FF: 50 Shades Of Ram Part-4

Note: All right goes to the writer of the novel E.L.James i will just write it on my way and it would be both Ram and Priya's POV 

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xyp69l_50-shades-of-ram_shortfilms#.UVvtdSoZjXg

Part 4

I glare at her. What am I going to do! You can't kiss her, Ram. No! My eyes trace across her perfectly sculptured lips which are slightly parted as her breathing increases fast. She softly shivers under my arm. No, no, no, no, no, no… I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, just do it and get it over with, Ram. I shake my head, opening my eyes, knowing what I'm going to do.

Kiss me damn it! I implore him but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, Completely captivated by him,. I’m staring at Ram Kapoor’s exquisitely sculptured mouth, mesmerized and he’s looking down at me, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening. He’s breathing harder than usual, and I’ve stopped breathing altogether. I’m in your arms.

Kiss me, please. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives me a small shake of his head as if in answer to my silent question. When he opens his eyes again, it’s with some new purpose, a steely resolve.

Ram: “Priya, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you,” he whispers.
No. I don't do the boyfriend thing. I just want to fuck you Priya. She's frowning at me. What? Let go of her now, Ram.

What? Where is this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at him, and my head swims with rejection.

Ram: “Breathe, Priya, breathe. I’m going to stand you up and let you go,” he says quietly, and he gently pushes me away.

Adrenaline has spiked through my body, from the near miss with the cyclist or the heady proximity to Ram, leaving me wired and weak. NO! My psyche screams as he pulls away, leaving me bereft. He has his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length, watching my reactions carefully. And the only thing I can think is that I wanted to be kissed, made it pretty damned obvious, and he didn’t do it. He doesn’t want me. He really doesn’t want me. I have royally screwed up the coffee morning.

Priya:  “I’ve got this,” I breathe, finding my voice. “Thank you,” I mutter awash with humiliation. How could I have misread the situation between us so utterly? I need to get away from him

Ram: “For what?” he frowns. He hasn’t taken his hands off me.

Priya: “For saving me,” I whisper.

Ram: “That idiot was riding the wrong way. I’m glad I was here. I shudder to think what could have happened to you.”

He releases me, his hands by his sides, and I’m standing in front of him feeling like a fool.

With a shake, I clear my head. I just want to go. All my vague, unarticulated hopes have been dashed. He doesn’t want me. What was I thinking? I scold myself. What would Ram Kapoor want with you? My subconscious mocks me. I wrap my arms around myself and turn to face the road and note with relief that the green man has appeared. I quickly make my way across, conscious that Ram is behind me. Outside the office, I turn briefly to face him but cannot look him in the eye.

Priya: “Thanks for the tea,”

This is it. Now or never, Ram. Tell her your plans.

Ram: “priya… I… ”
What? What shall I say? Ask her out for a dinner date? Fuck sake, Ram! I just stare at her, demanding her attention. She peeks up at me, her eyes widening. Fuck! Take her to apartment? Let her go! Why has this girl mind fucked me completely! This is so god damn frustrating!

He stops, and the anguish in his voice demands my attention, so I peer unwillingly up at him. His dark brown eyes are bleak as he runs his hand through his hair.

He looks torn, frustrated, his expression stark, all his careful control has evaporated.

Priya: “What, Ram I mean Sir?” I snap irritably after he says – nothing. I just want to go. I need to take my fragile, wounded pride away and somehow nurse it back to health.

Ram: “nothing,”

Huh? This is why he looks so desolate? This is the big send off? Just to say nothing?

Priya: “Goodbye, Mr. Kapoor.” I turn on my heel, vaguely amazed that I don’t trip, and without giving him a second glance, I disappear down the sidewalk toward the underground garage.

Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light, I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking?

Unbidden and unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. Why am I crying? I sink to the ground, angry at myself for this senseless reaction. Drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller I am.

Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over the loss of something I never had. How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was –my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations.

I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting field. Romantically, though, I’ve never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity– I’m too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in my chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest – no one except Ram Kapoor. Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Raj and Rajat, though I’m sure neither of them have been found sobbing alone in dark places.

Perhaps I just need a good cry.

Stop! Stop Now! - My subconscious is metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. Get in the car, go home Forget about him and the coffee just think that he is your Boss… Now! And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap.

I take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. Get it together Priya. I head for  car, wiping the tears off my face as I do. I will not think of him again. I can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on my work.

Neha is sitting at the dining table with her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me.

Neha:“Priya what’s wrong?”

