Will You Into My Will (chapter-67)


‘Hey. What happened?’ I speak,  once i stood next to Brandon.

He looks at me, then away to the ground.  Muddled.

Still lost.

His eyes lids are half pulled down, pupils  contracted, reflecting light dimly with only dusky hue of lime  on the background. His lashes are clumped together  on lower margins and there are  blotchy stains marked against his light skin where he must have rubbed his hand.

‘Brandon’ i call  again.  This time squeezing his arm.

‘Don’t’. Brandon pulls away from me. ‘Don’t’.  He repeats.

I freeze. Did i expect this? Did i not know it coming?

I know’ he says.   ‘I know’.

I stand still.  He picks up his gaze and fixes them pointedly to my eyes. ‘How long were you planning to not tell me?’ 

His tone. It wasn’t loud, he was not shouting. Brandon is loud when he is angry. I have seen  him be angry. A number of times with James. He can shout. But, he wasn’t loud with me.

He was restraining it. His voice was resonating with rage. Tightly sealed on his lips.

I turn away from him. I could not answer this.

‘Turn around’. 

Brandon speaks again. More assertive this time.  Against his clenched teeth.


‘Carem, turn around!!’.  He snaps with anger when i don’t respond.

I jump with fright at a safe distance away from him. This wasn’t him. Brandon wasn’t Will.

‘You slutty bitch. Do you now how much it hurts?’.

He breaks in tears now.

Still unsure of how i should be behaving, I stare at him, at odd display of his emotions. I am still on denial that truth had come out.  That Brandon knows. My mind is still processing.

‘How would you know? You are heartless’. 

‘And i thought, things could change…’.


He laughs then. On his own. Wipes his eyes roughly with his palms and sits down on the ground.

Extending his legs and stretching his elbows on back for support, he questions, looking up and at me,  ‘Is he that good?’

‘Come on. i am listening Carem. You need to give some answers’.  

I still don’t reply. What am i supposed to say?

‘Carem. Answers’ he insists.

‘I am in love with him’. I reply, in faintest voice i could produce.

‘Love. Did you say love?’. Brandon repeats, in a louder tone.  He chuckles unpleasantly with a half drawn smile at the idea of it, then hisses, ‘Don’t joke with me’.

‘That’s the truth’. I reply.

‘Its not the truth.’ He strongly disagrees.

‘He is twice the age as you. He is married, unfaithful and using you for sex. Don’t tell me your standards are so low that you are in love with a man of that category’. 

‘He is not married’. 

‘Carem!’ He gets up abruptly from  where he was sitting and walks towards me.

‘You had sex with him. It was good. You think its love.’

He affirms it again, pressing his both hands against  both my arms. ‘It was good and you think its love’. 

‘Its not about sex Brandon! I love him! I loved him way before i started seeing you!’ I scream now, pushing his hands away. He had crossed the limits. Nobody tells me, my love is adulterated. Not even him.

‘Have sex with me. And i will show you a good time’. Brandon steps in still, forcefully kissing me.

What are you doing?’. I push him back.

‘He is a wrong man.’ He replies, wiping his lips. ‘I thought you had come back to me this time for real’. 

I am sorry..’ I stammer, realising i had hurt him.

‘Don’t move’. He holds up the arm half way between us on air, straightening the palm  up.

Stop. Carem. No more. ‘

He crouches down on the ground, pulling his head in between elbows, resting on his knees then. ‘James had seen you with that guy. He told me, he didn’t trust you’. 

‘I saw you two kissing. I know, where you disappeared for 12 days’. 

‘You thought i didn’t know… I knew everything even before Mia told me’. 

But i love you..’ he sobs, pulling tight his hair.  ‘I thought you’d be through him. I hoped you’d be. And we could fall in love over again. 



I slump down.  How foolish is Brandon to be in love with me? A girl like me? A cheat. A liar. How could he let me tag him along? Why would he do that to himself? 

‘I am sorry Brandon.’

My throat lumps with pain as i say that. ‘I know Will is a wrong man. He is unfaithful. Selfish. Mean and fickle. But i can’t help it. I love him. So much. Do You know how that feels?’.  I begin to wail. I was never  getting over this overpowering feeling of control he  had on me.

‘It hurts.’ He replies gazing at me. ‘You are unfaithful, selfish, mean and fickle. But i can’t help it.’

We sit there, two fools, sobbing peering at each other  at an arm distance.

Love was fickle.  At least for us.

The light of his eyes grew dimmer as i watched him. If there was a switch off button to feelings, i could use, i wouldn’t  have thought twice to do that for him. But i cannot. 

