Svengali– A person who exerts a controlling or mesmeric influence on another, especially for a sinister purpose.
The Index of Chapters for this story is at the top. You see that button that says ‘Index of Chapters’? That’d be the one.
Enjoy! 🙂
Chapter Four- Videogames
Leonidafremov on DeviantArt
“Hey there.” the boy slipped into the seat opposite hers and grinned. Khushi receded further into the chair, unable to speak. Her heart was hammering so rapidly in her ribcage that she felt certain it would eventually break through. “You see, I’m friends with Payal- Your roomie.” he stood up and walked over to the TV, opening a wooden panel and revealing a black box behind it. He pressed a few buttons and began running his finger along what looked like several green DVD cases. “And she says you haven’t said a word since you arrived yesterday. You’re just nervous I guess, but Payal’s nice. And everyone’s mostly pretty friendly. You’ll make friends soon enough.” he slid out one of the boxes and removed what appeared to be a CD or a DVD from inside. He placed it in the strangely shaped box on which a green circle burst into life as he did so. He took an even stranger shaped device with several buttons and joysticks on it from the cupboard and closed the panel again.
He came and sat back down next to Khushi and focused his attention on the screen. “Do you want to play? I mean, only if you really want to. I know I’m attractive and all, but there are few things more annoying than a girl pretending to like what I like when she doesn’t. It’s like, if you don’t want to play- go do your nails or something. Don’t pretend you’re all into it and get me to think you’re the coolest girl ever only to reveal you hate it when it’s too late and we’re in a relationship. You get me?”
“NK do you mind not boring the girl with your inane crap? Just because you cannot let anything go doesn’t mean you have to vent your problems to a total stranger.” the girl who had just walked in plonked herself ungraciously into one of the beanbags on the floor. It was the same pretty one who slept in the other bed in the room Khushi had spent a sleepless night the day before.
Despite obviously being extremely tired herself, the girl had tried to make conversation with Khushi, asking if she needed any help etc. But Khushi had just unzipped her suitcase, grabbed her washbag and pyjamas and headed for the bathroom, not returning until she was sure the other girl was asleep. The girl, whose name she now knew was Payal, had again tried to invite her to breakfast that morning but Khushi had ignored her olive branch yet again and had instead found a what was then deserted room to sit in. “Don’t mind him. I’m Payal by the way. What’s your name? I didn’t catch it earlier.”
Khushi blinked silently at the screen and Payal exchanged a bemused look with NK. “Okaaay then. So NK, what’re you playing? Please tell me it’s not FIFA again, there’s only so much watching tiny digital footballer butt I can handle.”
NK laughed and followed the instructions to resume his game. “Sleeping Dogs.”
“Oh good. I like Jackie.”
“You do realise crushing on a fictional digital character is really weird.”
“Shut up and start playing already.”
Khushi was spellbound.
Completely and utterly mesmerised.
The boy held a joystick or jabbed fiercely at a button and the man on the screen did exactly what he wanted him to. If NK wanted him to walk forward, he’d walk forward.
If NK wanted him to fight, he’d fight.
If NK wanted him to sleep, he’d sleep.
If NK wanted him to stop talking, he’d stop talking.
Khushi stared, transfixed, at the Controller in his hand and she felt something twist in her gut.
It was such an unfamiliar sensation that nobody was more shocked than her when she ended up releasing a barbed burst of laughter. “Whoa. Oh shit!” NK groaned as his lapse in concentration made him lose track of the character he was supposed to be following and he failed the mission.
“What’re you laughing at?” Payal asked, now convinced the new girl was a lunatic.
Khushi kept trying to stifle the ungracious sound of a grating laughter but found herself unable to: she clutched at her stomach and tried to stop, but that just resulted in the giggles coming out in hysterical explosions.
She smiled a lot; had been taught how to angle her face when she did so to display her best angle. And how much teeth was appropriate, how much tension in the face was polite but not unbecoming… But she hadn’t laughed in- well. She didn’t know the last time she had. It seemed crazy.
But Khushi hadn’t laughed since before she had even become Khushi.
“What’s so funny?” NK tried.
That just sent her into a new fit of laughter, so much so that she felt her eyes beginning to water.
When his character had died the first time, NK had said something. ‘No worries. It’s just a game.‘
Wei Shen’s life was entirely in his hands and when his carelessness or fallibility resulted in Weilosing it, he simply dismissed it and restarted.
What was so funny?
That was.
A shrill bell sounded and both NK and Payal jumped. NK held down a button on the Controller and hurriedly put it away. “When you’re done with your mental breakdown, we have class to go to. Since you’re new, we’ll take you. But after that, we’ll introduce you to some of the other crazies and you can get them to show you round. Yeah?”
“You will first pick out a name from the hat.” Devyani held out the large felt witch hat. “And then, to test your General Knowledge, it will be up to you to determine who your partner should be. When you have located your partner, your task is to come up with a dramatic interpretation of their story. If you do not know their story, then though severely disappointed in your generation, I willturn a blind eye to a discreet iPhone browsing Google.”
Several hushed giggles whipped around the room before a stern look from Devyani instantly silenced them. “As you’re new, dear, you may go first.” She held the hat out towards Khushi, the soft wrinkles on her face deepening into creases as her heavily powdered face relaxed into a smile.
Khushi reached a hand into the hat and her fingers pulled out the first crisp, folded sheet they brushed.
PERSEPHONE
“Interesting. Do you know who you’re looking for?” Devyani was expecting an answer, but instead, the girl who had seated herself slightly away from the others and whose body language and just the mysterious haze of the air around her had kept anyone from filling the space simply nodded silently. Devyani didn’t know what it was about this girl, but it both unsettled and thrilled her.
She was special.
No wonder Joaquin had scouted her personally…
Devyani moved on and offered the hat to the next student.