Oh no… not the Neha’s Inquisition. I shake my head at her in a back-off now neha way – but I might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute.

Neha: “You’ve been crying,” she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious sometimes. “What happened, did your boss said something?” she growls, and her face – Damn, she’s scary.

Priya: “Nothing Neha.” That’s actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to my face.

Neha: “Then why have you been crying? You never cry,”

She stands, her eyes brimming with concern. She puts her arms around me and hugs me.

I need to say something just to get her to back off.

Priya:“I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily from… him.

Neha: “Damn Priya – are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds me at arm’s length and does a quick visual check-up on me.

Priya:“No. Ram saved me,” I whisper. “But I was quite shaken.”

Neha: “I’m not surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee.”

Priya:“I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why he asked me.”

Neha: “He likes you Priya.” She drops her arms.

I head into the kitchen so that she can’t see my face.

Priya:  he’s a little out of my league Neha,” I say as dryly as I can manage.

Neha: “What do you mean?”

Priya:“Oh neha, it’s obvious.” I whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway.

Neha:“ Okay, he’s got more money than you, but then he has

more money than most people in India!”

priya: “Neha he’s– ” I shrug.

Neha:“Priya! For heaven’s sake – how many times must I tell you? You’re a total babe,” she interrupts me. Oh no. She’s off on this tirade again.

Priya:“Neha, please. I need to do some work.” I cut her short. She frowns.

Neha: Rajat had sent the Photos of Ram Kapoor your boss let’s check it.

Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Ram.. I-don’t-want-you Ram?

Priya:“Sure,” I magic a smile on to my face and stroll over to the laptop.

 And there he is, staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking.

All the time meeting his steady brown gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why he’s not the man for me – his own words to me.

And it’s suddenly, blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and from two very different worlds. I have a vision of myself as icarus flying too close to the sun and crashing and burning as a result. His words make sense. He’s not the man for me.

This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept… almost. I can live with this. I understand.

*

It’s only when I’m in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my strange morning. I keep coming back to the ‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing’ quote, and I’m angry that I didn’t pounce on this information sooner, when I was in his arms mentally begging him with every fiber of my being to kiss me. He’d said it there and then. He didn’t want me as a girlfriend. I turn on to my side. Idly, I wonder if perhaps he’s celibate? I close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe he’s saving

himself. Well not for you, my sleepy subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams.

And that night, I dream of brown eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and I’m running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t know if I’m running toward something or away from it… it’s just not clear.

*

For the past week, I've busied myself with various works, signing and legalizing documents, meeting various clients and ignoring Miss Priya Sharma . All of which hadn't distracted me from my mindless obsession with Miss Priya Sharma. The girl is like a luring beast, every single moment. I long to feel her body pressed up against mine, at night it's worse, I run wild with imagination, picturing her in different positions in my playroom.
But she's not yours. I grit my teeth at the insane thought of some shuck running his hands on what should be mine. This girl is so irritating! Just go and fuck her and get it over with, Ram. I need something that would help lure her into my trap. Considering what happened last week, I'm properly the last person on this earth she would want to talk to right now. Then it hits me. I pull out my phone, and phone Shiny(He is Ram’s most trusted bodyguard and the head of RAM’s security team).
"Shiny, It's Ram. Listen I need you to do a favor for me on your way back to the apartment. Locate limited edition copies of Tess of the d'Urbervilles, first edition. Bring them here after you've picked up Vikram from the Airport."
This is the only quote I think will make its way across, she shouldn't be believing in fairy tales or even classic for that matter to find such love or relationship of sorts in pages of books. Reality is where the key lies,
*

It’s probably the first time all week that I’ve smiled. It’s Friday,

and we shall be celebrating tonight, really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I’ve never been drunk before.

I head back to apartment ..Neha is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys.

Why didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me ? Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels what tell them of these tricks

Neha:“Priya, there’s a package for you.” Neha is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel. Odd. I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon recently.

Neha gives me the parcel and takes my keys to open the front door. It’s addressed to Miss Priya Sharma. There’s no sender’s address or name. Perhaps it’s from my mom or Dad.

Priya:“It’s probably from my folks.”

Neha: “Open it!” neha is excited as she heads into the kitchen

I open the parcel, and inside I find a half leather box containing three seemingly identity-cal old cloth-covered books in mint condition and a plain white card. Written on one side, in black ink in neat cursive handwriting, is:

I recognize the quote from Tess. I am stunned by the irony as I’ve just spent three hours writing about the novels of Thomas Hardy .Perhaps

there is no irony… perhaps it’s deliberate. I inspect the books closely, three volumes of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I open the front cover. Written in an old typeface on the front plate is:

‘London: Jack R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891.’