All i can do is pray. To pray for Brandon to find love. A true love. If there was any. Even if it meant giving my share. And so much happiness, that his emerald pair of eyes always glowed brighter than these stars that are staring at us now, from a world so far away, where perhaps every one are happy and have their perfect-forever-together. 






Will You Into My Will (Chapter 79)


‘ I couldn’t see beyond at all. It was a gamble. I had so much to lose’

Those were his exact words. From Mia’s mouth. Naturally it drove me mad. Feeling of being ‘not worth enough’, tossed aside because something better was available.

One day you are going to storm out like you stormed in in my life and leave everything upside down.’

I never understood what he meant then. It surprised me,  after all the love and affections i showered and continued to, he could imagine me walking out. I couldn’t.

May be he is right.

Somewhere  inside me, although i hate to admit it, i am now begining to question myself. This was not some random ‘crush’, ‘infatuation’, or some ‘puppy love’ i had lost. This was a man, who i thought was my forever. In a snap of a finger, i was hooked.  As if some witch in a fairy tale had casted a spell. What if this was it? Am i never going to feel this way again?

The monster. Thriving in me. Is it something that only i am aware of? Or has it been crippling me eating its way out?

Could it be, my fear of him, is a reflection of my own image? Could it be what i saw in him, the grim face of the cold reaper, my own shadow? Am i the one stringing hope in false promises? Building houses with no roofs and wide open gate aways?

Am i ‘jekyll and hyde?’
Unaware of my own sadistic, mean, cold, temperamental personality. Am i my own worst enemy? Why wouldn’t i want happiness for myself?
What was i thinking?


We all go through different phases of grieving, Dr Kubler Ross’s wrote in her theory. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. ‘Following acceptance comes the closure. Closure gives you peace’, i can hear Mrs Mccloud’s voice chant in the back of my head. But what does this peace she talks about feels like? What is this emotion i am so desperately seeking for?

If acceptance gives you closure, why it that i still awake 2am in the morning? Help me.

Forgiveness. Mia says. Aunt Marish believes in. And the church preaches.

Forgive who? Will? For not being there when i needed him the most? It was his, as much as it was mine.

Or, forgive myself? For murdering an innocient soul?

Loneliness terrifies me.
But the unknown terrifies me more. I couldn’t see beyond at all. I loved the high. The rush, thrill of adrenaline, butterflies in my stomach. Loved the way we were when we were together. The sparks, chemistry and the romance. We had it all. Every verse of the songs, words in the poems, the gaps in the lines. It was electrostatic. Then what went wrong?

Suffocation. 1 step forward high as a kite, 2steps back alone in the cold alleys.

It felt like a never ending blind trail. Long and perilious. Walking alone with my monsters on each shoulders, heavy and whispering constantly against my ears. Silenced. Worried. Anxious. That this might be it, the day i give in. This might be it, the day he walks out.

How can you control heart?

What is a difference between you and me? Your emotion and mine? Is it my resilience that is weaker than yours?

I couldn’t leave him. But i was breaking down.

My feet felt as though they had planted to the ground when i found out i was pregnant. It came with lot of stresses. Stress about being a teenage mom, sharing a responsibility, approval in family and society and going forward with my career.

But it wasn’t just that. Was  it? Those weren’t the reasons.

I have a confession.
I knew.

I knew the first instance i found out i was pregnant that i did not want this baby. I hoped secretly that Will didn’t either. With a life between us, i was tied with him for rest of my years. And i couldn’t let that happen.  The idea was  startling me.

There was a time when it wascmy only fantasy. Thinking about how we would grow old together in country side, in a house full of children’s laughter. But reality was brutal. I couldn’t imagine playing runner and a chaser for rest of my life with him. Couldn’t imagine growing old anymore, happy,  hands on hands held together, marching with slow steps,  with wooden canes supporting our degenerating bones. Laughing at our clicking joints, sagging bums,  falling teeth and greying hair. No. No. He wasn’t the one. I couldn’t see it.

I was never going to feel home.

But,  i was too afraid.

Too tangled in the mess. Too scared to lose all what we had.  I see aunt Marish everyday. The way she looks at the china tea set. And Ross’s face. Puffing on his breath  grabbing tight on his oxygen cylinder, as though every ounce of  energy he has  is being used to suck  a breath of air.  One mistake.  Its all it takes to suffer.

I  tried my best. I couldn’t  any longer.  I was numb, drained. I had no voice. I didn’t care anymore what was beyond.  The journey was too tiring. My shoulders were too heavy. The demons were too loud.

I had to let go.



When  i got rid of the baby, i mourned not for my loss. But for the person i had become.  At my hideous truth, knowing i’d never admit, never confide  the ease i felt that were lifting away from my shoulders. 

