THE WRONG CHOICES
Chapter 1 – Confession and Confusion
It was a long weekend, and all I wanted to do was sleep peacefully in my cozy room. Finally the folks in the country were celebrating Diwali on Thursday, and thanks to them we had a 4-days holiday for the first time in many months. While others had plans to do amazing things, I was reluctant to even get out of my bed. After all, Ananya Salgaocar, never did anything that she didn’t want to do. That’s me. A little irritated and extremely tired, and definitely bored as hell.
Living miles away from home among people I hated and in a place I loathed was bad enough. To add to it there was this quarter life crisis - the weird feeling of being too old to have fun, and too young to take responsibilities. Yes, being 25 years old was the most terrifying thing that could happen to a girl in India. On one end, I was struggling at my job, and on the other my parents wanted to see me married. I worked for NIC (National Informatics Centre) the IT arm of Indian Government. I was posted in the port-city Goa – a famous tourist destination. The government had chosen it for the isolation and seclusion it provided. It was undoubtedly one of the best in the country. People craved to work for this firm. Yet on the inside it was as frustrating as any other job in the world. And to add to it, I worked on something important. Oh yes, I was working on a Portal that would be used by Government of India for issuing Passports and Visas. It came with a million rules, non-disclosure agreements and a thousand complex clauses to keep us from revealing the inside working of the software to anyone. The girl who wanted to be a journalist once; who dreamt of travelling the world, unveiling things unseen and unheard of, meeting new people, making mistakes, taking risks was now stuck in a completely safe, secure, risk-free permanent job of a Software Programmer.
The past week had been hectic and I really needed some quiet time. But my boyfriend wanted me to be with him. Yes, I had a boyfriend, or at least I convinced myself that I had him. And my boyfriend dearest was from the IT hub of Hyderabad. Compared to Goa I had hated Hyderabad even more. But I didn’t have a choice. At times, it felt that my boyfriend was more interested in my work than in me. We had been together for almost 6 months and yet no one except a specific few close friends knew about us. We preferred to keep it that way, because having a boyfriend was still considered bad- and if a girl had dated too many guys, she’d be looked at as a slut. I never really cared about what people said, but it seemed that he did. He often travelled to my city on weekends, so that we could spend some time at my room. But this time, it was my turn. The one-night travel to his city irritated me, and I had half a mind to refuse. But for everything he had done for me, for all the pain he went through to meet me every time, I really felt indebted to him.
As Wednesday evening came, I let go of my reluctance and took a bus to his city and reached there the next morning. For most of the day we just lazed around watching movies, sleeping and chatting. He had brought my favorite vodka, and by the time it was 9 pm, I was already three shots down.
The vodka had its effect, and I felt buzzed and in that inebriated state I ended up revealing something that should have gone to my grave with me. Either way, the minute I said it, I wanted to take my words back. But it was too late. I was drunk, not him. He had heard me loud and clear and I could see his expressions change, as he grasped the meaning of what I had just said. I had kissed his best friend. Well, rather he had kissed me, or at least tried to. Yes, kissing is a big deal if you are dating in India. And sex ? Well, it is ideally not supposed to happen before the two get married.
Even before I noticed my now-BF, I had noticed his best friend. The guy had a personality that invoked fear and respect at the same time. Reading 50 Shades of Gray reminded me that he was pretty much like the character Christian Gray. I had liked him in an instant, but didn’t do anything about it, and then, when I started dating this guy, I started getting closer to his friend as well. Eventually we fell for each other, but I didn’t have the guts to tell my BF. As an ideal BF he had been so honest, loving and caring that I could never tell him that I wanted to break up with him. And thus I spent my love on two ends, and one fine day ended up being force kissed by Mr. Gray when he was recovering from a bad hangover. He felt guilty and apologized a million times, and much later, I had told him, that I had actually enjoyed the kiss. Being forced by him, being straddled, and pushed against the wall, his lips touching mine…it was heavenly.
Suddenly, his tone had changed. The loving, carrying voice was replaced by a stern command. I was asked to freshen up and get into comfortable clothes. I had never taken orders from anyone, but for the moment I complied, collected my clothes from my bag and headed to the washroom in his bedroom. It was a relief to be alone for a while, as warm water fell on me, and my thoughts fleeted to what all he could do. I let go of the anticipation and decide to just let things happen. The bath had calmed my nerves and as I got into a loose gray t-shirt and shorts, I started looking forward to the next 24 hours. There was obviously a strange curiosity to find out what he had in store for me. He was running around the house, while talking on the phone. A black bag was lying in one corner, and he kept approaching it. It seemed as if he had prepared for this moment since a long time, and my confession had just preponed something that was going to happen anyway. With some difficulty, I controlled my curiosity to look into the bag, lest he should get all Hulk angry again. This time curiosity could actually kill the cat.
