This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.
The boiling hot water on the stove disappeared into thin air, bursting out as angry bubbles on the surface. She sat looking out of the window, her soul simmering to searing flames that tore her very core. The water on the stove evaporated into invisible, forgotten fumes. Here she was fuming inside. Her chest heaved full and heavy, as she dug her teeth into the Zinger chicken burger. Zinger burgers: her comfort food any time of the day. Crunchy and creamy, the Zinger burger took the sting a little out of her aching heart.
Where was he? Was he driving? Who was he with?
Images of red satin, two naked bodies intertwined in progressive, provocative poses in the cramped back seat of his Grande Punto – going from one position to another filled her head. She wanted to pull all her hair out of those knotted-in-vicious-vexation roots in her head. Doubt drowned devotion. Where was all that blooming love from before? Bloodied. Soiled. Lost.
Two years into the relationship, she still had no faith. No matter what he did, that seed of sneaking suspicion reared its ugly head every now and then. And he did so much for her. Sample this: her new yellow Corby lying on the coffee table in front of her was something he’d gotten her because he knew she loved to text 24*7. She put the Zinger back in the red box. The fries were getting soggy.
The Corby called out to her. No, it wasn’t ringing. It just wanted to be cuddled in her sweaty palms. It just wanted her chubby fingers to run over the QWERTY keypad. She couldn’t hold it any longer. She picked up the Corby and dialed.
‘Hi Jen. I’ll call you back. I’m on the way back.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘I’m in Erode. ‘
‘Who is driving?’
‘My boss. Bye. Text me.’
Red satin. Provocative positions. 69? 96? 66? 99?
She furiously composed a message. ‘R u sure ur boss s drivin?’
‘Ys,’ he replied.
‘R u sure ur wyd ya boss?’ she texted back.
‘Ys. Wazz ya prob Jen?’ he texted right back.
‘Cal me nw, put me on loudspeaker. I wanna hear u talkin 2 ya boss, to know that he’s REALLY de 1 ya with nw,’ she replied without even thinking.
Impulsiveness always felt good, better than an explosive release in bed. She walked to her bed and lay down. Her Corby sprung to life. She pushed it between her ears and the plush pillow. ‘So, we’ll close at 2.5 crores this month. Good to be on track. We’ll be done with our numbers this half,’ Ravi and his boss, Prem were talking business- business she didn’t really understand. The volcano had erupted. She felt calm. It was the calm after the storm. Ravi was too good a guy to cheat on her. She always knew that. There really was no reason for her to get so worked up. The two monotonous male voices lulled her into a deep sleep. Peace.
I Gotta Feeling that tonight's gonna be a good night ….
That damn ringtone-someone was calling. She opened her eyes. Ravi wasn’t home yet. With eyes closed, she ran her hands over the crumpled sheets. The smooth bump of her Corby brushed the tips of her fingers.
‘Hello,’ she cooed into the phone.
‘Hey Jen, I can’t get last night out of my head- especially the chocolate mousse all over you during that fabulous 69,’ he whispered right back.
‘Brendon, Ravi’s going to be home any minute now. We’ll catch up tomorrow.’
‘Done-Nyteee. Sweet and hot dreams babe. Mwuaah.’
Life is like the number 69- a mirror image of a twisted kind- turned upside down, inside out. Every day, you see in others exactly what you see in the mirror every night, after hitting your daily quota of 69 sins.