“Your nose is bleeding.” You pointed out to me. I idly wiped it with a tissue. You were startled to see me chuckling. You were looking genuinely puzzled so I took pity on you and verbalized my train of thought. “You are standing at an arms length from me but the distance between us is far greater than the distance between an ocean’s shore and horizon. Is that the reason why you can only see my bleeding nose and not my bleeding heart? But then again, horizon is an illusion after all.” I had gushed this in one single breath even before a drop of blood which trickled from my nose had hit the floor of the elevator. Your face had paled after listening to my words.
We never really talked about anything personal. It was mostly about poetry, The Simpsons, Phillip.K.Dick, Marxism and odd historical facts. There were days when I was actually looking forward for meeting you just because I had read some obscure historical fact. Those thoughts were ruled out faster than blink of an eye. I had turned up one day with visible bruises on my face, my make up failing to hide a black eye completely. One look at me and you started to narrate an incident at your office the other day. By the time we reached our floor, tears were flowing freely from my eyes and I had clutched my stomach from the pain all my laughter was causing. Before you departed you had uttered very gently, “It’s ok to ask for help.” The smile had died on my lips and I did try to get some help. But nothing really came out of it. I simply improved my make up applying skills and wore full sleeved turtle neck sweaters which covered new wounds and old scars. Nothing much changed. But yes, for about thirty to forty five minutes daily, I indulged myself with a stimulating conversation sometimes witty sometimes intellectual; sometimes full of sharp insinuations from you regarding my situation. I never told you anything about it, but domestic abuse is something that is not so entertaining in a civilized conversation isn’t it?
Somehow this evening I couldn’t come up with anything witty or intelligent to begin the normal routine. The silence was oddly comforting and I felt a strange sense of detachment from everything. As the elevator got closer to the ground there was a constriction in my throat. I muttered a hurried good bye and literally ran out of elevator. As I soaked myself into the hot tub of water, I let the aromas of candles, bubble baths and roses take over me. I have written everything I have thought of telling you – jokes, facts about Henry VIII, how good you look in your gray suit, why I like Pontiac GTO better than a Sebring and so much more. The letter was posted to you this evening on my way back from work. Aromas around me started to lull me to a peaceful slumber. And then, the water in the tub started to turn red. I threw away the blade away from me and enjoyed a scented bath. Somehow the fact that this was the last thing I would ever do in my life again didn’t bother me one bit. As the water turned a deeper shade of red every second, I drifted….far…far…away from here…
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