#i desperately need to pace myself and like not kms if i miss a day of posting

[ask-world-academys-host-club]

Do the Vargas brothers or NA twins ever work together as pairs?

[artistic-writer]

Sparking the Pavement :: CS Moto GP AU :: E :: Ch 3

Title: Sparking the Pavement by @artistic-writer Rating: E (eventually) Summary: Killian Jones has everything he has ever dreamed of.  He likes fast bikes and even faster women, that is until almost losing his brother makes him rethink his life choices.  And then a chance encounter with a blonde bombshell on the race track gives him the chance to change and find love, but as usual, team politics get in the way and for the first time in his life, Killian can’t just get what he wants.  Moto GP racing AU. A/N: Ch 3!  Many thanks to @hollyethecurious who agreed to beta this, and to @doodlelolly0910 who regularly listens to me ranting about wanting to write when my fingers don’t want to work. And @darkcolinodonorgasm who understands how relevant real-life race rules are haha and @effulgentcolors for writing The Wife which has not only inspired me to word again after getting a puppy, but has helped me decide on where this story is going.  You’re all going to love it, but be super suspicious of me in the mean time :D

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious@kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89@courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin@deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld@chinawoodfan  @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells@wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom@thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife @notoriouscs @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm@mariakov81 @strangestarlighttree @effulgentcolors

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Three weeks. Liam had been dead for less than a month, and already the team was hiring a replacement. Logically, Killian knew they would have to eventually. There wasn’t a race team out there that could manage without a team of mechanics to fix what the riders broke race after race. Most riders were also mechanics, and it was a sensible field for retired riders who still needed to hear the squeal of tyres on the asphalt, but you couldn’t be a rider and a mechanic, Killian knew that. Logically.

Logic didn’t bring his brother back. Logic didn’t help him when his team needed a mid season photoshoot to happen before he returned back to full time racing. The time it took Killian to get kitted out in his leather suit was twice as long as it took for the photographer to get his shot. Killian Jones and Will Scarlet, sitting atop their bikes, both faking the smiles they knew the fans wanted to see took far less time than either of them anticipated and gave them the rest of the day morning to do whatever they liked.

Killian headed out to the team owned practice track to clear his head. It was quiet this time of day and not many people used it during race season anyway, so he had taken his bike out there to think whilst on his extended leave of compassion. He had needed time, more time than allowed, but the team understood and let him. Killian had immense balance, every rider did, and he would often do laps at what most people would consider a snail's pace just to hear the roar of his engine and his tyres on the tarmac. The bike would speak to him and he would answer, giving her exactly what she wanted and opening her up on the home straight.

Only, today was different. When Killian arrived at the track, someone else was already there, someone he hadn’t seen before, and they were thrashing the hell out of a motorbike with a matte black paint job and pristine brushed steel trimmings. Killian wandered over to the start line, the leather pants he was wearing squeaking with every step. His leather jacket was unzipped and his henley underneath had the top three buttons undone because of the almost stifling heat that beat down upon the track.

He waited, making sure that his bike was secured on its kickstand before the mystery rider came flying around the last bend at breakneck speed. They sat up, dropping a gear and ignoring the protest of the engine as the bike slowed down, nearing the worn, patchy paintwork of the start finish line. Killian bent down and placed his helmet on the ground next to his feet, promptly straightening back up, crossing one foot over the other and leaning on the seat of his bike.

Killian recognised the bike instantly. It was a Suzuki Hayabusa, one of the fastest road legal motorbikes in existence, but it had been heavily customised, most likely to reduce weight and increase speed. It purred, the highly advanced liquid cooled, four cylinder, 16 valve engine much more powerful than most cars. The Hayabusa had a top speed over over 390 km/h, and he had no doubt that it had been hitting those speeds, especially with such light cargo. Killian frowned as the bike approached, the rider almost shaken from the seat as they revved the engine once more.

Silence fell over the practice paddock as the mystery rider cut the engine and kicked out the bike stand. Killian watched, fascinated by the way the rider moved, dressed head to toe in black leathers that matched their bike. They were shorter than he was, thinner and more shapely and as they kicked their leg over the bike, slid to the floor, and pulled the crash helmet off their head, Killian realised why.

She was a woman. A beautiful one at that.

