46.

Harsh thuds and screams jolted me awake. Strong vibrations coursed through my entire body, my swimming head popped into focus, and my flight senses kicked in. More shaking. I screamed Earthquake! and rolled over, only to fall off the bed and crash land onto the cold floor.

The shaking, thankfully, stopped and the pain, not thankfully, set in. I clutched the sides of my head and whined. The screams vanished and left behind a tingling in my ears. A tingling that spelt out Wake the fuck up! WAKE UP!

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" And the screaming returned.

A blur whizzed around in front of me, opening and slamming doors. Heavy, angry steps and huffs punctuated each action.

"You have no shame, no respect, no value of time. There's nothing left in you."

I squinted, forcing my half-lidded self to come into focus. Syama was in front of the dresser, his back to me, doing something with his hair. His button-down was wrinkled. Blunt throbbing spread through my temples, went around the back of my skull and settled well enough into my neck. I held the edges of the bed and pulled myself up, reminding each limb of mine to function as it should.

Syama peeked over his shoulder, shooting me a dangerously disgusted look that I'd never seen on his face before. He shook his head and left the room, going straight for the main door. Stuffing his feet into his sneakers, he glared at the clock, then fixed his glare at me. "You're late, and clearly you have no care about it. So obviously you won't care now that even I'm late for work. Happy? Can't you at least have some value for others' time if not yours?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but a bitter, burnt taste sat heavy on my tongue; sharp thorns pricked my throat as I tried to swallow it.

Syama yanked open the door, rattling the frame, and just before he was about to storm right out, he turned back. "I already have one death on my conscience." His seething gaze was directed right to my soul as he spoke the next sentence. "Don't add another one to it."

Then he was gone, slamming the door for good measure. The echo of that bam haunted my ears as I stood disoriented and confused against the jamb of my bedroom.

I trudged to my bed and sat down at the edge of the mattress. Everything was so scattered. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. And check if all was in functioning order.

Pushing away the hammering situated within my skull, I took account of all my body parts. No injuries, no unintended pains, and no weird marks.

Now, for the hard part.

Remembering.

Last night, after I had burst into my apartment, my face aflame with Beck's touch, I went straight for my liquor cabinet. Only to find cobwebs and tumbleweeds. My head was swimming with Beck and his reasons for coming to LA. Not just LA, to me. He was there where I worked, where I lived, tainting all what I called mine with his presence. He had said he still loved me.

He didn't have the right. Not after so long. I had moved on, and finally finally stabilised. My health, my mind, my soul, we were all in a good place... Decent enough place. Plus, Beck only had the power to affect me if I gave it to him.

Which was where the problem really lay, wasn't it?

He did affect me. More than I cared to admit. His mere stare made my body light, and his touch brought forth a warmth from deep within to banish the coldness that I had made my home. That was what scared me the most. For all my anger and hate and loathing, I still craved Beck like my next breath. Even after all these years, it didn't wane no matter how hard I tried. And believe me, I tried.

I had been spiralling last night. Thoughts and feelings that I had believed to have vanished returned ten fold to bring me to my knees. All I had wanted was a way to forget and prove to myself that Beck wasn't as big a part of my life as I had made him out to be. What I needed was a strong drink and a warm body, and I'd be good as new. Or akin to a second-hand washed up Benz. Whatever, a Benz was a Benz. I must've taken a cab to some bar to wash away my consciousness with some overpriced booze. The first part of my plan went well enough. A little too well, since I couldn't even see straight, so fucking was out of the question.

So, where did Syama come into this whole let's-ruin-my-liver escapade?

My eyes widened as I remembered what I had said to him. "Oh no. Oh, no no no no no."

I'm going to RAD. Pick me up in an hour, or find me in a gutter somewhere passed out.

Who even said things like that? His disgusted glare came to mind. Shit, even I was disgusted by myself. God, I wanted to crawl out of my skin and cleanse my blood and wash my mouth.

I rubbed my eyes and dragged my hands down my cheeks—Wait, what was the unevenness? I felt around some more, and this time my eyes widened enough to add on to the headache.

I dashed for the bathroom, and—"No no no no no no no. Why?"

Specks of hair littered the basin, and dangling from a cord was my razor that was still connected to the switchboard beside the mirror. I ran a finger over the right side of my patchy beard. I couldn't even call it a beard since it existed only on the left side of my face with my right almost bare. I didn't even remember doing this. I looked like a fucking poodle, for Christ's sake.

God, you're so fucking handsome.

Remembering Beck's soft touch on the side of my face made my skin burn. He wasn't even here. Get a fucking grip!

I stared into the mirror, not masking my repugnance for the neanderthal staring back at me. "This was your fucking solution, you dumbo?"

I wanted to punch something. Someone. I wished I could say I wanted to punch Beck. No, who I really wanted to punch was myself for being such an idiot. Maybe I should sell some of those beard products I'd bought (wouldn't come of use for the next ten weeks anyway) and invest in a punching bag. I could tape this poodle face of mine on it and let out some steam by pummeling that stupid face over and over.