‘ I am sorry. I had a change of heart.’

‘I am sorry. For the nights you will wake up seeking the truth, retracing your steps in our buried pasts. Solving puzzles on half truth, i made sure no one will give you riddles for.’



If forgiveness is a confession. I am afraid, maybe redemption is not for me. If time is any kinder then what it is to us now, when our sore bruises are better, may be i will find it in my heart. Till then ‘ I forgive you’ would only be mere words, forced by my unsettled  lonely soul, unstable mind, out of pity, sadness,  and anger.

If you  ever accept it, know that i am bitter but not hateful, i feel used but not abused and i am guilty not regretful. I loved you from the day you walked in.  And I never thought, we would be our own worst enemies.



Will You Into My Will (Chapter 78 )


Its irony. The more you run away from  the past, the faster it catches up. The more you keep it silent, the louder it knocks.

I froze at the door. Seeing death walk in, grimmer than i had imagined it to be. A cloak of chiseled face, pale bruised skin, blood shot eyes and thick mist of whisky breath. Without an invitation, it passed by, pushing me aside, forcing me against the wall and stood in the centre, displacing,  all that remained of little warmth my place could offer.

His presence. I had almost forgotten how strong it was.

From 10 steps of distance between us, those piercing eyes stabbed me, razor sharp, onto the chest. My throat hurt, constricting, making cracking noises, as though he had caught it, and now was squeezing tight, to crumble my hyoid into pieces.

‘Where is the baby Carem? Where is my baby?’. His hands still tremble

It all comes back then.

Flooding. The swishing sound. Beating heart. Face on the wall. Bright white  roses. And pools of red thick blood scattered everywhere.

I hold to the door knob as tightly as i can. ‘What are you talking about?’ My knees can barely carry my weight.

You know what i am talking about? Why is your belly not growing. Its been 8 months!’

‘What belly?’

Your belly! Don’t play with me. I am not in good mood.’



There is a response of ‘flight and fight’ in  situations of extreme stress, i am told. During which, our minds switches off and automatically changes into auto pilot. The door knob.  I hold it more tight, expecting my auto pilot to kick in any time soon. Either i am going to slam it close, prisoning us both, to deal with what i have to and get it over with.  Or either, i am going to lock it behind me and let him be dealt with what he deserves. God knows i am tired of running and i am tired of trying to find my peace.

Nothing happens.

Its like a bad sleep paralysis. A state of helplessness; wide awake, only my eyes are moving, following his shadow, walking towards me. My inner consciousness screams, ‘swing the door either ways! You can’t be wrong!’. I can’t. My palms are  profusely sweaty. I can hardly manage a grip.

‘ Sit. I need answers’.

I march my steps like a zombie towards the sofa. Behind my back, i hear the door click. I feel trapped again. Back in the den, as a helpless mouse.  Back in the weave, spinning slowly around silky throws.

‘ I just want to know Carem. What happened? Where did it go? What did you do?’

Will sits across me, leaning forward, struggling hard to remain calm. The smell of whisky is nauseating. Reflexively, i lean  backwards.

I still don’t know what you are talking about..’

‘You! You.. you told me you were pregnant. I met your little best friend a couple of days ago and she confirmed. I have been watching you for a while. But i can’t see any trace of it. What did you do? Where is the baby Carem?’

I am in shock. Never occured to me, Mia would sell me out. But looking at his state, i am not surprised, if he threatened her.

Stay away from my friends Will. This is between you and me.’

‘I have stayed away. i just needed some information. I don’t give any shit about you or your friends. Just tell me about my baby.’

‘My baby’. Hearing those words,  kicks something off. Like  tearing open an old wound in me and sprinkling salt  on it.  Anger, Agony. I had  so much boiling underneath.  ‘I was hurt. I was in pain. And he wasn’t there.’

Flooding. The swishing sound. Beating heart. Face on the wall. Bright white roses. Pools of blood.

Months of sleepless  nights. Haunted by my deeds.

‘ It wasn’t yours’. I remark gritting my teeth. No, i amn’t saving him the agony. I am saving myself the pain,  of bereaving  my loss with a man who didn’t deserve to be a part of our lives.

‘Mia told me, it is mine. I know it is mine. For Gods shake, you told me it is mine.’

‘I freaked. So i just picked a name for dad.’      No. I am not sharing my loss with him. I don’t want any bonds. Any connections. Any ties. ‘ It was a casual one night stand’.

What happened to baby? I just want to know about baby. Tell me’. He is persistent.

What does he want? Does he not know i am not pregnant anymore?

I stare at him. Angry at the question. Too hurt to answer. My eyes screaming guilt. Filled with hatred. Blaming him.

