Zoya drew a deep breath for calming down her shaking soul. She closed her mouth with her palm. She could feel her heart bleeding over her apa’s misery. She couldn’t see the woman in such pain. She couldn’t lose her. She wanted to be with her; but as Nasir had stated, Shahzeb was going through hell and he wasn’t in his right state of mind; leaving him alone could be dangerous because he never thought with his mind whenever he was sad, hurt or angry. He always listened to his heart and his heart lead him to act insanely on such situations.
Zoya wiped her tear stained cheeks. She looked at her husband who had his head in his hands. He looked like hell. But he deserved it all.
She stepped towards him. “Get up; you need to have some sleep.” She approached him and stood in front of him. Her voice was devoid of any sort of sympathetic emotions.
Shahzeb did not exhibit any reaction, nor did he change his position. Zoya drew a tired breath.
“Please don’t do this Shahzeb; I have no strength left in me to indulge you.” She pleaded with a low voice, keeping her demeanor cold from the outside.
He looked up at her, his eyes were red rimmed. His facial expressions held the hurt of that innocent kid who had lost his most favorite thing. She felt a sharp twinge in her heart. She couldn’t see him like that, but she also couldn’t justify his barbaric attitude, couldn’t come to terms with it. Why did he have to ruin everything? Why did he allow the past to destroy the beauty of their relationship? Why did he cause his mother so much pain that she is fighting for her life? A fresh set of tears rolled down her pale cheeks.
“Come on, it’s almost dawn, you have to relax yourself.” She held his arm in hers and tried to get him up. Instead, he wrapped his hands around her slim waist and buried his head in her belly.
Zoya could feel the tremors pulsing through his solid muscles. She could feel the dampness of his silent tears on her belly through the flimsy fabric of her top. The slash of her overcoat had drawn apart. She bit her own trembling lower lip with agony.
She wanted to soothe his pain away. She wanted to encase his trembling robust body into her arms. She wanted to wrap her hands around his head, which was buried in her warmness, seeking for an escape from the harsh realities of his life. But she felt numb. And the reality hit her hard. Her husband, the love of her life, her childhood friend, her youth’s secret fantasy, had broken her heart to no amends. More tears streamed down her face. The position he was in was making her heart ache more acutely. His head was buried in her belly, the same belly that was nurturing his offspring; the same offspring that he had wanted to abort.
She didn’t understand why, but she couldn’t endure his obvious resentment towards their baby. She knew him very well; he wasn’t any good when it came to verbalize his emotions or to show his feelings. She never expected, neither did she ask him to act as a love sick puppy around her and utter sweet nothings in love. But she wanted him to at least show his happiness, or surprise, upon the conception of their child. But alas, all she had experienced was his denial; his resentment towards the tiny soul which had turned her world. She had already started loving the feeling of having his miniature growing within her. All she wanted was to care for the little child, and expected the same from her husband. But instead, all she got from him was annoyance and irritation for their child. And she could never forgive him for that, not now at least.
Zoya’s hands lay limp by her sides. Shahzeb could feel her cold restrain. He acutely missed her warmness. His head still pressed against her petite form, he drew a shuddering breath of surrender. He knew he had strained their relationship; he had ruined everything he held dear in his life. And he was clueless about everything that the future had destined for him. He pressed his lips against her flat stomach; he knew she could never discern his barely noticeable act. He looked up at her; her face was wet with uncontrollable tears. He was the cause of her pain. In fact he was the cause of all this disaster. If only he hadn’t been born… if only he could have killed himself…
Zoya glanced at his retrieving form; he was roughly wiping his face with his palms.
“Come on, you need to get some sleep; you look almost dead.” She cleared her clogged throat and once again tried to grip his upper arm.
“I feel dead,” he laughed humorlessly at himself. His tone was shaky and was devoid of any sort of expression. Zoya bit her lips again, to shut her mouth.
“I will leave now; I don’t want to disturb you by my unwanted presence,” he whispered grievously.