I'd like to address a couple of questions/comments that I've received thus far.
1) A reader once commented that the language Anita speaks is not Tamil but Telugu. That isn't true. I think most Indian dialects use the same words to address family members. So 'Amma' can mean mother in many different dialects other than Tamil & 'Akka' can mean older sister in other dialects as well. There are many words that Indian dialects have in common because they all originate from one main language: Sanskrit.
2) A reader also asked me what 'Mama' meant. My bad – I forgot to state in the beginning of chapter seven that 'Mama' means uncle in Tamil. Sorry for the confusion!
3) Also, I've received a couple of hate mails regarding Meera. I'm glad my characters inspire/provoke you guys into feeling something. That's an author's aim, actually. Well, I just have to say that Meera is very unique and I enjoy writing about her. Her supposed selfishness is simply her character trait. Hey, not everyone can be like Anita, yeah?
Well, I hope that clears up a few questions!
Enjoy this chapter, guys!
Xoxo,
Lily
She was embarrassed, ashamed, regretful. What was she doing? What was she doing? What was she doing? She'd asked that question repeatedly in her mind, but an answer still eluded her. The brief encounter with Catherine had impacted Anita in ways she could not understand. Especially when Catherine had spoken about Meera. It was as if two worlds were colliding – two worlds that should never, ever collide, and she was caught in between, being squashed to death.
She could not have Meera learning the truth about her. She simply couldn't. Anita could just imagine what her baby sister would think of her. Whore. Slut. No different than their mother. Meera would be so disappointed in her.
She cried softly as she stripped the sheets from the bed, wanting to be rid of the remaining signs of their lovemaking. Yes, the room smelled of their sweat and sex, an aroma she'd thought quite pleasant once. Now it seemed to be choking her, even as her mind battled with her heart against conjuring images of them both in the bed together as she peeled the pillowcases off the pillows.
Blowing out the candle in the room, she bundled the cloth in her hands and headed downstairs. The tears didn't cease as she padded across the foyer, dining room and kitchen, intent only on discarding the damning evidence of her stupidity that she held in her hands. Once she'd thrown that into the washing basin they kept in the bathroom, she slid into her room and fell onto the narrow cot.
Gods, she hurt.
Her heart ached such that it made it difficult for her to take a breath. She sobbed into the pillow, wondering how she'd ended up at this place in her life. She'd sworn she'd never become like her mother, and now, she was little better. Perhaps it was in her blood.
How would she able to face Meera if she ever found out? What if the town found out? What if Sami did? She could not live with herself this way, being a man's live-in whore.
She gasped and opened her eyes as something stung her wrists, biting painfully into her skin. In the dim moonlight, she could see the glass bangles Jay had bought for her, its broken edges cutting into her skin. Blood dribbled around her wrists and onto the sheets. Swiping tears off her eyes, she pulled the glass away from her skin and laid it on the bedside table. Crimson continued to flow and she tried to stop her bleeding by wrapping the end of her sari around the wound.
The pain was like a bite of reality. How could she think of herself that way? If she was being honest with herself, she'd know that she was nothing like a whore to Jay. He never mistreated her, never used her. He always ensured she found pleasure and always delighted in giving it to her. She'd never felt dirty when he touched her.
If he'd used her, she'd used him as well.
He'd been the best lover a woman could have dreamed of. His physique was utter perfection, his lips the gentlest persuasion, and gods, his tattoos... she shuddered at the image of his naked body under her, every inch of perfection waiting for her to guide him to pleasure.
And suddenly, she was afraid. Afraid that she wouldn't be able to let him go. She craved his touch only hours after they'd made love; how would she react when he left her? And she was sure he would leave someday.
Finally, after years and years and years of wondering, she felt the pain. The soul-shattering, mind-numbing pain that her mother had felt when Meera's father had left. Anita had always wondered how her mother could give up on life because of a man, but now she understood. She bent over the side of the bed, trying to take in a lungful of air, but found that she couldn't. Her head swam and she fell back on the bed, chest heaving. Her eyes were getting tired from her ceaseless tears, and she decided to close them as well.
In her dark daze, she saw Jay, laughing, his green eyes sparkling, reaching for her with his hands. He was haloed by a cloud of gold. She wanted to take his hand and tell him to rip the pain from her body, take her to his bed and give her only pleasure. But as she reached for him, he turned away, retreating from her and taking the light with him.
*
She awoke because her face felt cool, too cool for that time of year. Her eyes opened slowly, almost as if she was afraid to face what she would see.
The first thing that hit her was that she still had all her clothes on. Usually, when she slept with Jay, she'd awaken gloriously naked, but this morning, she was tangled in the folds of her sari. There were various aches and pains in her body, though they were probably because she'd slept half-off the bed. Groaning, she pulled herself fully onto the narrow cot. Dawn's fragile light filtered through the lone window, illuminating the red stains on the white bedsheet. Gasping with the memory, she looked down at her wrists. The wounds were red and angry.
Beau hopped onto the bed with her, his eyes bright and tail wagging. His presence in her room definitely solved the mystery of the curious wetness on her face.
It was the first time in a long time that she'd awoken unhappy. Usually, her concerns would have been of money or food, and though she was thankful that those concerns were well past her, she would not wish upon anyone the weight in her heart. She did not want to think of anything or anyone this morning. It was too early, and she was too tired.
After taking a sponge bath and changing into her maid's dress, she stepped out of the room with Beau at her heels. It was just past seven, but she was wishing for dusk already. She wanted to be alone with her misery, and the last thing she wanted to do was speak to anyone.
Woodenly, she began to prepare breakfast.
Minutes later, as she stared unblinkingly at a pot of boiling water, Meera walked into the kitchen, books in hand. Anita didn't notice her sister for a long while, steeped in her own thoughts. Meera, too, set her books on the table and stared into space, preoccupied with her own heartache.
It was Nanthini who broke the trance that both women had spun around themselves. She stepped into the kitchen singing a popular tune and both sisters started guiltily.
"Good morning to you two," the older maid said, walking to the cupboard for the broom and dustpan. The two women made appropriate responses and Anita took the pot of water off the stove.
She quickly stirred up some coffee and a plate of flatbread for Meera. Meera murmured her thanks and Anita turned back to pack Meera's lunch. It was not uncommon for them not to say a word at breakfast; Meera was usually moody, and Anita would still be reveling in her experience the night before. Neither of them saw a change in each other that morning.
When Meera left, Anita took her sister's seat and laid her head in her hands. She needed to collect herself and summon enough energy to finish her chores. It was weak of her to fall apart like this. Whatever problems she had, she would sort out sometime later. She was here to do a job and she would do it regardless of how miserable she was.
Sighing, she rose from the chair and fed Beau, spending a few moments stroking his fur. The dog purred as he ate the flatbread she'd torn into little pieces for him. For the first time that day, she cracked a small smile, Beau's state of perpetual happiness affecting her.
Work was foremost in her mind. There was a list of chores she had not done. The rest of the day, she spent ticking each one off her list, trying not to think about when Jay would come home or what she would say to him. But whenever she heard a creak in the old wooden floors, she couldn't help but panic that Jay had returned.
She didn't know what she wanted from him. Once, she'd thought that having him as a lover would be enough... and it had been. It still was. But now, more than ever before, the consequences of her actions weighed heavily in her chest. If anyone found out...
She put off cleaning his room until mid-afternoon, knowing that if she stepped into it, the memories of last night and the nights before would haunt her. But it was her job, she reminded herself, and she would do it regardless of the demons that awaited her.
