I am Truth, a bitter one!!
She stood in the state of shock. A mixture of fear, anger and disgust. A feeling that her brain is failing to comprehend. Faith and trust are just words to her now.. The ones who described their meanings in the dictionary are assholes.. The reflection in the mirror was not her. The smile was now missing, eyes dimmer than the cloudy sky.. Like a wounded bird with no grace to fly. The weather wasn’t cold but she shivered. In her bra and panty she stood there. Scars that burned with every contact of fresh air. Her hands could do nothing but touch and be more hurt.. The mirror failed to reflect her back that was stripped like the tiger’s. Tears trickled down her cheeks. The reality was now blatantly laughing at her. She realized her mistake but it was too late.. With no more strength to stand she sat on the floor. The marble floor cold on her skin.. She swallowed her cries. Forcing herself to stop crying.. Fate was something she never believed in. But all of this was like a revenge of that. The battle of the heart and the soul was incessant.. An astronomic chaos that never stopped. Her heart was beating faster and faster..the voices never stopped but was becoming louder.
The Creek was loud and clear. It was the sound of the door knob..
She spasmed as the door opened..
The door opened with a distinctive sound. A noise that makes one twitch. She clubbed her toes and started to shiver. It was not cold but it was fear. A man entered the room. A normal looking bloke with not so intimidating looks.. Yet her heart raced with speed. He was in his boxers, sipping tea. “Want something to drink darling dear” he asked, his voice calm and clear. She only shook her head as her reply.. Like the cat that fears water she whimpered at his presence.. He picked up her tank top and denims that was lying on the floor and threw it on her. “ cover yourself sweetheart, the inners are oly good under the sheets not for the streets”.. His remarks sarcastic and cruel. With the air of authority and deceiving sweetness he walked around the room.. Keeping all the things back in their places.. The whole haphazardness now becoming clean with his superb dexterity. There was a diary that was lying on the floor. With clinical precaution he pick it up and started to leaf it.
She was sitting on the floor.. Clinging to the clothes he threw at her.. Her eyes fixated on him… There was a syringe next to her.. The needle surprisingly not blunt.. She took it in her hands and aimed to the vein..
The needle pierced into her skin and immediately her skin started to bleed.. The sharp pain reached her brain and she began to shout. She was so blurred with fear that she failed to realise that the syringe was empty.. The man in the room was her husband. And he his reaction to his wife’s obscure act was blatant.. After all he was married to her for only a day.. All he was now concerned was the diary.. He placed the diary on the table and started folding the sheets.. Stains of blood was all over the white sheet.. He folded it gingerly and walked away frm the room..
The bleeding stopped and she was back to her senses.She put all strength together and stood up and walked her way to the bathroom.. She freed herself frm the straps of her bra and slipped into the bath tub. The water was hot and felt heavenly. But her anxiety wasn’t at ease. . The bloody scars now started to spike sharp burns. “He found my diary. He will read everything. Wat if he gets to knw?” With all questions in her head she lay there naked, confused and afraid.
The husband walked into the empty room. Sound of the running water proving his wife’s presence in the bathroom. The diary was the only thing he was keen on. With sensitive care he opened the diary. The first page had a photograph of her. The smile of her reminded him of the first time he met her.. Hair flamboyantly free flowing. The lips curled along the edges and a Dimple that accentuated her simple even more. Below the photograph was her signature… The one that’s very difficult to forge. He was surprised and shocked that he doubted that the signature can’t be done in one single stroke. Below the signature was her name written in a cartoon like text..
He flipped through the next page and found a small poem.
“ I am truth,
the bitter one,
I may end up alone,
With my flesh and bone.