Her hair was silky golden, tumbling from where it had been stuffed into her helmet like it had just been combed smooth when she shook her head. It framed her face and pulled his gaze to her green eyes that glinted in the sunlight, even as she squinted. Killian felt his heart speed up at her presence, his skin prickling in his leathers at the sight of her in her race gear, every curve accented to his view. She took a large breath and smiled at him, a cock sure grin of pride and flirtatiousness that had him shifting his weight when his groin began to tingle.

Killian didn’t know who she was or where she had come from. The track was restricted for employees only, so she had to at least work for the team to be able to be here, and the thought of that made him mirror her grin. If she worked here, he would see her more often, but who was she? She moved in slow motion, sauntering over to him, the sounds of the world fading away from him as he narrowed his focus onto her and only her, a lump forming in his throat that he desperately tried to swallow.

He didn’t mean to, but a low hum of appreciation escaped Killian’s mouth before he could stop it as he dragged his gaze up from her feet to her face. He fixed his stare on her mouth, the gently plumpness of her lips and the slight dimple in her chin underneath that gave her a cuteness that Killian was sure would be his downfall. She held her helmet at her side, swinging the matte black gear in time with her walk until she was finally within earshot of him and her perfumed scent overpowered him, cutting through the darkness of his mourning like a break in the storm.

“You know, I can get you a picture if you’d like?”

“I’m sorry?” Killian blinked, clearing his thoughts with a shake of his head.

“Of me,” she said with a slight chuckle. “So you don’t have to keep staring.” She arched her brow at him, a sideways smile telling him he had been caught.

Killian blushed, the heat creeping into his cheeks before he had time to look away. He sighed a nervous laugh, his hand reaching up to paw at the patch of skin behind his ear, a trepidatious habit that made him wish he had put on his helmet already.

“My apologies, lass,” Killian finally said, dropping his gaze to his feet. He pushed himself off of his bike, the kickstand groaning with the release of weight, and extended his hand to her. “Killian Jones,” he said smoothly, his lips ticking up at the corners when she took his hand.

“I know who you are,” she said firmly, gripping his hand. The warmth of his skin was electrifying and sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t pull his hand from hers, and neither did she, his long, slender fingers gripping her almost to her wrist.

“Is that right?” Killian gave her a raised brow, intrigued by her boldness. She nodded but gave no words, simply biting her bottom lip and pulling her hand from his. Killian missed the contact immediately, the shine of light she was offering him taken away, the blemish of losing his brother quickly seeping back into his being.

“I’m sorry,” she offered gently, as if reading his mind. “Liam Jones was one of my inspirations as a kid.”

“Aye, mine too,” Killian uttered softly.

“He’s the reason I got into racing,” she told him honestly. “I wanted to be as good as him. Going fast wasn’t enough, you know?”

Killian nodded in agreement, a smile forming across his face at the memory of his brother. “It warms my heart to know he inspired someone other than myself.” She smiled at him, that warming presence Killian was already addicted to flooding back into him. “So,” he began, nudging his head towards her bike behind her. “You race?”

“I did,” the woman smiled back at him. “Moto 2.”

“Moto 2,” Killian repeated impressed. “Big bikes, big names. Maybe I know yours,” he prompted boyishly. He scratched behind his ear for the second time, a salacious smirk playing on his lips.

“Maybe you do,” she shrugged, her eyes flitting to his lips.

She moved, the sway in her hips deliberate as she walked past him to his bike. Killian followed her movement, turning on the spot and letting his gaze fall to the stretch of leather over her behind. Normally leather would be unflattering, but somehow she pulled it off, her fitted gear holding his attention for far longer than it should have. Killian inhaled, his hands balling into fists at his sides, his fingers itching to touch the siren in front of him. He waited, enthralled as she wet her lips and whistled at the sight of his bike.

“Yamaha YZF R1. This is nice,” she almost sang, extending the words as she ran her fingers along the curve of the fuel tank. “I like the blue.” She looked up at that moment, a flash of emerald making Killian’s heart almost stop. “It matches your eyes,” she rasped, locking eyes with his.

Killian swallowed hard, suddenly much hotter in his leathers than he should be. The way she was caressing his bike was too much, her fingers smoothing over the high gloss paintwork as gently as the breeze. Killian’s heart hadn’t beat this fast since he won his first race and he hadn’t realised how much he missed it until now.