He breaks.

Throws himself at the sofa. Burying his face on the cushions and  suffocating his cries.

‘What did you do? What did you do?’ I hear him wail.

Strangely. I do not feel remorse. I have no single tear to spare. I have had enough share on this nameless relationship we had. I have loved enough for both of us. And i have hurt enough for both of us.

I watch him struggle. To cope. With the news, that he perhaps already knew. I wonder, if he feels the loss the way i feel. Overbearing. Agonising. But again, what attachment would you have with a soul that you have never admitted to be a part of yours, that you never saw, never felt, and that was  only a culmination of a regretful night of your life?

Nothing in the world you experience will amount to my loss Will.

With my loss i have received my closure. I hope in truth or in lies, in love or in hatred, you will find your way for your closure too.

Will You Into My Will (Chapter 77)




I am smart enough to know i need help. So here i am. In a room full of strangers, with their pearly beaded eyes, all focused on me. I have never been a fan of public speaking. ‘Can you not all look away when i talk?’

A voice in my head says, ‘Carem, you don’t have to do this. You are  fine on your own. You are strong’. The other disagrees. ‘You know you need this’.

I stand up nervously clearing  my throat. My head is blank. I don’t even know the next word i am going to say.

‘Cam, you don’t have to stand up. Its okay, take your time.. ‘

That was Mrs Mccloud. My therapist. I look at her nervously and around the circle.

Staring at me, with compassion and kindness are the loveliest pairs of eyes. All keen to know ‘my story’.  Eager and  welcoming. Any word. Any expression i could spare.

Do you believe, eyes are the windows to the soul?

I feel that. Looking in this room, in the eyes of  complete strangers.  All of them, baring their souls. Willing to embrace me for who i am.  I  can trust them. Never have i felt so receptive in a new environment, like a family. I can  recite, sing,  even scream ‘my version’ of this one sided melancholic tragic love story. Solely my view. Unedited. Uncensored. State of  mind i had, i am  in now.  And i can trust them to listen. Without  judgement, no blames, no resentment.

And even though, they look  tired, weary and all of their faces have a stale expression. Too-flat pillow, too-thick pillow, too hard bed, too soft bed,  empty bottles, unopened cans, long nights or longer days..  They all carry a unique spark. Their souls have a warmth and openness that comforts me.

I want to be heard. I want to be understood.

As a child I used to read a lot of stories. For some reason i always felt very attached to the characters. It didn’t take me long to realize, many of those stories were fictional and there never was ‘Romeo’ or ‘Jack’. Still, my subconscious self would trick me into  allowing me to link myself to these  non-existent images in my psyche. Many times at the end of the chapter i wouldn’t be satisfied, i would argue with the characters of his/her choices and how it could have been better.

But, there is no second person pronoun in this story. It starts with ‘Me’ and ‘I’.

The realization cripples me as i start to unwind.

The character of my story starts becoming ‘She’. Halfway many times, i stop to correct myself. But ‘She’ wouldn’t let me, ‘I’ refuses to be a weak character.

My audience are sympathetic. Patient. Some of their arms run around me for support. I can barely breathe. Let alone talk. ‘I’ was not abused. ‘I’ am not a victim.




Another session. May be this is what i need. Knowing what others go through and how they manage to live with it. To know if my story is any comforting to me than theirs. To find my solace in depths of their pain. This is what we do  as humans, isn’t it?

There is a new face today.

Its time for ‘Jill’,  another one of us to speak.  I am curious to know her.  She is young. A lot younger than any of us. Beautiful. Shorter than me. Has gorgeous black hair, lovely smile.

She starts by introducing herself. Makes a brief timid laugh when Stacey raises her hand to say she can’t hear her. My thoughts were right. She is a gymnastic. It sounds like she just made it in time for  this session, despite getting off late from her training schedule.

She is fluent when she speaks. Means she knows what to say, has been in sessions like this before. I can’t hear her stutter or hold back even as she mentions she is a victim of sexual abuse. Only thirteen. I  am disgusted with the world. A thirteen year! Society has failed us. Failed to make a safe place for us to breath, talk and walk out in the open.

She hesitates, only briefly, before  confiding it was her father. Utter hatred for men and their kind. I  feel my resentment growing stronger, finding a face, taking a shape and becoming something familiar.

Showing off her left forearm, pulling up her sleeve, she laughs then.  ‘Aside from self-harming now and then which i can’t shake it off, I am doing great!’ Curtains fall . That is an end to her story. ‘What a marvelous performance!’ They would have said. No applause here. Heart wrenching. Yet another untold story lost in feeble whispers and weaker sobs in  these  walls.