“Yo. Who’s Persephone?” Khushi looked up and caught the eye of the boy from earlier that morning, wafting an unfolded card in the air. “You Persephone?” he asked and she nodded. “Cool. I’m Hades.” he sprung over and seated himself beside her.
“Since you don’t speak, I’ll just talk and you carry on sitting there like you have a rod up your arse, sound cool?”
Khushi blinked.
“I’m going to take your silence as a yes. Feel free to jump in whenever you like. So, I was thinking we tell it from Persephone’s perspective- but with a twist. Everyone’s all meh-meh-blah ‘The Rape of Persephone‘. Why don’t we have it as she went to Zeus and planned the whole thing to escape the clutches of her overbearing, over-controlling mother?” NK jumped to his feet and began to pace rapidly, pausing every so often to directly face Khushi and wave his arms around a little to emphasise his words. “Persephone’s always portrayed as such a sweet, innocent, sacrificial lamb. Why not make her secretly a vixen. Reference her affairs with Hermes and Apollo? Make it so that she saw and was attracted to Hades and so she made the necessary plans to seduce him.”
Khushi simply blinked again as NK continued. “We could make Hades innocent in all this, a foot soldier duty-bound to obey Zeus’ wishes. Too weak to disobey. Zeus was Persephone’s father so was easily manipulated into helping her. Hades kidnapped Persephone but kept from her all sustenance as he tried to keep her free from the curse of eternity in the pits of the Underworld with him. Free to leave him whenever she wanted. But sneaky old Persephone… she snuck up on Hades while he was eating and stole a few kernels of pomegranate that fell to the floor!” he flung his hands in the air emphatically.
“You can applaud now.” he stage-whispered to Khushi, not surprised in the slightest when her expression remained almost comically deadpan. “Right. So- once again, I’m going to go ahead and take your silence as affirmation and go over there to work on the script. You sit here and do your thing. Ponder the meaning of life or whatever it is you’re doing in your head. Hey- are you mentally undressing me? Because I mean, I know I’m a big guy and everything but even I’m not quite tha-“
“Hades wasn’t weak.”
NK’s eyes nearly goggled out of their sockets as she spoke. “Pardon?”
“Hades wasn’t weak and nor was he the type to do anything he didn’t want to do. Every day he was surrounded by death and misery and pain. Although Hades was perfectly satisfied with the life he was leading, seeing himself as the one to deliver tortured, wandering souls to eternal peace or punishment- Hermes took pity on him. Hermes would tell him tales of the other Olympians and the world above to try and entertain the serious, apparently humourless guardian of the Underworld. One day he told Hades about Persephone. A Goddess who brought life almost as Hades himself brought death. Hermes spoke of her smile, her kindness, her beauty. And Hades was enthralled. He had to see her for himself.” Payal, who had been working beside them hushed her partner with her hand and turned to listen to Khushi’s story, the power behind her voice increasing with every syllable.
“When he went to see her in the field, he intended only to peek. Take a glimpse at this immortal perfection who would never cross into his realm. But when he saw, he recognised her as the half of himself he hadn’t even realised was missing. He needed her to complete himself and so… he took her. Once in their realm, he tried to make her happy, but his method for doing this was only to make sure that she was never sad. He would allow her to do only certain things, go to only certain places, speak at only certain times- and he made sure he knew the consequences of breaking the rules. Of eating what he had not given her and, most importantly, of attempting to deceive Cerberus and escape.”
Even Devyani had stopped now, listening to Khushi with rapt attention.
“After a while in his company, she began to see the power he wielded and the life he could therefore offer her. She saw how he guided lost spirits, consoled desolate ones and firmly commanded troublesome ones. She saw how despite guiding death- nothing brought him more joy than to work in his gardens and see the life in the trees and plants that sprung forth from the fertile land. She compared her life to the suffocating one she had been living under the tyranny of her mother… and to her surprise she found that she preferred it. She actually felt free. She was his primary concern. She was his world. He loved her even if he would never say it and slowly. Slowly. Day by day… She fell in love with him too.” her voice, which had held an almost dreamlike quality to that point suddenly became harsh and serious. “But Demeter. Demeter ruined everything. Demeter demanded her return and manipulated events until Hades- good, kind-hearted, sweet, benevolent Hades. Persephone’s saviour… he was forced to return her. To save the lives of many others, he was willing to give up his love. His everything. His Persephone.” several gasps as she released the word from her mouth like a bullet.
“But he had already freed her. She was already his. She would already do whatever she had to do to stay by his side. Even if that meant leaving him temporarily… And so, when she was about to leave with Hermes… she removed her hand from her robes five, ruby red seeds. The fruit of the trees from the gardens Hades loved and nurtured like children… And before anybody could move- Persephone ate them.”
Khushi finished and allowed her final sentence and the meaning behind them to hang in the air. She was unaware of the applause that rang out in the room for she herself was in a different place. A different time.
With him.
Her Saviour.
Her Controller.
Her Hades.
As the applause died away, Payal raised an eyebrow and grinned at NK, “I don’t know about you, but personally, I preferred her version.”
Arnav Singh Raizada wasn’t worried. So what if she hadn’t left the protection of his house for six years? She had been around people before and had been taught how to behave in every situation which could conceivably be thrown at her.
He had pulled her out of a world with a fate decidedly worse than death and she had been perfectly unsullied.
So no, Arnav Singh Raizada was not concerned about his Khushi spending a few months in an Academy to improve her talents before he finally moved her onto bigger things. Before his planreally kicked into motion.
Well… He smirked as he thought of the contents of the boot of his car and the destinations he had in mind for them. Some old favours to be called in and some new exchanges to be made.
“You do acknowledge the fact that this entire plan is ridiculous, right?” asked the man in the dark suit sitting in the car beside him, driving the black car with the tinted windows.
“No.” came Arnav’s direct reply.
“I guess you wouldn’t be insane if you knew you were.” he rolled his eyes and pressed gently down on the break to bring the car gliding to a halt at the traffic lights.