Holy shit - they are first editions. They must be worth a fortune, and I know immediately who’s sent them. Neha is at my shoulder gazing at the books. She picks up the card.

Priya whispers “First Editions,”

Neha: “No.” Neha’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “Ram?”

I nod.

Priya: “Can’t think of anyone else.”

Neha:“What does this card mean?”

Priya:“I have no idea. I think it’s a warning – honestly he keeps warning me off. I have no idea why. It’s not like I’m beating his door down.” I frown.

Neha:“I know you don’t want to talk about him, Priya, but he’s seriously into you. Warnings or no.”

I have not let myself dwell on Ram Kapoor for the past week. Okay… so his brown eyes are still haunting my dreams, and I know it will take an eternity to expunge the feel of his arms around me and his wonderful fragrance from my brain. Why has he sent me this?

He told me that I wasn’t for him.

Neha: “I’ve found one Tess first edition for sale . But yours looks in much better condition. They must have cost more.” Neha is consulting her good friend Google.

Priya: “This quote – Tess says it to her mother after Alec D’Urbervilles has had his wicked way with her.”

Neha: “I know….What is he trying to say?”

Priya: “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I can’t accept these from him. I’ll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book.”

Neha: “The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?” neha asks with a completely straight face.

Priya: “Yes, that bit.” I giggle. I love Neha, she’s so loyal and supportive. I repack the books and leave them on the dining table.

*

The bar is loud and hectic, Rajat joins us. he’s in the mood to party and gets us into the spirit of our newfound freedom by buying a pitcher of margaritas for us all. As I down my fifth, I know this is not a good idea on top of the champagne.

Rajat puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close.

Rajat: “Another margarita?”

Priya: “Rajat Kapur with U – are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think it’s working.” I giggle. “I think I’d better have a beer. I’ll go get us a pitcher.”

Neha:“More drink, priya!”

I move out of Rajat’s hold and get up from our table. Whoa. Head spin. I have to grab the back of the chair. Tequila based cocktails are not a good idea.

I make my way to the bar and decide that I should visit the powder room while I am on my feet. Good thinking, Priya. I stagger off through the crowd. Of course, there’s a line, but at least it’s quiet and cool in the corridor. I reach for my cell phone to relieve the boredom of waiting in line. Hmm… Who did I last call? Was it rajat? Before that a number I don’t recognize. Oh yes. Ram, I think this is his number. I giggle. I have no idea what the time is, maybe I’ll wake him. Perhaps he can tell me why he sent me those books and the cryptic message. If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grin and hit the automatic

re-dial. He answers on the second ring.

As I rise to my feet my phone rings. Right now it's just after midnight, as I glance down at my IPHONE , PRIYA SHARMA flashes up on the screen. I give Vikram who is waiting by the door a one moment signal with my finger. And answer as the phone rings a second time.

Why is she phoning me? Why the fuck is she phoning me?

Ram: “Priya?”

He’s surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I’m surprised to ring him.

Then my befuddled brain registers… how does he know it’s me?

Priya: “Why did you send me the books?” I slur at him.

Ram:“Priya, are you okay? You sound strange.” His voice is filled with concern.

Priya:“I’m not the strange one, you are,” I accuse. There - that told him, my courage fuelled by alcohol.

Ram:“Priya, have you been drinking?”

Priya:“What’s it to you?”

Ram: “I’m – curious. Where are you?”

Priya:“In a bar.”

Ram:“Which bar?” He sounds exasperated.
 Give me an honest answer Miss Priya. Or forgive me when I find you and I will I'll take you across my knee!

Priya:“A bar in Juhu.”

Ram:“How are you getting home?”

Priya:“I’ll find a way.” This conversation is not going how I expected.

Ram:“Which bar are you in?”

Priya:“Why did you send me the books, Ram?”

Ram:“Priya, where are you, tell me now.” His tone is so, so dictatorial, his usual control freak. I imagine him as an old time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old fashioned megaphone and a riding crop. The image makes me laugh out loud.

my dominant side kicking in full swing. I need to know where the hell she is. I need her to be okay. Fuck sake,Priya.

Priya:“You’re so… domineering,” I giggle.

Oh that's a musical sound. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finger.

Ram:“Priya, so help me, where the fuck are you?”

Ram Kapoor is swearing at me. I giggle again.