I met Jill a couple of times after the session. She changes to casuals once she arrives, from her full body gym clothes to baggy jeans and t shirt. Every time she does i can’t help myself looking into her thighs. Can’t help searching for new marks. Cutting into her wrist probably was  one stupid thing she did that got her into the radar. Otherwise, she says she has been off their hook for a while. For 2 years. I don’t know how.  There are  scars every where. Multiple. Within these 2 years. A month. A week. May be even few days old. She  hides them very well. How can a thirteen year old be so deceitful, calculative.

‘Someday you will want to wear to wear a bikini. May be hot pants, shorts and  dresses. How are you going to hide those?’ I question.

‘ I won’t have to. I don’t like those anyways’.

‘You may want to’.

‘I am not going to hurt myself again Carem.’  She replies smiling at me. But i am not too sure. She is smart enough to know, foolish enough to act.

‘You don’t trust me?’


Why does everyone want to see me as a casualty? It happened 3 years ago. I have moved on. I have been through all those shit. Sat through consultations, through meetings, and with social workers, CAMHS. I am trying to move on. But nobody lets me. People keep reminding me. Friends, families.  Can’t I be my normal self again? I am a person. I have moved on. Let me. Stop judging me from what happened, or what happened in the past. I am a different person. My social worker. She  doesn’t trust me. And you..I barely know you’.

Silence. A thirteen year world knows her problems and her solutions more than i do. I realize now, i should be quiet.

‘I don’t want you to hurt yourself again. You’ve got so beautiful skin and legs. Why would you scar them like that..?’. I cannot. Not when i see a thirteen year old with hideous scars.

I hate those scars.

No. I am wrong. I was wrong. There is nothing beautiful about them. They are unsightly and hideous. They are  shackles. Each one of them heavy and gripping, rubbing more, excoriating  deeper with every step.  Getting tighter in her petite bones. Remorseless, until she caves in, and someday gives up on idea of breaking free.

I have nothing to say.

May be i could have smacked her and knocked in some senses if she was my little sister. But i am glad, in given circumstances she is not. May be i can talk her through, rescue her from this quick sand she is sinking into. But i can’t. I am barely staying still to be alive.

‘I will be fine. And Carem, i don’t think you did anything wrong. You did what you felt was right.’

She meant it well.

‘There are tattoos and plastic surgeries, if you change your mind. If you ever want to wears shorts i mean..’

One last advice.



I stopped going to therapy.

Mrs Mccloud didn’t  think i was ready but i have made up my mind.  ‘You are a smart girl Carem. You know what you are into. Its never too late to ask anyone for help.’

She is right. Its never too late for anything. Never too late to stop victimizing yourself. Never too late to stop treating yourself like your worth are only dimes other people offer.

I have taken my lessons. The group sessions, i will miss them in particular. But unless one works on it, puts an effort onto it, even a great advice is a big fail. I  walked out, in a hope that i would never have to walk back in again. With a belief,  that my dreams are bigger than ever now and my plans have taken a flight. Its unfair. Many times things are unfair. And i am sorry it happened to you or it happened to me. But to treat oneself  a casualty, letting society or the person  standing next to me dictate my future and point out my flaws is not me. I will not give them a reason. I will not give myself a reason, to be any less than what i have envisioned for myself.

‘Dear Mrs Mccloud. I am not them. I am not scars. I am not helpless.’ 



Will You Into My Will(Chapter 76)


Minutes felt like hours and hours seemed endless. Dragged too long between the two  metal  arms, making a periodic ticking noise, constantly ringing in my ears. Swishing still, precise, continuous, right beside my eardrums even as I  cover my ears and press the pillows against them to dampen the noise. Where am I hearing this sound from?  Battery lays cold lifeless jeering at me beside the dismantled clock.

Hideous eye  bags. The colours in my face has been bleached. A white sheet and  any moment  i am ready to haunt these hallways. Gliding through the ceiling. Restless. Bellowing. Nothing can pacify my heart. The empty hollowness. It’s so silent. So bleak. All I can feel is  the nothingness of it, scrape away of what remains of my  entity, little by little.

The same wearisome pair of eyes. Lately I haven’t been able to  face the mirror.  The same lustreless look with unwilling dead smile and  permanently embedded frown.. it makes me nauseous. Am I even alive? I check my pulse. There it is on my wrist, pulsating, strong, continuous and periodic. Right against my radial thin bone. The sound that has kept me awake. These whole nights. Insomniac and crazy.

Am I too weak to end this? The sharp blade only touches my skin. Gently. Just enough to leave a mark. I stare, as the red blood oozes slow marking the line, across the wrist. I am hurt. But its not painful. Pleasurable maybe, to know I can stop this. I have the control. Its still me.