“You know, I’ve always had the feeling you were never 100% behind this, Aman. Which, considering it was your idea in the first place I find a little ironic.”
“I told you to rescue a few of those poor girls one of your creepy-ass clients was selling. I didn’t tell you to buy one. I mean, why even bother if you were just going to send her off to boarding school for six years?”
“I wanted to do my good deed for the… lifetime.” he drawled. “Can I smoke in here?”
“No. You do realise I’ve never even met her? As your business partner, I’d expect to have met your ward.”
“What can I say? She’s always at school.”
“Yeah. Right. So, who’s first?”
Arnav listed several names.
“Wow. They’re all pretty big in the Entertainment Industry, right? I mean, I knew they had a problem and both Bollywood and Hollywood are pretty good revenue sources- but that iswidespread.”
“Anyone missing?”
Aman snorted. “You mean except James Cameron?”
“I don’t like him. Too cocky.”
Aman gave him a sceptical side-glance at that. “In that case, no. You’ve pretty much got everyone on your clientele. You mind if I shake a few hands, get a few signatures before we fuel the habit that will inevitably destroy their lives and leave them wallowing in an inescapable pit of loathing and self-hatred?”
Arnav looked out through the tint of his sunglasses and the side window at the urban landscape zipping past.
“Oh please Aman, stop with the compliments. You’ll make me arrogant.”
Aman, who had just taken a drink from the cup of coffee in the holder nearly spat it out over the steering wheel. He sniggered and then put on a grave tone of voice. “Ah. Yes. Wouldn’t want to risk that happening. It would be so out of character for you.”
“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?”
“Not even a trace.”
Aman was the closest thing Arnav had to a friend- in fact, Arnav was certain Aman considered himself to already be so- and even he remained blissfully ignorant of Arnav’s true intentions for Khushi.
He was grateful to his business partner for the idea which had surprisingly sprung him from the cesspool of boredom and depression into which he had been slumping six years ago.
“He’s your client man, I know we see some sick, horrible shit but this was just- beyond. Can’t you do something? Crack out that hidden hero complex I know you have. Save them? I mean- they’re so innocent. Those girls. Never done a thing wrong to anybody… It just doesn’t seem right.”
No. It hadn’t seemed right.
But it would’ve been ridiculous to even attempt to rescue them all.
So he had saved one…
Chapter Three- Blue Jeans
Leonidafremov on DeviantArt
There was something different about her outfit today. She took the hanger off the small hook beside her door and examined it carefully. The clothes he picked for her usually consisted of jeans and simple shirts for casual day wear and plain workout clothes in either black or grey.
The dress hanging on the hanger was unlike anything he had ever given her to wear before. It was a sleeveless shift dress in an immaculate shade of white, the only decoration on it a silver, embellished peter-pan collar.
On the floor below it, instead of the seemingly endless variety of Vans, Etnies, Bapes and Converses she was used to she found a pair of nude coloured, red bottomed Jimmy Choos, the heels of a height she had been taught to walk appropriately in by Manorama when she was 17 but had never worn since.
She looked at her schedule and was jolted into ripping it from the wall and making sure her eyes weren’t fooling her. Instead of the usual timetable of lessons and classes and mealtimes for the day, there was simply a list of instructions:
1- Hair to be tied in a secure topknot away from your face.
2- No makeup is to be worn.
3- No jewelry other than the earrings left on your dressing table.
4- Breakfast at 07:30.
5- Be in the Living Room at 07:50.
6- Do not speak unless given express permission to do so.
Khushi stood in her towel; having just showered, dried her hair and then moisturised and flipped the sheet over to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. Was this a joke?
In the six years she had lived here, he had never deviated from routine. Everything had a time and a place and a structure. This… this was unheard of.
She tugged on the dress- it fit her like a glove. The clothes he picked for her always did. And she followed the paltry instructions she did have to the T, ensuring that her hair was neat with no tendrils falling in her face and that she wore the lilac tinged, daisy shaped earrings with the diamond in the centre which were in a small black box on her dressing table. Khushi had at first stroked the earrings pensively. In the language of flowers, the daisy represented innocence, purity and faith.
The books she read had all been selected by him and if he had bought a book about the language of flowers and then chosen to give her daisies, he had done so knowingly. This was a hint, a subtle push in telling her how she was to conduct herself while wearing them.
She understood.
Khushi did up the final fastening on the shoes and stood, ironing the front of her dress flat with her hands before taking a laborious breath and turning the door handle. She half expected to find it still locked as a continuation of the series of unexpected events of that morning, but it gave way easily enough and she was able to make her way downstairs to a simply breakfast of an egg white omelette, a slice of lightly buttered toast and half a pomegranate.
She checked the clock. She was only halfway through her pomegranate but the time was already 7:43. Abandoning the bursting fruit, she placed it carefully back on the plate and covered it with the silver cloche before standing up and going to the kitchen to wash her hands. She wiped them off on a kitchen towel and then checked the clock on the wall. 7:47.
She paused outside the double doors to the living room and spun around to watch the seconds tick by on the clock hanging on the wall behind her. 7:49:21.
7:49:43.
7:49:57.
7:50:00.
She knocked.
It had been six long years and finally, Arnav’s plan was truly kicking into motion. The man currently in the room with him spoke only Spanish- this was not because he did not knowEnglish. He knew it. Had gone to school and spoken it. Made a man of himself in the English speaking world…
But he had always been burning with a hidden anger. A loathing of the people who made him feel as though his culture, his heritage, his language were somehow inferior to theirs. Their history of murder and war and bloodshed and charging into other countries to steal whatever they wanted. The people who had made his mother feel somehow less of a person because she struggled with it.
And so, when he was finally powerful and important enough for his decision to matter- Joaquin Arroyo-Vega simply stopped speaking English.
Arnav had extorted his weakness- a certain predilection to the white powder. Arnav did not believe a word of what Joaquin told him about it being in the blood of his people, but a sale was a sale. And he had recognised Joaquin as a potential asset long ago.