You my call my heart a stone,
I will take it in a lighter tone. “
The poem reflecting her thoughts about truth. He instantly realized that the diary was nothing but an escape place for all her dire truths. With curiosity intensified by her short poem he turned to the next page and his eyes widened with bafflement…
Getting out of the bath tub Charlotte put on a bathrobe. Though she Pat dried the moisture, the beads of sweat was reappearing. She looked her reflection in the mirror, her eyes dull, her face bright. The soaps create an illusion of glow but none can make the eyes shine.. “Now he knows more that wat I had bargained for. Is marriage a license to knw all secrets. He’s opened my diary. He must have given it a read. Should I be worried and vulnerable or strong and guilt free” asking these questions to herself she slipped the robe down and looked at her naked self.. Soul and flesh both with nothing to hide.. The marks still evident, but she didn’t care.. Charlotte took a deep breath and exhaled.. Walking towards the wardrobe to dress herself.
“He is my husband, I shouldn’t be afraid of him.”
The initial fear that clouded was all becoz she was afraid that her secret will be out. The things that only the walls of her rooms knew. The agony and sweet pleasure that oly experience can fathom. She’s ready to share her life with him.. But not her personal secret..
His eyes was fixated on the diary. The more he looked at it, the more he was astounded. Each page with profound verses and phrases. Some of which so deep and very hard to comprehend. He flipped through the pages and reading only when his eyes met with words of his choice.. The last entry was intriguing. It was a short poem.. The intensity of it was severe..
“ the time has finally come,
The day where ur freedom is a glory of the past. I’m asked to live with a person I knw of only by his bio-data and a photograph. ‘.. The moments allowed to share was less than the time I spend talking to the customer care . Paul weds Charlotte was the invitation card. But none cared what my heart longed for.. Love someone with all my heart and see my soul enlighten by his soul’s spark.. But nothing can be done now.. I hav to share my soul to a man with whom I’ve shared nothing but formal greetings. I hav to let go my inhibitions. Hav to bare my naked body in his presence.. And have him break my long guarded hymen and bleed..
It’s time.. Its running more faster than expected… “
The poem left him speechless.. But something felt strange.. His nostrils felt weird. The odour that scented the air while he leafed the pages.. It was musty. A closer look at the text revealed something that left him dumbstruck.
All the entries in the diary was of blood!!
Charlotte walked into the room. The moisture had still stuck to her skin. The cool breeze drying her skin at the same time giving her chillness that ran all across. She saw her husband in a state of shock.. The diary in his hand. He turned towards her.. His eyes was not the same as it was earlier. The air of arrogance was no where to be found.. Charlotte in a weak voice said
“ I have something to tell you. The things I’m gonna share with you are not something to be proud of. I bear each and every scar with pride. The voices that I hear incessantly, the ones that encourage and discourage, that makes me strong and weak, gives me a cheerful laughter and a hurtful cry. In my lonely times the voices comfort me. But its when I tried to stop them I found ecstasy. When I made my body to respond to their ruthlessness. A sharp blade that touched my skin and I could feel the chillness running through my veins.. I was out of the world and could see God!! With dripping blood I would wake up.. With a pen that hardly writes I dipped it in my blood and inked my soul out.. The diary in ur hands.. That’s not just a book with texts.. It’s my soul inked with my own blood. Blood became a part of me.. More outside than inside. Many of my frnds used to share their first period story. Like the way they freaked when they started to bleed. But it wasn’t the case for me. Bleeding was a usual habit I practiced and it was happening in the place I never expected. U may be thinking that u shud hav been dead by now.. I had all measures…
Last night’s incident was a surprise to me.. The voices were at their worst. I had no other choice than scream and scar myself. And my anxiety kicked in when u saw me half naked with bloody scars. The anxiety grew into fear.
Yes!! U hav married a woman who hears voices and who enjoys pain and loves to bleed excluding her periods.. The medical world calls me schizophrenic, the church tells me I’m possessed and the psychologist tells me I need therapy..
All I need is love… I have seen love and hate.. The high when the endorphins kicks in and the pain that almost kills. You can still walk out of this marriage.
Sympathy can keep us together for a while but love can stitch us for eternity. “
He walked towards her and took her arms in his.. Leaned closer, her breath oxygenating his lungs and whispered in her ears
“I take thee to be my wife. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and I promise my love to you forevermore. “