But, why am I crying? Am I too scared to slit my arteries or am I  too scared to face life.

It heals beautifully.  The scars. 2 months later. I don’t even know where I marked them. I have seen them on others. Sharp. White plane of demarcation. 2/3 strikes on a row. Clear. Exact.  Tattooed in their flesh. For a life time.  What made it a hesitancy mark then?

Self harm. It’s such  a demeaning  word.

‘Don’t ruin our moment with your grumpy face Carem. If you feel like a shit, don’ t come out. Stay at home. If you want to cry,  for fuck shake, get into the closet, get it over with and come and join us. Nobody cares.  We are young bachelors!’

It striked me. That comment, James made. ‘Nobody cares. We are bachelors’. For some weird reasons, in my messed up head, that made sense. If I can’t kill myself for it, then I can’t waste time pestering myself  about it.

As a creature, we ‘humans’ are so frail; no claws, no fangs, no scales and no wings. Structurally built, we were designed to perish.  We don’t t even understand each other. We have so many walls, boulders between us. But, as a life form, we are resilient. We cling on to every little hope of light  we see at the end of tunnel. No matter how faint or impossible it is.. We will run, walk, crawl and creep but continue to thrive, if not live.

And it is in these  weaknesses are our hidden strengths. And on those hesitancies are our victories.



‘Its like wearing sunglasses at night.’ A friend told me once, as he described the word ‘depression’, from what he had read. ‘Nothing has changed. The world is still the same. Just the perspective is different’. I clinged on to every word he spoke that day. For I felt what the writer meant.

We all have the canvases. Even if we draw the same view, the same object.  The outcomes of  these paintings will be  different. Is mine better than yours or is yours better than mine? I will never know. And that’s the irony.

‘Just the perspective is changed.’  Isn’ t perspective the most important thing?

What wouldn’t I give away to see the world through those eyes without shades to feel whole again..

Will You Into My Will (Chapter 75)

stock photo


Its never easy to let go.

Had it been easy, Aunt Marish wouldn’t have been welling her eyes talking about her unhappy past, she left 8 years ago. Her voice wouldn’t have shaken at every description of encounter she had with him. 2,920 days and plus. It is a long time, to hold on to someone that no longer exists or wants to be a part of you.

No regrets- she says. But i can see in her eyes, the look she gives Rose, as she sips her tea from beautiful hand painted ceramic cup, with prints of blue pansy on a white glazed surface, coated on  corners at the rim with gold ; this delicate thread of life that she has given birth to is all she has, to keep herself whole, to hold on from falling apart.

Had it been easy. Ross wouldn’t have been up puffing and breathless in middle of night, trying  to take in every molecule of oxygen as  forcibly as he could against his dry crusted flaring nostrils. Wondering,  what would it take him to exchange his place with the budgie, next to his peacefully asleep wife.

As cruel as it sounds, that is how life is.

Somethings cannot be compelled you see. Anything with a brain and beating heart of its own, makes its own choices. Often  stupid and  irrational.  Why can’t you chose me when I will stand for  every bit of happiness waiting to happen to you? They flicker.  They contemplate. They judge.  And they leave. A change of mind. A change of heart. Who are you to blame? You had your options and you had to chose them.

What is a perfect relationship? Is it the one where  you exercise control? Like a dog and a master. Where you seek undivided attention, faithfulness and admiration. And it is given to you. Or is it where you offer control. No questions asked. Blind trust. And in return you are offered protection, company and  support.

I tried to stand up, to keep mine to both roles. And it only drove him farther. I felt, every word I was going to speak was only going to disappoint him. So, without realizing, I started  cutting down on my sentences. Slowly  ended up being  just phrases, to 2-3 words barely understandable and near end, i only recall  shaking my head or nodding  to indicate ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

Its hard to see how you are losing grip when you don’t want to.

‘It will fly away, unless you cut off its wings’. I remember my grandma say when i was a little girl every time i put my hand in the cage to pet my parrot.

What made me think, my small cage of metal bars with a small bird feeder and  a fancy water dish could ever keep it there. Those with wings, will always chase the sky.



I cried. A long hard cry. After a long time.

Not because i wished i had a time to grieve for what i had lost. Not because i wished i was stronger than this. Or i should have listened to my guts, walked away from that first date. But because, in all of our stories, we were flawed. Had Aunt Marish not walked out from her drug abusive bf, had Ross not cheated on his wife and had a son from different  woman and had i not been so shady, seclusive about my relationship, may be we all had a chance.

Every question Will asked about me, every minute he spent digging  into details i was scared. Afraid, that he might catch up with my lies. Every step he got closer, the more anxious i got, because deep beneath me i knew i was not ready. To have responsibility.  To grow up. To throw everything away and just embrace him. I was not.  And, he saw it.

