Starlet and Her Bodyguard

"How did you let this happen?!" My father screamed at my bodyguard.

The brawny Aslam had his head bowed as my father unleashed a verbal tirade and slapped him with repeated blows to the face. I hid in the corner as my father took out his rage at me on to my bodyguard, who stood there stoic and unmoved by assault. In truth this had little to do with Aslam and more to do with my recklessness.

My father had forbidden me from attending any parties with my social circle of friends. This was the height of Mumbai social life and my particular social circle was with the nepo kids of the industry and other wealthy kids of the rich and powerful. My father was a producer and he had paid for my entry into the business. It pays to know people in high places and my father paved the way for my launch. I was now famous in my own right following two hit movies and I was able to command my own roles and sponsorships.

With success comes scrutiny and I had always been something of a wild child. I like to drink, fuck and I partook in the occasional line or two. Who the fuck am I kidding? I was a drug fiend and it was not a party unless I had a cocktail of drugs. I had a reputation for being a slut and my father hated that his name was being dragged down by me so I was forbidden from these parties after the latest pictures of me kissing an unknown boy and rumors of me sleeping around were well established.

Like I said, I was a wild child and I "borrowed" my father's sports car to sneak out and go to the party. Aslam was sent on an errand as a distraction while I snuck out. 18, crazy with hormones, the last thing I needed was fame and money. I was drunk and high as I was fucked by starboy, Aasif, against the bathroom door at the party. He had my leg over his shoulder as he rammed his cock into me. I liked hard and rough sex. I was not in love and just wanted a good time.

"Harder! Bastard! Harder!" I screamed at him. I could feel the sweat drip from his body on to me as he put his force into fucking me.

"Yes! There! Yes!" I moaned as he finally hit hard enough to trigger my orgasm.

Aasif, Arjun and Raj. The rotation of fuck buddies I currently had. I was not the committing type. More than anything, I craved the need to fuck who I wanted when I wanted.

Aasif tried to persuade me to get into his car and he would drop me off home due to my high and drunk state. But I could not leave my father's prized sports car in the middle of Mumbai.

"Who do you think you are? My boyfriend? This is just fucking sex," I replied in a cold and heartless way. I hurt him and he drove off in a fit.

I had to get the car back to my house before my father found me. On the drive back a few locals spotted my father's car at a traffic light and began to surround it. I could hear a few of them tried to open the doors but they were locked. They began to rock the car when they saw it was me and a few of them made lewd comments about me. They tried to flip the car over and in a panic I floored the pedal to escape. I knocked a few of the men over like bowling pins but I could not stop as I was in fight or flight mode.

I was panicking and out of breath as I got home to my father's compound. I feared the worst as all the men surrounded my car and made disgusting comments about me. You hear stories of gang rape in India too often, way too often.

As I got home, my father was waiting for me and Aslam was beside him.

"Mamta, is it true?" My father asked and I knew it was serious when he used my real name. Everyone used my showbiz name of Monica since my launch.

"I am sorry. I am 18. I just wanted to have fun with my friends." I replied in my usually bratty way as I thought he was upset I broke his curfew.

"You have killed two men and the witnesses have identified you as the driver. Silly, stupid girl." Those words hurt.

"I didn't. They were attacking the car and they were going to rape me," I replied in a panic and out of fear.

So here I am sat in the corner crying as Aslam is punished for my bratty behavior.

My father let out his rage on Aslam as a cathartic exercise. Aslam's face was red and swollen from the beating but he did not complain or move. He simply stood there as a tower of strength.

"The police have said there is a manhunt for the Bollywood starlet, Monica Shere, the daughter of renowned producer..." my father threw the nearest ornament at the TV breaking it.

My father made a phone call and left the room briefly. There was an eery silence as I cowered on the couch and Aslam stood there head bowed, bruised and bleeding.

"The police will arrive in an hour. They cannot control this as there is a media frenzy. She cannot be here. We will need time to make arrangements and explain this," my father finally said.