As soon as he saw me, he came up to me. His no nonsense attitude was evident, as he asked me to call up my family and tell them that I was out on a holiday and the cell reception wasn’t good, and hence I would be contacting them 4 days later, once I returned to Goa. Fine, I did it. If that would give him the satisfaction that I was completely his, then so be it. I was his, at least for the weekend. He took away my phone and made me turn around and asked to close my eyes. As I did so, he held me by my shoulder and led me to the couch. Suddenly I was pushed down onto my stomach, as he pulled my hands behind me. I felt cold steel on my hands and heard the sounds of something clicking. In a flash, the scenes of someone being arrested flash in front of my eyes, and I realized that he had just handcuffed me.
I yelped, and started asking him to let me go. I tried telling him how much hated this kinky stuff and he should stop right away, or I was never going to talk to him again. But he was calm as a cucumber, and just reminded me that I had promised to do as he said for the next 24 hours. I stopped yelling at him, thinking his kinky side was fully activated, and it was wiser to play along. I struggled but the cuffs held tight, and to make matters worse he brought my flailing legs together and put cuffs around my ankles too.
My brain was still processing what had just happened. He was well aware that I hated all these kinky things. I liked it rough, but at the same time I liked it natural. I enjoyed fighting him when we made out, but being tied up was always out of the picture. I was a free woman, and that’s what mattered to me the most. I adored that ability to fight him, the chance to struggle, and to kick him and push him away whenever he tried to kiss me. We both enjoyed it – me being the wild cat and him being the tough guy. So, what had just happened right now? What the hell was he thinking?
He walked away as I was left alone to struggle against my bonds. I squirmed and thrashed and pulled at the cuffs. But all of it was futile. With much effort, I could turn on my side, and finally managed to sit up. I stood up and tried to walk, almost forgetting that my ankles were tied up too. In a single step, my balance was lost, and I crashed on the couch again. He was back in the room carrying a long, wide bag. It was the one he used for his cricket-kit. He put it on the floor, with the zip open, and approached me slowly. I tried to kick him with my cuffed feet, but he just caught my ankles in midair and slowly put them down on the floor. He lifted me in his arms and put me on the bag. This was utter non-sense, and I started yelling again, but the sounds that came out where extremely disappointing. I could hear myself say: “tooph it.eeme ooo…mmffff”.
The last word mean “enough” which he simple ignored as, first my feet and then the rest of my body was pushed into the 5 feet long bag. I kept trying to get up but he pinned me down. In spite of the struggle, I was inside the bag, lying on my side, as he pushed my butt and twisted my legs, so that my back was curved, legs were bent and my knees almost touched my stomach. He had just packed up his 5 feet 5’11 inch tall girlfriend in his golf bag. Wow! What an achievement! Now what? He pulled the zip and suddenly I was plunged into darkness and stuck in that crammed space. Gradually I realized that there were small holes in that bag, so that I could breathe easily. You pack when you need to travel, so, where the hell did he intend to take me? No he wouldn’t do anything so stupid and unsafe. This was probably just to put some fear in me, so that I would give up on my cursing, yelling and struggling. Once again, I realized I was wrong when he lifted the bag and started walking. Where To? I had no damn idea.
I paid attention to the directions and movements and figured that I was being carried out of the house, down the stairs, and in less than a few minutes put into the trunk of his car. Really? Was he kidnapping me? But what would be the point of it? Wait, did he intend to cast me away somewhere and abandon me? Was he that angry or had he just lost his mind? There was a lake nearby. Did he intend to put the bag out there and walk away from me for once and for all. With every bump on the road I crashed against the walls of the trunk, but it seemed as if all sides were padded with something soft. He still cared about me. No way he was going to handcuff me and ditch in some god forsaken place. That seemed impossible. I was so lost in my fears that I didn’t even shout or scream. The tape stuck held my lips shut, while my face got covered in sweat, and tears fell through my eyes for the first time in ages. My breathing was getting heavier, and it felt as if I was going to pass out…