Finally it was paying off.
Khushi struggled to keep her composure intact when she first walked in and set eyes on Arnav.
In all the years she had known him, she had only ever seen him wearing sharp, dark coloured suits, looking polished to perfection. She had always just assumed he was a businessman.
Today he was in a casual white button up and dark blue jeans which skimmed his legs, fitting him in the way that all clothes seemed to fit attractive people. As though they had been made just for him. His shoes were dark brown suede loafers Khushi had never seen before. He was watching her, seemingly nonplussed, but Khushi didn’t miss the way he was resting his chin on his fingers; the long index finger nonchalantly pressed against his lips, reminding her to remain silent.
As she took a seat opposite the man with the inky black hair and the sharp, amber eyes wearing a sea-green polo shirt and khaki chinos, Khushi inclined her head just as infinitesimally to let him know that she had understood.
“Ella es hermosa, que no niego. Pero ser hermoso solo no es suficiente ya.”
(She’s beautiful, I won’t deny that. But being beautiful just isn’t enough anymore.)
Khushi kept her face carefully deadpan, blinking at the olive-skinned man on the sofa across from her as he took a slow sip of tea.
“Ella est lista. Ella ha sido entrenada.”
(She is ready. She has been trained.)
“Entrenados?”
(Trained?)
The man, Khushi noticed, was very expressive, his shifting moods even more exaggerated when contrasted with the stoic one of Arnav Singh Raizada.
“Si. Durante seis aos.”
(Yes. For six years.)
“No, no, no, no, no!” he put his cup down and wafted his hands dramatically in the air, shaking his head as he did so.
“No! No se puede entrenar la habilidad en una nia. Debe haber una natural… algo. Una chispa. Como diran los franceses ‘je ne sais quoi’. Si ella requiriera-“
(No! You cannot train the ability into a girl. There must be a natural… something. A spark. As the French would say, a je ne sais quoi. If she required-)
Arnav’s voice held an authority which instantly silenced the stranger to his home.
“Permtaseme reformular, Yo vi la chispa de la que hablas aprovecho la oportunidad para el ventilador en una llama. Ella se ha extendido a los limites de mi campamento y pido su permiso para permitirle continuar blazing en el tuyo.”
(Allow me to rephrase. I saw the spark you speak of and took the opportunity to fan it into a flame. She has spread to the limits of my camp and I am asking your permission to allow her to continue blazing into yours.)
The man slowly reached forward and picked up his cup again. The tea was strong and rich.
Expensive.
In fact, everything about this house screamed wealth in that subtle, classy way that the truly rich had.
To the untrained eye, everything in the living room would seem simple and quite unspectacular. But to someone like Joaquin Arroyo-Vega, somebody raised to appreciate both value and beauty- he could tell from the intentional wear of the bronze fastenings on the chocolate brown sofas, the brushstrokes on the modest paintings hanging on the walls, the drape of the heavy curtains as well as the ties holding them back and allowing the sunlight to come in and dance on the rug covering the expensive wooden flooring which would have otherwise become burned lighter over time just how much money flowed into the bank account of the indomitable man sitting beside him.
Fortunately for Joaquin, having grown up rich himself, neither money nor those who possessed it intimidated him.
“Cuales son sus talentos?”(What are her talents?) Joaquin asked, his gaze perspicacious as he let it hover on the silent adolescent gracefully seated across from him.
“Por que no preguntar a ella?” (Why don’t you ask her?) Arnav responded.
She looked up at that, this acknowledgement that she understood startled Joaquin slightly.
“Hablas espanol?” (You speak Spanish?) he blurted.
He watched curiously as her eyes flitted upwards, not to meet his own- but those of Arnav Singh Raizada. Being accustomed from years of being the best in his industry at noticing the slightest shifts in expression, Joaquin saw the almost imperceptible nod from Arnav at which the girl began to speak.
“Si.”
(Yes.)
“Como te llames?”
(And what is your name?)
“Khushi.”
“Tu quieres hacer esto? Tu crees tu eres listos?”
(You want to do this? You believe you are ready?)
Again, the most perfunctory of glances at Arnav.
“Hare lo que sea que quieres que haga.”
(I am ready to do whatever it is you wish me to.)
Her Spanish was flawless, as unaccented as her… actually. Joaquin didn’t know what she was to Arnav. Was she his daughter? A niece? No.
Something about their behaviour around each other eliminated any possibility of them being family.
So what was she to him?
Joaquin stroked his chin and felt the rustle of slight bristles he had missed during his morning shave. He had barely been able to function until he’d arrived at Arnav’s house this morning and been given his customary complimentary line.
That was another way you could tell Arnav had money.
Free gifts.
Except, as it turned out, the time had come for Joaquin to pay.
“Tu piensas Tu puedes sobrevivir en mi mundo?”
(You think you can survive in my world?)
The question seemed to hang in the air as she considered it carefully.
She really was beautiful. Her skin a shade any girl or woman would be able to relate to and those eyes.
He was mesmerised when she finally locked eyes with him and began moving her mouth. Joaquin had to physically shake himself to stop hearing white noise and focus instead on what she was saying.
“Quiero sobrevivir y lo hare.”
(I want to survive, and so I will.)
Joaquin sat and pondered her response. He suddenly stood up, Arnav rising swiftly to his feet as well. Khushi remained seated, simply tilting her head upwards to observe what would happen next.
“Hay algo acerca de ella. Algo especial… No puedo poner mi dedo en el. Pero hay algo.”
(There is something about her. Something special… I cannot put my finger on it. But there is something.)
“Como diran los franceses un cierto ‘je ne sais quoi’?”(As the French would say, a certain je ne sais quoi?) Arnav’s voice was almost teasing and the smallest of vellications pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Ciertamente.” (Indeed.) Joaquin laughed easily and the boom of it caused Khushi to clench her fists in surprise, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.