The plan was we would book two tickets on a plane but while the police would go there Aslam would take me to a hideaway house. It was this or jail and I had no real choice in the matter or my father's ire would be turned on me.

The maid brought a bag down for me of my items. She had selected very simple clothing. My father looked at my short dress with my tits almost hanging out in disgrace.

He asked the maid to give me one of her dresses. I looked at him in shock. How could he think I would wear something like that? A simple piece of clothing that had been worn by a maid. But he gave me a look that told me I was lucky to be alive right now.

He ordered me to leave all of my makeup and jewelry. He said my hair needed to be covered as a maid would.

He then took my phone but I struggled to let it go. All of a sudden I felt that hard stinging slap of a father. I had never been hit by my father in all of my life and this helped reality seep in for me. In many ways, I was settling for another type of prison but at least I would be safe this way.

We left in Aslam's small car. I was dressed as a maid but I hid in the small space in the back of the car behind the seat. The photographers camped outside ignored the workers vehicles as they never expected to see anyone important in them.

I slept in the back but it was difficult. My head was pounding with the anxiety of the events and the fucking hangover which was the last thing I needed. Aslam was the quiet and stoic type. He never talked much even though he joined our family as long as I can remember. He had been in the army and soon became the senior security guard. He was still in his mid to late twenties but he was the polar opposite of men I knew in social circles. He was always so serious.

"Headache?" He asked.

"Yes. This rickety car is not helping," I replied.

He opened the small compartment and picked up a packet of tablets. He passed them with water in the back for me. Man of few words like I said.

I fell asleep shortly afterwards as we continued on this midnight run. We hit a particularly nasty bump and it caused my head to hit the door and I woke up.

"What kind of driving is this?" I screamed from the back.

"The roads are not good," he replied. I sat up and it was daylight outside. I looked at the small radio clock and we had been driving for over 8 hours. We were in a small village in the middle of nowhere.

"Where are we? When will this be over?" I asked in a huffy voice.

"This is a quiet village where my family live. We will live a simple life until your father calls." That was it? No fucking explanation? I am supposed to live like some poor maid? I didn't know many poor people and I could not live like this.

I lay down on the back seat and began punching and kicking the seat and door in a tantrum.

"No! No! No! This is worse than prison!" I screamed.

"Stop screaming! You can always go to prison and see which is worse," he replied.

He didn't care for my tantrums and I soon stopped as we pulled up to a small house. It had a creaky old gate.

I followed Aslam as he got out. The house seemed was small and very basic. What was my father thinking? This is insane. I could not live here.

An old lady came up to Aslam and greeted him with a sweet hug and kiss on the cheek. I remained in the car.

"Aslam has returned," she announced.

Out came running two kids who were 6 and 7 and a young woman who had this understated beauty. Was this his wife and kids? I wondered.

"Uncle, uncle," the kids screamed. Perhaps, not. The Grandma coaxed me out of the car. I tried to be the demure village girl for a few moments as I covered my hair and stood with my head down. I needed to pass this test and hope to hear from my father soon.

"Who have you brought with you? It is not good to travel with unmarried ladies," the grandma had a sweet voice.

"Dadi, this is my wife." Aslam all of a sudden said to my shock.

The grandma turned to me all of a sudden.

"My name is Mamta..." all of a sudden Aslam shot me a look as to ask why am I using my real name?

"Shaadi and with a Hindu?" The grandma asked confused.

"No. It is not like that. Her dad is Muslim and mother is Hindu. They kept her name as Mamta Khan." Aslam tried to explain as I could see the sweat on his brow.

The grandma then held my face in that way old women do.

"You have done well for yourself, Aslam. She is very beautiful." Of course he has done well for himself, he is a security guard and in some fantasy in his head married to a Bollywood superstar. His sense of entitlement to think that a woman like me would be married to a simple idiot like him really irritated me but I tried to not let it show. I could not wait for this to be over.

She kissed me on the cheek and hugged me. My family showed affection by hugs and kisses but it was always surface level and I never felt the love as I did today. I was not even the real daughter in law of the family.