This was my fault. Entirely mine. I said I wouldn't give him power over me, and that was what I did at the end. My near-sobriety streak ended the moment he came. On the very first day, no less! If he was planning to stick around, then I needed to be stronger. I had it in me. I did. I had four different forms of income, an apartment that most people thought I couldn't afford, and friends who I knew I could rely on. I had more than most people could just dream of. Beck was nothing in front of it all.

Nothing.

I grabbed my razor and set to work.

~

I doubled down and clutched my knees. My feet were killing me. As soon as I thought that, I stood up straight. No, I was way too young for such pains.

Yet, the moment I entered the gym and found an unused Plyo box, I plopped on it. No, because seriously, my feet really were killing me. Fuck this young shit. I was old, and I was going to own it. Thirty was the new fifty, and no one would change my mind. But if someone were ready to change my right shoulder socket, I wouldn't argue.

The door to the gym opened with a bang, the walls vibrating with the force, and no one in the sparsely populated gym batted an eye. Jaylin strolled in, dragging his headphones off his head. I would've stood up, but like for real, the pain took priority, so my ass stayed put. He looked around, confusion marring his usually carefree, stupid face. After he passed me for the millionth time, I sighed. This was happening since morning.

I raised my hand to flag down Jaylin. "Over here, dumbass."

His eyes popped open comically, and his mouth joined in to form an o before he jogged over to me. "Dr D, sporting a new look?"

I felt naked under his scrutiny. To be fair, the lower half of my face was naked.

He tilted his head and grinned. "You know, most people grow a beard to look older, but for you, it's like the opposite." He snickered to himself. "By the way, how old are you? Early forties?"

This motherfu—"Tch, go get those kettlebells."

He dropped his gym bag right on my foot and sat down beside me, pushing me in to make place for his ass. "Who's the new ginger, by the way? He's pretty hot."

Beck?

Of course, thanks to a morning filled with consultations, an afternoon booked with three back to back therapeutic massages (one included a scream-filled hamstring recovery) and an evening spent complaining to Brij about how I was being overworked, Christopher Beckett didn't quite have any space to squeeze into my schedule. Until Jaylin, who made it his mission to disturb my peace, brought him up.

Obviously, I played dumb. "Who?"

Jaylin loosened the knee on his prosthetic and twisted it up so he could rest his elbow on the sole of his shoe. "That redhead dude. I saw him when he was leaving. Broad, tall. I think he's tall—I mean, I don't know, everyone seems short to me, but maybe he's tall for you. Also, I don't know if he's actually a redhead, but his beard looked red, not too red. Like that brownish red."

"No clue."

He again tilted his head, the beads at the ends of his cornrows hitting each other. "Marisol told me you helped him out yesterday."

Well... Fuck. "Oh yeah. That guy. Yeah, I think his name is Christian Benson or something. I don't know." I clenched my jaw and faced straight ahead.

"Riiiight." Jaylin nudged my shoulder with his. "He single?"

Oh, how I wished the assumptions I had made about him and Tasha stood true. "Isn't he too old for you?"

He sighed and leaned his head on his propped up elbow. "Maybe. And you're too old for him. Guess we both don't have a chance, huh?"

Too old for—this little shit. I shoved him off the box. "Go, get the fucking kettlebells."

Too old for him.

I wished I was.

~

Beena's mother opened the door for me when I reached her place. "Oh. Hi, auntie."

She squinted at me, asking the silent question. Who the hell are you?

I wanted to drop dead. "Didn't recognise me?"

Her hand flew to her chest as a big, toothy smile consumed her face. "Neil! Ah, you've changed so much." She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me inside. "Ravi! Come fast."

Her husband rushed towards us.

"Know him?" she asked, looping her arm around mine.

"Neil?" He threw his hands up and the two of them shared a nice loud laugh, like they knew all about my poodle-faced moment that I was taking to my grave. Well, mine and Syama's grave.

"I'm tempted to ask you for your ID right now to confirm," he said, as the three of us moved to the living room. "You look so different."

Laptops, iPads, notepads and sticky notes littered the coffee table. I studiously trained my eyes on the mess instead of the blue-eyed, red-haired hockey player on the armchair right in front of me, whose eyes were studiously trained on me.

Beena made a questioning sound, and I turned to her. Brij scribbled something on a sticky note. Before I could reintroduce myself to her, Brij slapped the note right on my forehead. "Wear this till you grow one out again."

I shoved him and turned over the hot-pink note. Neil: Temporary hair-loss victim.

I balled up the paper and threw it on his balding head. "At least I still have hair where it counts."

Prickles rose on my skin, and I narrowed my gaze at Beck. Quit staring at me.

He cleared his throat and looked away to the side.

"Neil!" Beena screeched and gestured wildly at me. "I need help! Mom said the engagement ceremony needs to be done on the twenty-fifth. That's not even two weeks away! We need to finalise the venue, guest list, catering—"

"You said it was the twenty-fifth of next month!" I sat next to her and snatched the iPad from her hands.