My love was an obsession. One i couldn’t confront, control , respect nor afford.

Lies after lies.

I no longer knew what my truth was. And here i stood. In nothingness, deceived by my own self.

So many sleepless nights, hours of restless thoughts, trusts i have betrayed, promises i have broken; pointing blames, making mistakes and committing sin. All for the one, that just wasn’t for me.  And it cost, everything i had,  loss of one innocent soul, to realize that it wasn’t Will, the demon was lurking and it was all along, always had been,  inside of me..














Will You Into My Will.


Love is cruel.

It makes you feel safe. In cloud nine. Makes you believe every thing is magic. Believe that, nothing is impossible. It was your destiny. And what happened to you, happened  for a reason. Omnia causa Fiunt. That the  universe is watching.

It plants hope then. A  pathological one.  Amor Omnia Vincit. That you can’t lose. This is your happy ever after.

‘Militat omnis amans.’ It whispers. ‘Win him and he shall be yours.’

‘Amor gignit amorem’. Surely, if you want something truly universe can’t say no.


But there is a downside to it you see, that love does not want you to know.

It is viscous.

It smiles with a angelic  warmth hiding beneath its malicious grin. Underneath  its soft supple pink lips,  is a set of razor sharp teeth. Make an enemy fall in love and that would be your biggest conquest. Even witches in fairy tales knew,  curse with love spells was a sure path to suffering.

‘Only a true love’s kiss will awaken you’. There is no such thing as true love.

Sensim amor sensus occupat.

Before you know, it has struck. Poisoned your mind and  infiltrated your heart. Blind to all the wrong he does. Deaf to all the worries your friends express. In no time your hands are wooden, your steps are  controlled, every words you say is the voice of Ventriloquist and you are just a puppet, immensely glad to be on the stage.


Plena est amor timoribus.      LOVE  IS FULL OF FEARS.


In no times. It starts. Doubts and frights. Then it never stops.

Unbearable, pounding, impatient. Like it will rip out of your chest. Any moment. Any time.

Aching. 3 am in the middle of night. Wide awake. Hurting with every beat.

Silent. No longer  throbbing buzz on your ears. Too quite. Too queer. Panicky, you wonder if this is how you are supposed to feel.


No longer the high. No longer the ache. Did you actually sleep better when the days were mundane?


‘Amor gignit amorem’. You remind yourself.  Love begets love.

That first moment you saw him. Anything. And everything. You had laid your heart out on the table.

You knew. That very instance, nothing will ever be the same. You thought, for that time, there was nothing you could love more.



Well.  You were wrong.

Love came banging at your door. Without your approval. Baring its teeth. Digging its claws. And you let it in. You let it grow. Despite all the suffering it caused, despite all hatred you bore. You continued

‘Numquam te amare desistam’. ‘I will never stop loving you’.

And look what have you done. To yourself.

Look. What have you done.





Will You Into My Will (Chapter 74)

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I lay there staring at the same  ceiling with flaky paint, peeling surfaces like rough leathery skin of an old woman, exposing areas of bare plaster, stained by water seeping into the cracks  almost giving  it a human appearance. Only a half, with a peculiar set of eyes, scouring at me with a disapproving look. A patch of her head peeled off and a part of her face with lower bridge of chin and  lips completely wiped.

‘Stop staring at me!’ I hear my sub-conscious self cry. Certain that this woman on her 90s, wearing a head scarf, covering her face from me existed. And that she knew me and  now my secret.  My sin is exposed.

I start feeling dizzy, my heart pounds faster and in no time my anxiety swallows me.   ‘I can’t live through this!’ my subconscious gives another yelp before i collapse. Everything  is silent then. I can’t feel any pain. Its over. Its done. Then, I see it..  It being separated from me.  Tiny limbs first, so little i could gently touch it with my fingers  and still end up breaking it’s bones. Body, shoulders and  the head. Still intact. Hands and limbs curled up against its chest. Lifeless. Too weak to put up a fight. Cold. And abandoned.

‘Carem! Carem!’. I hear her. The doctor. ‘Wake up! Wake up’ She shouts.

‘Push her another bolus of  iv saline. ‘

‘Come on Carem’. I hear her again. ‘Baby.. Baby’ i stammer before i lose my consciousness.


I wake up in  a warmly lit room, late evening. It was the same room in the house i was allocated for my stay. Next to me was a cup of half drank coffee fuming with vapour. ‘John stop making so much noise. And can you also tell your brothers and sisters. We have  guest upstairs.’