"Hai hai, Aslam has married a makeup artist. What perfect eyebrows?" The sister commented. They were such simple people and in some ways they had their own charms. I was growing tired of being paraded to the family.

Aslam then asked that they allow us to rest as he had been driving all night and he took me to his usual room. It was bare but for one hard charpai bed.

Once we were on our own I was able to speak my mind. I dropped the shawl and Monica was back.

"What is this wife bullshit? You are doing this charade to take advantage of me! Don't think I don't know men like you!" I said in that annoyed tone.

"This is not Mumbai. We are simple people," he replied.

"Simple Aslam does not mind sleeping in the same bed as a strange girl?" I replied. I had never been in a house like this. Cramped and small. No comfortable amenities. This was not the life I could get used to.

"You do not need to worry about me. I am here to protect you and not take advantage of you," he replied.

I sat on the bed and it was tough to sit on, never mind sleep on. Aslam got some comfortable blankets to increase the comfort of it and it was enough to allow me to sleep for a few hours.

I woke up and I was still groggy from the hangover. I saw Aslam asleep on the floor and I could not help but stare for a few minutes. He looked serene.

I went outside and sat with the grandma. She asked Aslam's sister to make me some food. She did not want the new daughter in law to be worked. Little did she know that I could not do the simplest of domestic chores.

The grandma invited me to sit next to her. She asked about my mother and father. I didn't give away much and I just explained that my parents divorced when I was young and I was raised by my father. She told me that my father had done a good job and in some ways it felt good to be this whole new person. No one knew the real me here and could not judge me like the world did.

The food was not something I was accustomed to. I was raised on a western diet of burgers and fries. This simple food was not for me but they stared at me as I ate, I had no choice but try to eat what I could.

"Very lovely," I remarked but in truth I was struggling to keep it down between my hangover, the smells of village life and this new diet.

The grandmother had me sit in her feet and began to plait my hair. I hated the idea of this as I loved my straightened hair and I always used products to get volume. I had to leave all of that behind now. I felt I could not refuse her.

"She doesn't eat much," the sister remarked.

"She is so slim. Aslam has not been feeding her. We will have to keep her healthy," the grandmother said as she pinched my slim waist. Fat was not healthy but these were simple people with simple ways.

She began to tell me some things of their family history. Aslam's father was a farmer but they had to sell their lands after they got into debt. The family seemed to have a tragic history over recent times. Aslam had been burdened with the financial responsibility of his sister and her children after her divorce. Her husband was an abusive drunk. But then she told me that Aslam's mother died in chidlbirth when Aslam was born. I looked at the sister and she had good genes as she must be older than Aslam but looked no more than 21.

It was a family that was built on trauma and it could not be a greater contrast to my upbringing. Aslam had a lot of burdens to carry and now he was carrying the responsibility of my safety.

Life was serene here and it was different to my busy and fast paced life in Mumbai. In the evening they watched television. It was different to the television we watched at home. This was a little box with a handful of free to air channels and a grainy picture.

The news came on and the manhunt for me was the main news. Video footage of the two men being skittled by the car was going viral.

Aslam and I shared a brief look as I clutched my shawl.

"These Bollywood types do not care about normal people. How can she just run over all these people? We are not people to them," Aslam's sister said.

"It is not like that...I mean...it is not always that simple...I mean...a woman alone surrounded by so many men is scary...let's just wait for the full story," I said as I almost gave myself away.

"These big people are not like us," the grandmother added. It annoyed me that no one was defending me but I thought it was better to bite my tongue.

Aslam did not speak and he was true to his nature no matter where he was. He was the sullen and serious type.

We retired to bed and Aslam once more set up his blanket in the corner of the room. He had a sense of honor about him and he was one of the few men I could trust in some way and I could understand why my father entrusted my safety to him.

It was another day and as I woke up Aslam was not in the room. I saw him outside as he was painting and oiling the creaky gate. His grandmother was directing him to various jobs that needed doing in the house.

Aslam was working up a sweat as he did the jobs in the heat. He had a strong build and he was naturally brawny.

