the pain, the agony your people have been suffering because of them?

I remember but in some part of my mind, I do believe he has something good in him. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn't.

From the time in the bathroom to him taking care of my wound and him taking my mouth in a rough kiss I had somehow come to trust him.

I should have hated him. But instead, I trusted him.

Trust ain't voluntary.

But he broke it. Didn't he?

Get your walls up Nehali.

I let the tears flow freely, the tears mixed with shower drops cascading down my curves. This is the only place I let myself cry. Last time I cried when I parted with my uniform, the day my fate took a u-turn. All my life when I had failed repeatedly, either at meeting my parent's expectations or my own I had allowed myself to break down, only here, where no one, not even myself could see me breaking down.

I hated crying. I hated how weak and ugly I looked crying. But sometimes this was the only way to let the pain go. Hence, I let it go in the secrecy of the running shower.

His words shouldn't have had any effect on me but somehow they did cut a huge gash somewhere I had no idea about. I had spent all five years in Medical School trying to reach my dream, when others had been busy dating, losing their virginities, doing every other thing a young blooded female and male would do. But I had refrained from all of it and often being called "weird" for that. Yesterday, under a spell, I had somehow given myself to him almost ready to lose my virginity to him. And then he broke his carefully woven spell.

Today must have been the longest time I spent under the shower crying. I close my eyes leaning my head against the shower glass.

A prisoner. That's what you are.

Only your prison is quite beautiful and your captivator is devilishly handsome.

My steely resolve returns as I decide I won't be swayed by the turns my fate is taking.

Trying to break me emotionally?

Well, you are going to fail.

I can bend, not break.

I close my eyes relishing the last few drops of water as they fall on my face before I close the shower, coming out.
I use the washcloth to dry myself wincing occasionally, but never stopping. I wrap the cloth around me as I exit the bathroom. I scurry back to my room before he can somehow see me. I need someone to put the ointment on my back.

Perhaps I can ask Ruksar.

I put on the salwar, then put on the kameez. I wince, but manage to put it on. I wrap the dupatta around me I exit my room going down the stairs.

I remember distinctly, he said I won't be talking to anyone but him.

Ha! As if I will obey him!

As I approach the kitchen, I hear voices. A man and a woman. The voices are hushed. The man is distinctly Basheer and the woman is. . .

Ruksar?

I catch the last few words before he stops speaking, ". . . because I trust you."

She looks at him brows slightly puckered, a thoughtful expression on her face. But there's a slight pink tinge on her skin.

Is that pinkish tinge Basheer's universal effect on women?

I trust you?

Why do those little words hurt?

I clear my throat, walking into the kitchen.

"Ruksar, could you please help me bandage my wound?"

Before Ruksar can speak, he turns back, his face darkening, "Why are you here?"

I ignore him, looking at Ruksar awaiting her answer. I notice he is wearing the traditional Arabian white thobe but without the headdress. He must be going out.

"Sure," Ruksar says finally.

But before she can say anything more, Basheer strides to me taking my hand in a vice grip tugging me forward, "I will do it."

"Basheer. . ." Ruksar calls out, "I will do it. You need to be somewhere."
I am surprised as to how she calls him by his name. Wasn't she a maid here? Didn't she call him Sahab last time when he was. . .My mind flashes back to the day on his bed when he was applying the ointment on my gash.

He looks torn whether to listen to her or not. And torn between wanting him to listen to her and not listen to her.

Finally, he nods looking at her leaving me to her.

What?

Did he just listen to her? Pure, hot jealousy erupts like a volcano.

But didn't you want to avoid him?

I sigh, realising how fucked up I am. I look at her silently asking her to follow me. I make my way back to my room with her on my toes.

"Here, see the ointment and the tape. You need to. . . "

"I know what to do." She interrupts me holding the ointment in her left hand.

I take off the kameez, wincing again. She comes to sit behind me as she gently applies the ointment.

"Can I ask you something?" She asks, her voice hesitant.

"Yes sure," I answer, not understanding the tone of reluctance.

"Why did Basheer bring you here?"

"To work in that dreaded hospital." I sneer.

And to make me his whore.

"Nothing more?"

"No. " I answer wishing there had been
something more.

Again Nehali?

"Can I ask you something?" This time I ask her.

"Yeah. What would you want to know?"

"The other day you called Basheer, 'Sahab' and today by his name. How come?"

"We are close." She answers and I don't miss the possessiveness in her tone.

Close? How close?

Suddenly, I don't want her here. Actually, anywhere near Basheer. The room feels cold as she applies the ointment and then bandages the wound.

"All done." She says satisfied at her work.

"Thank you," I say.

"If you need to change it, tell me. I will help." She says standing up from the bed.

I thank her yet again as she leaves closing the door behind her. I don't like her. But I have to admit her work is pretty perfect. She must have been doing it for quite a long time.

Did she stitch up Basheer too? When he came all bruised from his training.

The very thought makes me want to strangle someone. I wonder how I can go from hating him one moment to jealous the other moment.

It's all because of that spiv!

I don't care. Ha!

She can stitch him up, all she wants.

I don't care. Right?

A knock brings me out of my thoughts. I stand up, sliding the kameez on my body before pulling open the door. A plate of food awaits me on the doorsteps.

I would have gone done to irritate him, but he's not here. And I don't want to be near her anyways.

I pick up the plate, before shutting myself and my fate behind the closed door.

Authors Note:

New week, new part. Hope you enjoy!
Don't forget to vote and comment your thoughts!♡