‘Will do momma’ I hear a little boy reply. The footsteps, now approaches quickly  to my room, making heavy noises as it steps  against the carpeted wooden stairs. I have  no idea who this person is, surely not my doctor.

A kind looking, short chubby white lady in her late sixties peeks  at me from the door. ‘Ah you are awake!’ she exclaims.

‘How long have i been out?’.

‘Some hours. How are you feeling now?’.  She fetches me a cup of warm water. ‘You had some hemorrhage but its well controlled. We were worried there for a moment. And you didn’t leave anyone on emergency contact.’

Her eye balls converges at me as she asks. A minute of silence waiting for my reply.

I ignore her.  Sipping from my cup. I owed no one any explanation.

‘God forbid if something had happened to you. What about your parents?’

‘Can you please not ask me personal questions? I am sleepy’.

‘That was not a wise decision. You have no idea what your parents would have  gone through. Not that you care, you don’t have your ..’ Looking apologetically at me, she stops.


‘Talk for yourself. Having a basement for abortion clinic. You are no saint!’. Too late the woman had poisoned the air.

‘Yes. We are no saint.’ She replies calmly. Almost as if none of what i spoke offended her. ‘We believe  sometimes it takes  demons to do the dirty work to give a pass for angels’.

‘Pshhh’ I let out my disappointment aloud. Turn my back against her and get to sleep.

‘You remind me of my daughter. I hope you help Marla heal.’ She murmurs closing softly the door behind.

‘Crazy old lady.’ My sub conscious snaps. ‘I can’t fucking  help anyone. ‘


I couldn’t sleep the night. That little face kept haunting me. Hidden against it’s tiny forearms, back curved, legs pulled against its torso.  Lifeless, lying against the cold tray. Too ashamed of itself. Too ashamed to face me.



‘Carem.‘ Mia wakes me up. ‘How are you sweetie?’

My throat starts to swell at the question. My heart, my gut, everything feels like they are clumping  together against my vocal cords. I can’t produce any sound. ‘Gone. Gone. Gone’ is all what I can manage.


The old lady, ‘Marini’ as Mia introduces me, brings us tea while we sit at the porch. ’12 of them’. She counts, pointing at each of the children with their individual names. ‘how can a woman be so proud of being a birthing factory. ‘ I mumble bitterly, as she leaves.

‘You do realize, most of them are adopted children. Right?’ Mia questions me surprised. ‘Only John is her real grandson.’

‘Uh Hmm.’ I answer. Lying, bluntly at her face, only noticing now the obvious differences in their skin, hair and the builds.


I spent my entire evening there, watching children play. Legally I too wasn’t an adult yet. What happened to me? I sat there thinking for a long time. In my hand, I held it. A piece of me and my innocence,  in a piece of cloth, wrapped neatly, waiting to be buried.  ‘A bow tie’ Marini smiles at me, pointing at a little craft work she made. ‘About time, you lay down your little boy.’

I look down from the balcony one more time.

It was a safe place. It felt safe. I recalled my first impression of the house.  Bright red roof. White walls and  white fences. Green grasses. White sheets stretched in the clothes line, waving across the wind. The sounds of children playing, laughing and running.. It felt home. This was home.

I buried it there.

Beside the house, under a tree. Between the bushes of white roses.

‘Sleep sound.‘ I murmured, as I gently tapped on the ground over it. ‘You will never be alone here.’

It caught my scarf then. Firmly against the bush as I was about to leave. I jolted it, trying to walk past, but it wouldn’t let go.

‘I can’t undo it. I can’t undo it!’ I start screaming  at top of my lungs, beating my chest, kneeling to the ground,  engulfed in pain with my  grasp of hideous reality.

‘Carem. Carem. You got to let go.’ Marini whispered softly.

‘I know how it is, to let go of someone you love. I buried my little girl with my own hands. I know. But you got to. That’s the only way.’ She  tried to calm me down, tearful, lifting  me up from the ground.

‘What have I done Marlini? I can’t understand where did I go all wrong? What have I done?

I don’t know what did i do to deserve this.



The next day, I left that place. My heart, in a little grave. Tucked neatly in a bow tie. Deep down, 6 feet below the ground, in a small wooden casket. Never to be opened.

As I did, I asked for final forgiveness and prayed,  that if there was ever a chance that my boy could ever find in his heart to forgive me and come back to me again..  I would never let him down.  I promised to keep him safe. No matter what it took of me to make that happen.

And as we got distant, and the sounds of children faded and the  red roof looked nothing but a dot, it passed away. My grasp of what my reality was. The house became my figment of imagination like the old woman on her scarf looking at me, with mournful eyes.

All I had to do was hit the reset button.

Nothing happened. Noting was ever  lost.