“Vendre para ella en una semana.” (I will come for her in a week.) he promised, “Y mantendre durante seis meses.” (And I will keep her for six months.)
“Que sera bastante para tu?”
(That will be enough for you?)
“Si. Si es su, entonces quizs incluso tres sera suficiente.”
(Yes. If it is her, then maybe even three will be enough.)
“En el intercambio, su deudas anteriores, seran dados de baja y el ano que viene sin cargo.”
(In exchange, your previous… debts will be written off and the next year will be free of charge.)
“Eres muy amable.”
(You are too kind.)
“Dejame mostrarte a cabo. Khushi, me espere aqui.”
(Let me show you out. Khushi, wait for me here.)
They sat opposite each other, neither breaking the penetrating silence. Arnav finally decided what he needed to say. “You will go with Joaquin for three to six months. I have several international business errands I must run in the mean time. You are to do exactly what Joaquin tells you, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“May I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“Do you know what exactly he will have me do?”
“I do not.”
“Will it hurt?”
“I assume not.”
“Can’t you show me instead? Please. I promise I’ll learn quickly.”
“You’re not a child anymore, Khushi. So stop behaving like one. You will learn what Joaquin has to teach you and you will be grateful for it. No more questions. You may go to your room.”
Khushi wanted to beg him not to force her to do this. She didn’t know what this Spanish man with the terrifying laugh wanted with her and she wanted Arnav to save her once again. Khushi wanted to cry and plead and shout until he listened to her but she knew, deep down, that would be a hopeless pursuit.
So she went to her room.
Khushi was waiting for him in the lobby, wearing black skinny jeans tucked into deep brown military style boots paired with a mustard yellow jumper. Her suitcase was small; she hadn’t looked inside, it had just been waiting for her beside the front door when she had come down that morning.
Hearing a noise from the staircase, she turned her head slightly and saw Arnav descending, holding a locked black briefcase in one hand.
Khushi took in that strikingly handsome face; the sharp planes of his cheeks, the aristocratic nose, the wide lips that had a natural downwards tilt on one side, the subtle shading around his mouth and jawline.
She hadn’t seen him since their meeting after Joaquin had left. He looked tired, exhausted even. She was about to take a step towards him when the doorbell rang. Khushi turned on her heel and opened the door, stepping back to hold it open as he strode inside.
He marched straight up to Arnav and all but yanked the briefcase from his hands. Arnav’s eyes flashed dangerously and Joaquin bowed slightly in apology.
“Sigueme.” (Follow me)
When he saw that Khushi appeared to be glued to the spot, unable to move, he simply rolled his eyes, picked up her suitcase as well and carried it to the car.
One last time, Khushi looked at Arnav. Conveying her desperation to him. She didn’t want to go out into the world now. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do it. She was so scared she felt like a large fist was choking her, the fear clenching at her throat from the inside.
She used to know that she was a survivor.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
She didn’t know what to do anymore.
Not unless he told her.
She couldn’t survive.
Not without him.
Arnav saw the beseeching look in her eyes. She still thought of him as her saviour.
And yes, he had saved her.
But for a purpose.
And now she had to fulfill that purpose.
He made his way languidly to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her to face the morning sun shining through the front door. The door she had not set foot through in six years…
“Go with him, Khushi. Go with him and become a star.”
Chapter Two- Off To The Races
Leonidafremov on DeviantArt
THIRTEEN
Days ran into each other as Khushi did exactly what she had to in order to keep him happy. She had no idea how long had passed since she had been dragged from a hellhole into a prison.
Her days managed to be somehow monotonously different. She would wake up every morning and find her clothes for the day neatly hanging on a small hook beside her bedroom door, her shoes on the floor beneath it. On the wall, there would be pinned her schedule for the day.
Today’s had been particularly grueling: dance lessons from 8am till 1pm- ballet till 10:30am followed by kathak till 1. A lunch of grilled salmon and salad washed down with ice cold water. After this had been English until 3, French until 5 and then finally, drama until 8 when she was allowed dinner; wild rice with chicken and green vegetables.
Sometimes he would turn up and share dinner with her; he’d ask her how her day had been, make sure she was happy and didn’t want for anything he could give her… but today she guessed he had other things to do.
She rarely saw him around the house, but knew that every night at 1am he came to her door and, if she had stayed awake, she would hear the soft click as he locked her in. Khushi wanted to tell him this was completely unnecessary.
Why would she run?
She didn’t have anywhere to go.
Her thighs burned as she slowly eased her way up the stairs and her head spun as she went over how to conjugate irregular French verbs ending in -re. She was exhausted and ready to just fall into bed and lay there for several minutes before getting ready for bed.
Tomorrow was Etiquette Day and her tutor was an insufferably irascible old woman who made even the capricious Khushi want to scream.
She was alerted to the fact that something was off by the prickling sensation that darted down her arm and the fine hairs at the nape of her neck standing to attention.
“Hasn’t Manorama taught you to always walk with your head up?” came the velvet voice from outside her bedroom door.
Khushi looked up to find him leaning against it, a black clothes carrier draped over one arm and a rectangular box in his hands.
Khushi nodded, lowering her head against his scalding scrutiny. “Look up.”
She obeyed.
“How was your day, Khushi?” she felt something warm shoot through her at the way he drew out her name, rolling it on his tongue and infusing it with something she didn’t yet understand.
“Pleasant.” she replied phlegmatically.
“Do you know what day it is today?” he continued, not concerned at her apparently brusque response.
“The 13th of May.”
“Yes, Khushi. And do you know what the 13th of May is?”
She shook her head.
“It’s your birthday. You came to me exactly one year ago today. Here. Get ready and then put these on before you come and meet me downstairs in the dining room in half an hour.” he handed her the clothes carrier and the box before striding past her and slamming the door to his own room.