She continues to giggle, setting my groin alight.

Priya: “I’m in Juhu”

Ram:“Where in Juhu?”

Priya:“Goodnight, Ram.”

Ram: “Priya!”

I exclaim, but she has already hung up. FUCK! I look at the screen, a flashing red light indicates her exact location. I grab my jacket of the seat and hurridly make my way

I hang up. Ha! Though he didn’t tell me about the books. I frown. Mission not accomplished. I am really quite drunk - my head swims uncomfortably as I shuffle with the line. Well, the object of the exercise was to get drunk. I have succeeded. This is what it’s like – probably not an experience to be repeated. The line has moved, and it’s now my turn. I stare blankly at the poster on the back of the toilet door that extols the virtues of safe sex. Holy crap, did I just call Ram Kapoor? Shit. My phone rings and it makes me jump. I yelp in surprise.

Priya: “Hi,” I bleat timidly in to the phone. I hadn’t reckoned on this.

Ram: “I’m coming to get you,” he says and hangs up. Only Ram Kapoor could sound so calm and so threatening at the same time.

Holy crap. I pull my jeans up. My heart is thumping. Coming to get me? Oh no. I’m going to be sick… no… I’m fine. Hang on. He’s just messing with my head. I didn’t tell him where I was. He can’t find me here. Besides, it will take him hours to get here from Bandra, and we’ll be long gone by then. I wash my hands and check my face in the mirror.

I look flushed and slightly unfocused. Hmm… tequila.

I wait at the bar for what feels like an eternity for the pitcher of beer and eventually return to the table.

Neha: “You’ve been gone so long.” Neha scolds me. “Where were you?”

Priya: “I was in line for the restroom.”

Rajat pauses in his tirade to pour us all beers, and I take a long sip.

Priya: “Neha, I think I’d better step outside and get some fresh air.”

Neha: “Priya, you are such a lightweight.”

Priya: “I’ll be five minutes.”

I make my way through the crowd again. I am beginning to feel nauseous, my head is spinning uncomfortably, and I’m a little unsteady on my feet. More unsteady than usual.

Drinking in the cool evening air in the parking lot makes me realize how drunk I am.

My vision has been affected, and I’m really seeing double of everything like in old re-runs of Tom and Jerry Cartoons. I think I’m going to be sick. Why did I let myself get this messed up?

Rajat: “priya,”  he has joined me. “You okay?”

Priya: “I think I’ve just had a bit too much to drink.” I smile weakly at him.

Rajat: “Me too,” he murmurs, and his dark eyes are watching me intently. Rajat: “Do you need a hand?” he asks and steps closer, putting his arm around me.

Priya: “ Rajat I’m okay. I’ve got this.” I try and push him away rather feebly.

Rajat: “priya, please,” he whispers, and now he’s holding me in his arms, pulling me close.

Priya: “rajat, what you doing?”

Rajat: “You know I like you priya, please.” He has one hand at the small of my back holding me against him, the other at my chin tipping back my head. Holy fuck… he’s going to kiss me.

Priya: “No rajat, stop – no.” I push him, but he’s a wall of hard muscle, and I cannot shift him.

His hand has slipped into my hair, and he’s holding my head in place.

Rajat: “Please, priya,” he whispers against my lips. His breath is soft and smells too sweet – of margarita and beer. He gently trails kisses along my jaw up to the side of my mouth. I feel panicky, drunk, and out of control. The feeling is suffocating.

Priya: “Rajat, no,” I plead. I don’t want this. You are my friend, and I think I’m going to throw up.

Ten minutes later Shiny pulls up in front of one of the many bars in Juhu. I look out of the window and see Miss Sharma leaning against the window of one, she looks uneasy on her feet. A young man, I believe it's that Rajat boy from before is now at her side. I am stunned as I watch the scene enfolding in front of me. His hands slide from his side reaching for her face. Anger rises up in me. GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER YOU PIECE OF TRASH!
I leap out of the car, knowing that Vikram’s footsteps would eagerly follow. As I get closer I can hear her. She's refusing him.  I half smile as I see he is being resistant I am too close now and I hear her plead with the boy once more.

“I think the lady said no.” A voice in the dark says quietly. Fuck off now little boy. It's way past your bedtime

 Holy shit!

Ram kapoor, he’s here. How? rajat releases me.

Rajat: “Mr.Kapoor,” he says tersely.

I glower at him, I'm anxious, furious. What the fuck would of happened if I wasn't here! Fuck off Rajat. 