Her mom sat on the other side of me. "That Panditji died. Now we looked for another one and he said the twenty-fifth of this month is a good day, and he's free only on that day. He's booked for the rest of this month and the next."

Beena pulled at her scalp before taking a long breath and settling down. "It's fine, it's fine. I have my lehenga, which is the most important thing. And—Oh god, they still aren't done with my wedding gown, and the wedding's two months away!" She choked a soft sob. "Everything's falling apart."

I mimicked her and sucked in a long breath, knowing it would be the last I took for a while. "Nothing's fallen apart yet. Let's see what we can do, yeah?"

Ninety minutes later, we made good progress. After a bunch of calls and cashing in a favour, we got a venue and also a catering service. Apparently, that was enough for this crowd, and they retired for the night.

Everyone crowded around the kitchen island for dinner, trading stories and jokes. Beck was eerily quiet, playing around with his veggies while Tristan narrated some work story about a spilt chemical. In fact, he was quiet all throughout the planning as well, which might or might not have to do with me glaring at him the two times he piped in to say something. In my defence, he had interrupted me in both instances.

This wasn't like him. The Beck I once knew never hesitated to voice his opinions and turn on that aw-shucks charm of his that always worked to win everyone over. Here, he was nothing but a marionette, nodding to whatever I suggested.

My stomach clenched at the solemn way the two of us stood on the opposite ends of the island. Needing a way out of this mess, I rinsed my plate and excused myself to call my sister.

Our call barely lasted for five minutes, with her giving me a brief rundown of what she was up to before she got called to the ER once more. I didn't bother joining the crowd in the kitchen and stared at the beautiful view Beena's high rise provided. The lit-up coastline glimmered under the urban lights, an expanse of black sea with tiny white waves brushing along the beach.

"Hey." Beck came to stand beside me. Our jaded reflections stared back at us, highlighting all the differences the years brought forth.

"Hi," I replied.

"You're good at this wedding stuff."

"Experienced more like."

His eyes searched for my hand, for my finger, for a hidden band he might've missed yesterday. I removed my hands from my jeans' pockets and hooked my thumbs in the belt loops.

See that, Beck? No ring. Along with my life, you ruined me for anyone else.

My experience came from planning Clarissa's wedding. Alone. Mostly. My mother was there to help but—God, bless that woman—she was such a pain to work with. Clarissa wasn't interested, and my father thought his only job as the bride's dad was to be an ATM.

"I never thought weddings could be so much work," he said, crossing his arms in front of him.

I smirked. "Clearly, you've never been married."

"Maybe secret Vegas weddings are more my style."

My head whipped to the side, mouth open. He didn't return the gesture, but his slight smirk gave him away. To my horror, relief bubbled in my stomach.

Slowly, I gathered myself and faced the windows. "No," I said. "You're too gregarious for that. If you ever got married, it would be a grand affair, an open declaration of your love."

Beck shifted closer. "You know me well."

I scoffed. How dare he insult me by saying that? I gave up the pretense and properly faced him. "What are you doing here, Beck?" I didn't mean what he was doing at Beena's place. I had figured he'd be Tristan's best man. What I meant was what was he doing here, in this moment, talking to me?

He uncrossed his arms. "I'm trying to earn your forgiveness."

"And if you get it, will you leave me alone?"

He looked away.

I swallowed. "I don't know if I can. Too much time has passed, and I don't know if I can let go of the pain. But I'll try, and don't think it's for your sake, because it's not. I don't want any unnecessary drama right now, not with the wedding. Brij and his family mean a lot to me." After an exhale, I continued, "I'm not sure I can ever forgive you. I just don't know how." Time might have healed a lot of me, but Beck leaving me left a wound that never scabbed over. It remained open and festered, threatening to infect all things healthy.

Beck moved forward as if to touch me. I retreated. His hand dropped. "How can I make things easier?"

I sneered. "Easier? Now you're talking about easier? When you just showed up out of nowhere at my workplace and my home, you didn't think about that?"

The dim light in his once bright eyes extinguished, leaving me to stare into a bottomless void. "I just want to be near you," he said.

My hands shook. "You can't show up like this and expect years of pain to go away. You can't expect me to take you back. Like I said, it's not fair to me. You have no fucking idea what has happened to me since you left. You don't know what I've done to myself."

His eyes drooped to my chest, to the open buttons of my shirt, and I made quick work of doing them up. That was the only visible scar he'd inflicted. The dozens of invisible ones were known to me and me alone.

Beck nodded, seeming to come to a decision. "We can work something out," he said. "The last thing I want is to make life harder for you. You and I don't always have to be in the same place. I'll go somewhere else for rehab, and I'll look for newer housing. Just give me some time. Even for the wedding meetings, I can bail some days. Tristan will understand."

I said nothing, willing for the sudden disappointment welling up in me to fade away. This was what I wanted. My life back without him in it. I turned to leave, but Beck's hand on my wrist stopped me.

"I'll keep my distance for now. But make no mistake, Neil, this is not me giving up on you. This is me choosing you. And I will continue to do so for the rest of my life."

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