Arnav finished the final button of his shirt cuff and stretched his arms so that the shirt and suit jacket sleeves were in the correct alignment just as the soft knock at the door announced her presence. “Come in.”
The door slowly opened and from behind it appeared a vision so beautiful she looked almost ephemeral.
“You look beautiful.”
She lowered her eyes and blushed in the dimmed light of the room. “Come here.” he gestured towards the chair at the head of the table, beside which he himself was standing, and watched as she made her way over to him in the burgundy coloured chiffon dress which flowed around her and the nude coloured ballet flats he had gifted her to wear with it. She silently took her seat and stared impassively at the white box in front of her.
“Happy birthday to you.” he lifted the lid of the box, revealing a chocolate cake so rich and creamy that it looked coated in a thick layer of satin. In the top left hand corner was a large white chocolate rose and the white icing stem trailing from it looped like ivy diagonally down to the bottom right.
“Happy birthday to you.” he pulled a candle from his pocket and set it in the middle.
“Happy birthday dear Khushi.” he picked up the small matchbox beside the lid of the cake box and struck a match, bringing it down before Khushi and lighting the candle. The small flame reflected in both their eyes as the smokey smell pervaded the air.
“Happy birthday to you.” he took a step back as Khushi leant forward and puckered her lips, preparing to blow.
“Make a wish.” he whispered.
She closed her eyes and blew.
Let me keep him happy and let him keep me safe in return…
He locked the door to her room before heading downstairs and picking up the phone. “Hello? Yes. Yes. They delivered it earlier today. Yes. Of course. You can try, but you are well aware that in this business, there is nobody higher than me. The goods arrive from Hong Kong and the various locations in South America and I distribute. Without me-” a languid smile teased his lips. “I’m glad you understand. So, we have a deal? Excellent.” he hung up before opening his briefcase and pulling out a sachet of white powder to examine it.
He felt the familiar screams from inside his brain to slash one open and just- No! Never again. He carefully placed the packet back inside and closed the suitcase, picking up the glass of whiskey beside it and downing it.
He needed a distraction. Now.
His eyes fell on the camera on the mantlepiece, balanced precariously close to the edge. He launched himself out of his seat and caught it before there was any risk of it falling into the fire crackling below. Turning it on, he pressed the small triangle to view the pictures he had taken that afternoon.
Her eyes were arresting- There was no other word for them. In some lights, they appeared the same golden auburn he had found so appealing when he had first set eyes on her, whereas in others, they held an unmistakeable tinge of green. Her pale skin glowed against the deep, rich red colour of the dress and her hair was almost iridescent as it flowed over one shoulder.
Her expression was unreadable in every photo except for one; one of the self-timer ones which had caught both of them. It was her side profile, staring up at him. And in the very set of her face, he was able to recognise transparent reverence.
Arnav almost smiled at that, until his attention was caught by something else and his mouth quirked the other way, shifting his features into a deep frown.
She needed earrings.
FOURTEEN
It was emerald green this year, longer than it had been the year before but of a different material- more fitted. The shoes were gold, not nude and this time, he had included a second box with a pair of simple golden pearl drop earrings which were heavy on her ears.
She wanted him to see them.
Pulling out the dresser drawer, she sat on the simple cameo stool in front of the mirror and selected a golden hair grip the exact same shade as the earrings. She twisted her hair up and secured it in place with the grip. She looked older.
She smiled at her reflection and for once, it reached her eyes.
Unlike last year when she had been exhausted, this year she had spent the entire day in lessons with Manorama on the correct behaviour in all situations in an Italian restaurant so was prepared to entertain him with conversation. Thank him properly.
Khushi stood, satisfied with her appearance and made her way downstairs.
“No.” the first word out of his mouth when she walked in caused her breath to jar in her throat. He had been standing staring at the door, waiting for her to enter and when she had, his mouth had set into a hard line of disapproval and he instantly marched up to her, looming dauntingly above her. “Why do you do things I don’t tell you to, Khushi? Do you enjoy upsetting me?” he sounded sad, almost betrayed.
Khushi shook her head, feeling her heart pounding a jumbled rhythm against her ribcage.
What had she done?
She quickly thought about her actions: she had knocked on the door three times, careful not to make the sound too loud, sudden or sharp. She had given him a three second grace period even after he had called her to “Come in.”. She hadn’t even set foot into the room before he had declared his disparagement.
So it must be something else.
‘Do things I don’t-‘ Of course.
The hair grip.
Khushi lifted her hand to her hair, about to remove the grip when she was stopped mid-motion by a large, warm hand closing around her wrist. Her breathing hitched in her throat. Arnav shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Allow me.” he didn’t want her hair to snag as she blindly attempted to remove the offending accessory.
Khushi closed her eyes as she felt his fingers brush her neck as they reached back and unclasped the grip. She shuddered at the sensation of it being taken from her and the sheet of coruscating ebony covered the small amount of back which had been exposed by the bowl-line back to the dress.
“Now come.” he released her wrist and pointed once again towards the chair he usually occupied whenever he ate with her; the ornate, mahogany chair with the plush, paisley pattern, forest green seat no different from any of the others except that it stood proudly at the end of the table.
He pulled out the chair, allowed her to sit and then pushed it in gently so that she was closer to the table.
Arnav sang for her again. A hushed baritone rumbling her ears. He went through the same ritual as last time, the cake exactly the same. They were back in that moment.
Khushi savoured it as she blew out the candle, knowing this moment would have to last her a year.
“Make a wish.” he told her.
Keep him happy. Keep me safe.
THIRTY
Arnav was in a harrowing mood. Even Aman had been unable to handle the foulness and had quietly suggested that Arnav return home for the evening.
An incredibly lucrative deal had been taken from right under his nose by Shyam and Arnav hadn’t seen it coming. He was so angry and he was just looking for a reason to take his aggression out on something… or someone.
It took him several attempts before he was finally able to get the key into the lock and turn it the correct way to unlock the door.
