QB Short Stories

What Love Did, Love Never Could

“Every night, every single night, she will give in. Not because she is made to by force, but because she is made to by love.”

Isn’t that just extremely stupendous? Well, to some, it will be something too romantic to know, to see there exists a girl, so deeply in love, that she would do anything he’d want her to, without raising a question, even once. Little do the people know what she goes through, every single night.

When they had both met, it was nothing less than a beautiful fairy tale. Is she still ready to accept that it was all her fault that things went wrong that way? No.  To that, the reason identified as the truth shall be that it was her fault to have given in on the very first night they ever talked to the idea of romance that she thought was beautiful but was nothing more than a toxic brutality. The beginning is always so beautiful, isn’t it? Be it love or a be it a gamble, beginner’s luck never fails anyone. It turns out to be one of the sweetest things ever.

But who can really tell what it finally turns out to be? Who can really tell what it is meant to be? At the end of the day, nothing much happened, except for one thing that she was, yet again, proved a big-time fool to have trusted a person she shouldn’t have even made any conversation with in the first place. Every beautiful day, she thought she had spent with him, now made the dots connect and turned out to be nothing but the clue to the final destination which was her disregard.

What is it really like for a seventeen year to old to know that she was never loved for who she is, but only for what she is in; her body. One thing she asks for, respect, and is denied solely. Self-respect, well, as a consequence of which, becomes something that doesn’t even exist for her. What sense does that make? A teenager falling in love is a stupid idea but what if it really turns out that even grown-ups agree that she really was in love. Falling out of love is no big deal. It isn’t something that happens only to teenagers.

Every morning, she’d wake up and would wish that things would be different that day. The night would be better. The night would really be what she wants it to be and not that she’d once again, be naked, with tears in her eyes and silence on her lips. Would anyone ever believe her on why she ever did that? Would she ever be able to accept the truth to herself? The most important question, though, is that would she ever be able to face her own self in the mirror, knowing what sort of a woman she had turned into.

It really did not feel any better to know that she got out of it at one point or the other for that part will always stay with her, in the dark places of her mind, to haunt her a lifetime. One question that she asks is that will she ever, really get a cure to that? That, she knows nothing about. I hope she does, but what is the guarantee about it.

As she had put it once, way back, that the only guarantee of love is that there is no guarantee about it. She was right, indeed. One will never know what all love can make one do. Four months, four long months, she’d ask for a beautiful night, every evening, yet, losing to his voice that was nothing but a rehearsed drama, she’d end up losing her dignity every night. There was one thing about her, she’d never let anyone even touch her for a friendly hug unless she’d feel right about it. There she was, though, now, letting someone she wanted to kill, touch her naked body. About that, love was not her weakness. The weakness that endured her into it was nothing else than a well-planned script that he played every single day and even without letting her know it once, taking advantage of her innocence.

He’d trick her into words, blackmail her in lieu of her respect for extreme intelligence and she’d never be able to say a word for evidently enough, she was ashamed of herself. So much so, that she’d never have let anyone into that insight of her life. Even today, no one knows it better than her, no one ever will know it better than her, what it felt like to have someone touch every part of her body and make her feel no less than a prostitute, just without the ultimate sex and the money in return. She was made to believe that what she got in return of it was all the love and affection, which too, was just a trap and bait set for a little animal to lose all that they possess.

There was a child in her, who at first, was unaware about her own self, about her own body and so as a consequence, did not love it much. That, however, never bothered her for she had no concern about it. She met him in and got to know her body to the fullest. For what she knew at first was that with everything known, she would definitely fall in love with her outer self as well for it really was worth it but what really happened was the complete opposite to it. She fell into hatred. Every time she’d look at herself, she’d cry oceans for she hated that she gave it up for nothing. She hated it that she disregarded herself to that extent. She hated, almost everything about her and yet, would keep smiling, each moment of the day as if nothing wrong ever happened. That’s one thing I’ll never understand about her.

Right before she took her last breath, though, she made sure she’d fall in love with herself for something. She made sure he’d get what he deserved and did something that would not let him die but would kill him every single day. She told the truth. Not to him, not to anyone in person but to the world. She used her words correctly, for the very first time and wrote it to the world, who he really was. He lost what he had taken away from her, respect. He lost what he’d taken away from her, dignity. He lost the most important people in his life, who definitely came back to him in the end, though, but would never respect him the same way.

All that she did was to tell the truth to the world, yet not being able to face her own self, she said what she wanted to and pulled the trigger to her head. Those were the last words she’d ever said. I wish she had stayed alive to be an example for the others and not let anyone else ever be what she made a mistake into.

Sometimes, though, I really think it was for the best she died. I, being a part of it, as close as she was, I sometimes really wish, that I would have died with her, forever.


Shubhrika Dogra

Shubhrika is an emotional person and portrays that in her words. She is a coffee lover and hence an intrigued writer. She loves to play with words and twist them as much as she can, that is her way of writing. But mostly, she loves creating suspense in her writing. She would never let the real story come out until the last part of her writings. Writing is her life and her heartbeat.
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