Today was a happy day. He would tell her all that he couldn’t say in the bed they shared. He looked down at the lower half of his body and was pleased to note that the missing limbs didn’t bother him anymore. Not in the light of what he had realised.
His incomplete body was a remnant of another time. A disjointed period, when she first came into his life.
He was returning home after a successful season at the races. His pockets jingling with the reapings of a rich man’s horse and his own skills as a jockey. The magnificent horse he was riding filled him with a strange sense of pride and her quick responses to his urgings saw them both making a fine dash for the last few paces. He regretted his being unable to bid the beautiful creature a proper goodbye and hoped his thanking her with a feeding of fine oats when he was brushing her down made up for his hasty departure.
He shook away the fond image from his mind. Fame and success were two well-endowed women by his side and the trip from the helipad to his apartment in the city included a lot of un-gentlemanly loiterings up their satin skirts among other pursuits.
He didn’t want them in his apartment though and when the car pulled up at the kerb, he kissed two pairs of pouting lips goodnight and wiped his hands clean. He would savour this hard-earned success by himself tonight.
It all happened in a flash and two gunshots from the darkness enveloping him sealed the fate of his legs. He woke up to a pale and strangely familiar face peering down at him – at him on a trolley, he noted with a jolt. Drifting in and out of consciousness, all he remembered was this woman ensuring that his every need and comfort were taken care of by the hospital.
When his senses returned, he fell into a pit of despair over his lost legs and when it was time for him to be discharged, he was startled to see her waiting to take him home.
To her home. He didn’t quite know what to make of it. When he questioned her about her identity and her motives, she simply replied, “You know me and I know you. Briefly but intimately. That’s all there is to it. Let me take care of you now.“
And care for him she did. He could see she viewed him in a different light and treated him with a surprising degree of adoration. He wasn’t an invalid to her and in her bed, he was more than a mere man. The first time they made love, he was surprised to notice the ease with which their bodies responded to each other. It was as though she anticipated his touch, his needs and even his breathing. The woman revelled in his body and the responses she could evoke from it.
What was more surprising was the comfort he found in her body. He would spend hours wrapped up with her on the couch – his hands stroking her skin, unconsciously fondling her, dipping into her warmth when the need took him, tasting the back of her neck, the crook of her arms. It was as if his hands knew her body all his life.
It was eerie and twisted, but good. The entire time it took him to recover from his surgery, the world receded. His career was kept aside, the media ignored, she took care of him and discretely, his finances as well. He trusted this mysterious woman.
To be wanted by such a woman was enough. He wouldn’t ask for more and he wouldn’t puzzle over their acquaintance. Their real names were forgotten and intimate ones took over and he found himself wishing he never recovered and that his world remained stuck in this immensely comforting limbo.
Today, he was prepared to face the world again. He was ready to ask her to be with him for all their lives. His face brightened when he saw her approaching their house and his brains seized with shock when he saw her dripping with blood and limping.
He grabbed his crutches and rushed down the steps towards her. She had collapsed halfway up the driveway – she was dying, he was alarmed to see.
He gathered her close to him willing her to open her eyes. Her adoring brown eyes. She opened them and in a halting voice said, “I met with an accident at the race courses.” His brow winkled, “What were you doing at the race courses?” With what faintly sounded like a horse’s whinny, she expelled her last breath.
Pingback: Tweets that mention Missing Lives « Mi Ramya Ranee… -- Topsy.com
I don’t know what to make of this!
I’m (very) mildly disturbed, yet curious to know more. This could go on and on…
It won’t help to say I’m in a similar state. I’m still wringing my hands over writing it. I think I should simply take this one out of the erotic fiction category and just tag it fantasy fiction.