The fragrant smell of roses hit him as soon as he opened it. He took a step inside and paused, the feel of the floor different enough under his foot to draw his attention.
Rose petals.
What the f*** was going on?
He became aware that it was in fact a trail of rose petals and so, fists clenched, he dropped his briefcase and followed it.
It wound through the main foyer and took him on a diversionary route through the living room before ending in front of the closed door of the dining room.
With every step he took, he could feel his anger increasing exponentially. Who dared to vandalize his house like this? His hand shaking with barely controlled fury, he opened the door.
Khushi was wearing a midnight blue dress; the three-quarter sleeves and decollage lace and the rest a fitted material down to just above her knees. She was barefoot as she bent over a large white chocolate cake and lit a candle, smiling serenely.
There were several covered dishes also on the table, which was set for two people and two courses plus dessert.
She blew out the match and turned to face him, the candlelit smile brightening her face and taking it from its usual charm to an undeniable beauty which was almost enticing.
“What is this?” he growled.
“Happy birthday.” her voice was barely louder than a breath, but in the otherwise absolute silence of the room, he heard her perfectly.
It was his birthday.
They were at interesting ages, he had noted. She 15, he 30. He was exactly double her age, a phenomenon that would never be repeated.
Evidently she had realised this too and therefore had transgressed so gravely.
Slowly, he walked towards her. She lifted the cake and held it up to him as he approached, her smile revealing just how blissfully unaware she was of what she had done.
“Happy birthda-” she dropped the cake to the ground, the metal serving plate clattering cacophonously against the hardwood floor. Arnav had, in one subito move raised his palm and made as if to strike her. Khushi squeezed her eyes shut and prepared herself for the impact.
But it never came.
Arnav closed his hands into a fist and lowered it despondently. “Why do you keep doing this, Khushi?” he cupped her face in his hands and tilted her chin up towards him so that her eyes met his. “I told you. Keep me happy and I’ll keep you safe. If you make me angry… then things like thishappen. Do you understand?”
She nodded, forcing herself to swallow the sob silently choking her.
“Now, clean this shit up then go to your room.”
Arnav left the room, pulling his phone out and dialing a number and waiting for the woman on the other end to pick up.
EIGHTEEN
She remembered his 30th birthday- When she had been fifteen and he had broken her heart for the first time.
She had just finished clearing up the rose petals she had so carefully scattered throughout the house for him and was about to head into the dining room to clear up the meal she had slaved over for hours when she was stopped in her tracks by the sound of a high-pitched, unfamiliar giggle.
Khushi didn’t know why she did so, but she slowed her steps and approached the dining room silently. When she finally reached it, her heartbeat audible as the blood thrummed through her ears, she bent and peeked through the keyhole.
He was in there, eating the pasta Khushi had cooked, his face completely blank as the woman beside him cackled and jested and tucked into her own plateful of food. Khushi scowled fiercely but continued observing.
The woman’s expression abruptly changed to one Khushi could not yet identify as seductive. What she did notice was the slender hand reaching over and taking Arnav’s before she put down her fork and moved over to him, straddling his lap and bringing her lips down over his.
Khushi knew she shouldn’t be watching this. She knew this was something forbidden. If he found out- he would be furious.
But she couldn’t turn away.
The woman pulled off her dress, revealing herself to be wearing absolutely nothing underneath and she rapidly began undressing Arnav as well. Once Arnav was almost entirely naked as well, his trousers hanging open, he suddenly rose to his feet, seating the woman on the table and pushing her backwards, causing dishes, plates and cutlery to topple to the floor.
They both ignored the noise.
Khushi saw Arnav’s lips move as he said something to the woman which made her throw her head back and laugh delightedly before nodding and taking her hands to the waistband of his boxers.
She tugged them downwards with her long, pale fingers and Khushi clamped a hand over her mouth as she watched with horror at what they did next.
The act seemed to be both violent and passionate, full of extreme love and immense hate at the same time- and though she didn’t understand it, she felt a raw burn in her stomach the likes of which she had never felt before. Almost a craving…
And that’s when his eyes had flashed up.
Not waiting to see if he had seen hers staring back, Khushi turned around and fled.
Of course, she now knew exactly what had happened then having read about the act in many different shapes and forms in the copious books she had read over the past six years. And she also knew that she was, today, finally old enough to experience it herself.
She was ready.
Slipping into the black, mid-thigh peplum dress and wedged-heels he had given her this year, she left her hair loose and slipped on the gold studs shaped like small leaves he had also gifted her. Her hand hovered over the necklace that came with it as an idea formed in her head.
The signature knock on the door. “Come in.”
Routine.
“Could you help me with this?” she asked him, holding out the necklace he had carefully selected to go with the earrings and clothes he had bought for her.
“Of course.”
She swayed her way towards him and he found himself unexpectedly and for the first time in his memory, noticing the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts in any light other than the objective one of a puppeteer.
She was a woman now. She turned around and lifted up her hair, giving him an unobscured view of the sweep of her neck and the shape of her back and shoulders. His eyes ran lower and above the perfectly rounded curves of her buttocks, he noticed that the zip of the dress hadn’t been fully done up.
He deftly placed the necklace around her neck, feeling her release a low whoosh of air as the cold touched her, and fastened the hook. His fingers then took on a mind of their own, stroking down her back and making their way to the undone zip.
He felt her skin breaking out into goosebumps under his touch. He smirked. His hands closed on the fastener and gave a sharp tug upwards.
She turned around slowly, fluttering her eyelids innocently up at him.
Something suddenly clicked in his head.
She was trying to seduce him.
Arnav needed to fix this. He needed to fix this right now. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Not to him, not to anyone. Definitely not yet.
He must have messed up somewhere. Someone must have done something wrong. How did she even know–
Of course.
Three years ago.
On his birthday.
He hadn’t been imagining those auburn eyes through the keyhole.
He grabbed her chin and jerked her head sharply back to stare at the black wells his own had become.
