"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.