I glance anxiously up at RAM. He’s glowering at Rajat, and he’s furious. Crap. My stomach heaves, and I double over, my body no longer able to tolerate the alcohol, and I vomit spectacularly on to the ground.

Rajat: “Ugh –, priya!” Rajat jumps back in disgust. Ram grabs my hair and pulls it out of the firing line and gently leads me over to a raised flowerbed on the edge of the parking lot. I note, with deep gratitude, that it’s in relative darkness.

Ram: “If you’re going to throw up again, do it here. I’ll hold you.” He has one arm around my shoulders – the other is holding my hair in a makeshift ponytail down my back so it’s off my face. I try awkwardly to push him away, but I vomit again… and again. Oh shit…how long is this going to last? Even when my stomach’s empty and nothing is coming up, horrible dry heaves wrack my body. I vow silently that I’ll never ever drink

again. This is just too appalling for words. Finally, it stops.

My hands are resting on the brick wall of the flowerbed, barely holding me up - vomiting profusely is exhausting. Ram takes his hands off me and passes me a handkerchief.

Only he would have a monogrammed, freshly laundered, linen handkerchief. CTG. I didn’t know you could still buy these. Vaguely I wonder what the T stands for as I wipe my mouth. I cannot bring myself to look at him. I’m swamped with shame, disgusted with myself. I want to be swallowed up by the azaleas in the flowerbed and be anywhere but here Rajat is still hovering by the entrance to the bar, watching us. I groan and put my head in my hands. This has to be the single worst moment

of my life. My head is still swimming as I try to remember a worse one – and I can only come up with Ram’s rejection – and this is so, so many shades darker in terms of humiliation. I risk a peek at him. He’s staring down at me, his face composed, giving nothing away. Turning, I glance at rajat who looks pretty shamefaced himself and, like me, intimidated by Ram. I glare at him. I have a few choice words for my so-called friend, none of which I can repeat in front of Ram Kapoor. Priya who are you kidding, he’s just seen you hurl all over the ground and into the local flora. There’s no disguising your lack of ladylike behavior.

Rajat: “I’ll err… see you inside,” he mutters, but we both ignore him, and he slinks off back into the building. I’m on my own with Ram. Double crap. What should I say to him?

Apologize for the phone call.

Priya: “I’m sorry,” I mutter, staring at the handkerchief which I am furiously worrying with my fingers. It’s so soft.

Ram: “What are you sorry for Priya?”

Oh crap, he wants his damned pound of flesh.

Priya: “The phone call mainly, being sick. Oh, the list is endless,” I murmur, feeling my skin coloring up. Please, please can I die now?

she bows her head an inch more feeling embarrassed. I'm glad you called me, baby.

Ram: “We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you,” he says dryly. “It’s about knowing your limits, Priya. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?”

My head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do with him? I didn’t invite him here. He sounds like a middle-aged man scolding me like an errant child. Part of me wants to say, if I want to get drunk every night like this, then it’s my decision and nothing to do with him – but I’m not brave enough.

Not now that I’ve thrown up in front of him. Why is he still standing there?

Priya: “No,” I say contritely. “I’ve never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again.”

I just don’t understand why he’s here. I begin to feel faint. He notices my dizziness and grabs me before I fall and hoists me into his arms, holding me close to his chest like a child.

Ram: “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he murmurs.

Priya: “I need to tell Neha.” Holy Moses, I’m in his arms again.

Ram:“My brother can tell her.”

Priya:“What?”

Ram:“My brother Vikram is talking to Miss Neha.”

Priya:“Oh?” I don’t understand.

Ram: “He was with me when you phoned.”

Priya:  “How did you find me?”

Ram: “I tracked your cell phone Priya.”

Oh, of course he did. How is that possible? Is it legal? Stalker, my subconscious whispers at me through the cloud of tequila that’s still floating in my brain, but somehow, because it’s him, I don’t mind.

Ram:“Do you have a jacket or a purse?”

Priya:“Err… yes, I came with both. Ram, please, I need to tell Neha. She’ll worry.” His mouth presses into a hard line, and he sighs heavily.

Ram: “If you must.”

I set her down, and taking her hand leads her into the bar. I feel a shot of electricity shot through my hand at the touch, though I choose to ignore it. I clutch her hand tighter.

He sets me down, and, taking my hand, leads me back into the bar. I feel weak, still drunk, embarrassed, exhausted, mortified, and on some strange level absolutely off the scale thrilled. He’s clutching my hand – such a confusing array of emotions. I’ll need at least a week to process them all.