It had been a couple of days since the bathroom sex with Aasif. It was rare I went a day or two without a fuck buddy session. I must have been desperate if I was looking at Aslam in this way. His sister was at her job and the kids were in school.

The grandma asked me to warm up some food in the kitchen that had already been made. I could manage this, I thought to myself and I wanted to assimilate as much as I could for the time being.

I turned on the gas cooker and the flame was not igniting. I saw some fire matches on the side but I had not realized that room had been filling with gas as I had left the gas open for some time despite the smell.

"Stop! Stop! No!" The grandma said as she hurried in. She took the fire matches out of my hand and switched off the gas.

"They would make a case on us if our new daughter in law died in a gas fire on the first day. I could smell the gas from outside," she said. She was patient with me as she taught me how to use the cooker.

I was heating the food but I kept glancing at Aslam working away.

"I know that look," the grandmother said.

"What do you mean?" I said looking away slightly embarrassed.

"I was young one day. I know what it is like in those early days of marriage," she said. I had a fit of giggles as I watched the short sweet grandma talk about sex in this way.

"You, young girls, you think I have not lived life. I was once young and beautiful. Many men came from far and wide for my hand in marriage. A doctor from America but I fell in love with a farmer," she replied. She made me smile from deep within as she had a sweet soul. She made me miss my own mother.

The food was sufficiently warmed and I felt at ease getting to know the family. I went back to my room for a brief moment and saw Aslam in just his towel as he was leaving the shower. He looked hot and I could not deny it. His body was toned and his hair looked good wet. I could imagine him manhandling me and being rough. He noticed me staring and gave a pensive look as to ask what is wrong.

"Can you call my dad to find out what is happening?" I asked.

"He gave me an order. No contact from our side. He will call us when it is time," he said in that dutiful soldier way. It annoyed me in ways that he was such a goody two shoes.

Another day passed, it would have been Raj's party tonight and here I was sleeping on a tough as nails bed while my friends partied the night away. I was living my own jail sentence.

The next day Aslam went into the city to get some things for us. There was not much available in the village and it was a long commute to get the things that were needed.

As I got to know the sister, she was funny and cute in her own way. She had to get her life in order after her divorce. It was not easy for a divorced woman in these villages and I liked her. She would ask me about make up as she thought I was a make up artist. It was easy for me to lie about this as I had spent most of my life perfecting make up styles and beauty.

She asked me to do her eyebrows like mine. I usually went to a girl and it did not seem like she had the money to do this. So I did hers using some tweezers. I did not have my wax strips or any tools. My father had sent me with my most plain looking clothes and the purest of essentials. I was not even allowed my electric toothbrush as I impersonated a fucking poor person.

She had some blemishes and I used her rudimentary make up to show her how to conceal them.

"Oh. Wow." She had this joyous smile as she looked at herself in the small mirror. I felt this sense of warmth at seeing her so joyful. This was new for me as I had never done something for someone else in a selfless way.

I grew close to her over the day. She opened up about her marriage, her husband was a drunk and would regularly beat her. She showed me some old scars that never healed on her legs and arms and a cigarette burn just above her breast. Men could be cruel and evil. She told me how Aslam brought her back and they survive with his help.

She had a phone that she used from time to time and it was like parading alcohol in front of an alcoholic. I wanted to catch up with my friends and I had not used my phone in what felt like an eternity.

Aslam returned shortly after and was surprised at seeing his sister wearing make up. He did not say anything until we were in the room alone.

"Do not pass off your influence on to my sister," he said in a rather rude manner.

"What does that mean?" I asked as I sat upright.

"She is a simple girl and she has responsibilities," he replied in that know it all manner.

"I saw her smile. She had a moment of joy in this miserable life she lives and that joy was because of me, so do not give me this proud village life bullshit to me," I spat back angrily.

"I think it is better that I hold my tongue," he replied.

"Speak. Just say what you need to say. Or are you too cowardly to do so?!" I was angry at his dismissive tone and I did what I always did which is to attack a man.