“Stop this, Khushi. Stop this right now.”
It was a direct order.
She had no choice but to obey.
Chapter One- Born To Die
Leonidafremov on DeviantArt
Her legs were long. Her stomach was flat. Her waist and hips were already showing the hints of an attractive proportion. Her skin was creamy, clear and pale. Her hair was long and silky. Her nose was straight. Her lips were shapely and had a natural pout. Her eyes were large, a light brown- a curious mix of hazel and burnt auburn- but most importantly; they were completely devoid of any trace of emotion.
A blank canvas…
She would be his to do with exactly what he willed.
She was perfect.
He raised his hand.
“Two hundred thousand! Any advances on two hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand going once. Going twice. SOLD! To the gentleman at the back in the grey shirt.”
Arnav pulled out two bound bundles of cash from his unostentatious black satchel and handed them over to a man who discreetly approached him and then Arnav simply watched as a path cleared and the girl was yanked towards him by the scruff of her neck. When she was a few feet from him, the man dragging her stopped and gave her a rough push towards him. She fell into Arnav’s arms and he caught her, feeling her frail fingers grip onto his forearms to keep from collapsing.
She kept her head bowed.
Arnav looked down at the contrasting white lines of her parting against the inky black curtains of her hair for a few seconds before silently taking her wrist in his, his hand easily engulfing the spindly length, and led her out through the crowds whose attention had already moved onto the next offering.
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
Arnav instantly stopped moving, the dextrous fingers which had previously simply been applying the firm pressure required to discourage any sudden leporine urge to run which may have struck her became vicious claws on her shoulder. She released a low purr of pain.
“I don’t like liars.” his voice was reticent, almost affable, but he knew the girl heard the underlying portent of what would happen should she repeat her folly. “So. Let me ask you again. How old are you?”
A brief silence before she responded with a different answer. “Twelve.”
The stinging ungues on her shoulder relaxed and Arnav continued guiding her towards the car he had parked several streets away.
The remainder of their walk passed in silence. Arnav ignored the glances thrown at him by strangers curious as to the disparity in appearances between him and the girl with him. Arnav in pristine, slim fit Ralph Lauren; his shoes shined and his appearance- everything from his hair to the deliberate shadow on his chin- absolutely immaculate. And her; in her scruffy off-white Lukhnow style salwar kameez with cheap silver gota work on the hem, a torn dupatta uneven at her neck, the left side nearly dragging along the ground while the right was up near her shoulder blades.
Arnav had more important things to think about. Now that the most essential requirement of the dream that had been haunting him for almost the entirety of the past year had been obtained, he needed to focus on the details in order to ensure his ultimate nonpareil was achieved.
One more turn and they were at his car. He pulled out his keys and there was the subdued beep as he unlocked the doors.
He held open the door on the passenger’s side of the front seat and gestured with his head that she should get in. But she didn’t see. She was staring down at her feet, her right little toe peeping through a hole in the side of one of the dirty, worn, naghras.
He felt his blood boiling at her apparent insouciance. He had rescued her damn it, and for this- she would be grateful.
The girl stared at the patterns on the cement floor beneath her feet, tiny stones and grains of sand trapped forever.
Suffocated.
Like her. Just like her.
Except she wasn’t rock, she was, unfortunately, living, breathing human flesh and soul.
So she wouldn’t suffocate.
She would survive.
She was good at that.
Conceived on a night when a young woman had been too drunk to remember the way home so had collapsed in what she had, in her inebriated state, believed to be a ‘safe, hidden alleyway’.
Hidden- yes.
Safe- definitely not.
Disowned by a family corrupted by misinterpreted religion, she had decided to end her life. She had stepped onto the bridge and felt true freedom as she relaxed into freefall.
But she forgot about the second life inside her.
The near-lifeless body had been found by a fishing boat and taken to a Doctor in enough time to save both lives but having the woman slip into a coma.
For three months, she was little more than an incubator for the life miraculously still growing inside her, and when this last bit of life was removed from her, she finally gave up and passed on.
The baby should have died. It was premature; tiny and weak, fragile… but fighting. A doomed life could have been prevented had she just given in and joined her mother, but whether due to the innate human survival instinct or just pure selfishness– she survived.
When she was strong enough to survive outside of an actual incubator, the baby was taken by social services to the Shantivan Orphanage where she would endure a tediously routine childhood until the age of ten when a corrupt matron would take her in the middle of the night and sell her to the men who recruited the matron to find girl just like her; beautiful, young and most importantly- ones who would not be missed.
She fit the criteria for all of these.
And so she had been taken to a holding place and treated little better than cattle. She was starved, cold and most of the time, consumed by a mind-numbing boredom with sporadic bouts of confused terror.
At least she hadn’t been one of the girls taken in the middle of the night only to come back the next morning… different. Sometimes in tears, sometimes completely blank. Unable to walk properly for the next day. All shying away from the male guards.
All changed in some fundamental way that those who had not been taken did not understand…
And then this morning, she had been hollered out of bed and brought out in front of a crowd of cheering, yelling men along with several other girls who had been trapped with her. And she had been sold.
To this man…
She looked up.
“Consider this the first day of your new life. Whoever or whatever you were in the past is now irrelevant. The old you is, for all intents and purposes, dead. Nod if you understand me.”
She didn’t understand every word, but she knew what he was saying. So she nodded.
“Good. I don’t care what you were called in the past. Forget it. Your new name is Khushi. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded.
“Do exactly as I say, Khushi, don’t question why, don’t argue and never refuse. Do that and you’ll keep me happy. Keep me happy and I’ll keep you safe. I will not hurt you and I will never let anybody else hurt you… Nod if you understand.”
Khushi closed her eyes and recited her new name in her head. She opened her eyes and they once again met the almost golden eyes of the man who had decided her worth.
She was a survivor.
And so survive she would.
She nodded.
“Good. Now get in the car.”
The Svengali 