It’s noisy, crowded, and the music has started so there is a large crowd on the dance floor. Neha is not at our table, and Rajat has disappeared.

My head is beginning to pound in time to the thumping bass line of the music.

I struggle into my black jacket and place my small shoulder bag over my head so it sits at my hip. I’m ready to go, once I’ve seen Neha.

Priya: “She’s on the dance floor,”

 I touch Ram’s arm and lean up and shout in his ear, brushing his hair with my nose, smelling his clean, fresh smell. Oh my. All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that I have tried to deny surface and run amok through my drained body. I flush, and somewhere deep, deep down my muscles clench deliciously.

Her warm breath trickling on my ear lobe sending absolute pleasure to my groin. All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings rush back as I try to shake them from my mind. Fucking get a grip. 

He rolls his eyes at me and takes my hand again and leads me to the bar. He’s served immediately, no waiting for Mr. Control-Freak Kapoor. Does everything come so easily to him? I can’t hear what he orders. He hands me a very large glass of iced water.

Ram: “Drink,” he shouts his order at me.

The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music casting strange colored light and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. He’s alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. He’s watching me intently. I take a tentative sip.

Ram: “All of it,” he shouts.

I run my hand through my hair bring my attention to Miss Priya once more. You're such a silly girl, Priya! You should behave or I'll teach you a thing or too about manners and authority. I glare at her until she drinks the entire glass. I take the glass from her, and place it back on the bar.

He’s so overbearing. He runs his hand through his unruly hair. He looks frustrated, angry. What is his problem? Apart from a silly drunk girl ringing him in the middle of the night so he thinks she needs rescuing. And it turns out she does from her over amorous friend. Then seeing her being violently ill at his feet. Oh priya… are you ever going to live this down? My subconscious is figuratively tutting and glaring at me over her half moon specs. I sway slightly, and he puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me. I do as I’m told and drink the entire glass. It makes me feel queasy. Taking the glass from me, he places it on the bar. I notice through a blur what he’s wearing; a loose white linen shirt, snug jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a dark pinstriped jacket. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and I see a sprinkling of hair in the gap. In my groggy frame of mind, he looks yummy .He takes my hand once more. Holy cow – he’s leading me onto the dance floor. Shit.

I do not dance. He can sense my reluctance, and under the colored lights, I can see his amused, slightly sardonic smile. He gives my hand a sharp tug, and I’m in his arms again, and he starts to move, taking me with him. Boy, he can dance, and I can’t believe that I’m following him step for step. Maybe it’s because I’m drunk that I can keep up. He’s holding me tight against him, his body against mine… if he wasn’t clutching me so tightly, I’m sure I would swoon at his feet. In the back of my mind, my mother’s often-recited warning comes to me: Never trust a man who can dance.

He moves us through the crowded throng of dancers to the other side of the dance floor, and we are beside Neha and Vikram, Ram’s brother. The music is pounding away, loud and leery, outside and inside my head. I gasp. Neha is making her moves. She’s dancing her ass off, and she only ever does that if she likes someone.

Really likes someone. It means there’ll be three of us for breakfast tomorrow morning. Neha!

Ram leans over and shouts in Vikram’s ear. I cannot hear what he says. Vikram is tall with wide shoulders, and light, wickedly gleaming eyes.

Ram: "I'm taking Priya, to the apartment. Find other arrangements for tonight." I ordered.
Vikram: "No problem, bro. I won't be back anyways."
 He winks at me, and looks at priya who is stood still in front of me.
Vikram: "Have fun."

I can’t tell the color under the pulsating heat of the flashing lights. Vikram grins, and pulls Neha into his arms, where she is more than happy to be… Neha! Even in my inebriated state, I am shocked. She’s only just met him. She nods at whatever Vikram says and grins at me and waves. Ram propels us off the dance floor in double quick time.

But I never got to talk to her. Is she okay? I can see where things are heading for her and him. I need to do the safe sex lecture. In the back of my mind, I hope she reads one of the posters on the back of the toilet doors. My thoughts crash through my brain, fighting the drunk, fuzzy feeling. It’s so warm in here, so loud, so colorful– too bright. My head begins to swim, oh no… and I can feel the floor coming up to meet my face or so it feels.

I ease Priya away from the dance floor before she over hears one of my brother's idiotic comments. As we make it half way towards the entrance I could feel Priya's legs begin to buckle underneath her. She lies unconscious in my arms, passed out.

The last thing I hear before I pass out in Ram Kapoor’s arms is his harsh epithet.

Ram: “Fuck!”