“What’s your name, love?” Killian asked again, his voice low and slightly hoarse from the dryness that had taken root in his throat.

The woman smiled and unzipped her black leather jacket, flicking her hair over her shoulder and leaning over the seat of his bike. Her elbows pushing into the soft leather and it was Killian’s undoing. He couldn’t help but stare, her breasts nestled comfortably in the confines of her low cut red top creating a delicious cleavage for his view. She was doing it on purpose, he was certain, and it was only when she spoke again that he was able to drag his eyes back to hers.

“Tell you what,” she began, a playful smirk on her face. “I’ll race you for it.”

“For your name?” Killian frowned, quirking his eyebrow at her.

“Why not?” she shrugged with a grin. “One lap. If you cross the finish line first, I’ll tell you what it is.”

Beguiled, Killian let a soft laugh escape his mouth. He bent down to retrieve his helmet, testing the weight of it in his hand before looking back up to her. “And if you win?”

She sighed. “I haven’t decided yet.” Her smile reappeared, lighting up her face in the infectious way Killian noticed it always did, making him mirror it immediately.

Killian licked his lips, his smile fading as he tilted his head to one side. “Are there any rules, love?” he asked her, his tone more business and serious.

She hummed in thought, looking around the deserted track paddock. It was just them and their bikes, hers far faster than his as a stock machine, but the modifications they both had done to their bikes put them on the same level. Or so she hoped.

“No rules,” she grinned, righting herself back into an upright position. Before Killian had time to object to his loss of view, and with a gentle squeak of leather, she lifted her leg and straddled his bike. Her delicate hands gripped his handlebars and she gave them a squeeze with a sigh, knowing he was watching her every move. “But I think I want to ride your bike,” she said softly, accenting the last words as a euphemism.

Killian’s lips ticked into a playful smirk. “You won’t win on my bike,” he told her through the smile he was unable to shift. He emphasised his point by motioning to his bike with his helmet.

“Won’t I?” She narrowed her eyes, lifting her helmet to rest on the fuel tank. She shook her hair back again, tilting her head so that she could slide on her helmet and buckled the under chin strap. “You know what?” She muttered, her cheeks squished into the helmet. “I’ve decided. If I win, I keep your bike. That sound like enough of a challenge for you?”

With a last smirk she pushed her visor down into place, the shadowy black plastic blocking Killian’s view of her gorgeous green eyes and snapping him back to reality. The roar of his engine followed as she turned the key and it sparked to life, the deep throaty rumble of his shorter racing exhaust pipe filling the paddock. She zipped up her jacket and leaned forward, twisting the throttle so the engine revved in the familiar growl Killian could swear turned into a purr under her attention.

With a kick of her slighting heeled matte black boots, the stand peg sprang back into position against the side of the engine, and she was off, throttle fully open and the bike rising up onto it’s back wheel like a well trained stallion. She held the wheelie for a long while, finally dropping the bike back onto two wheels and returning to the start finish line with a few final revs of the engine.

Killian was in love, he was pretty sure. It was hardly possibly to describe the feelings he was experiencing as anything else. She mesmerized him, called to him through the sound of the engine and even though he didn’t even know her name, he felt like he had known her forever. She knew bikes and it was clear by the way she handled his that she could tame even the mightiest of beasts. She revved his bike’s engine again, one foot barely on the tarmac by her toes, body hugging the fuel tank as she focused on the road ahead of her.

Killian finally willed his feet to move, heading for her bike, the engine so shiny he wasn’t sure it had even been ridden in yet. A quick inspection of the tyres told him it had been, no presence of bobbling to suggest they were new. Maybe she just liked a meticulous bike? The rest of it was pristine, the dull black paint normally prone to blemishes and smudges absolutely clear of both.

With a careful lift of his leg, Killian mounted the Hayabusa, kicking the stand back into its resting position and righting the bike. Another rev of his bike told him she was growing impatient, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t keen to know her name, so with a turn of the key he started her engine and the second roar of a bike reverberated around the paddock.

Her bike felt foreign between his legs, but welcomed, the vibrations from the engine causing the muscles in his legs to shake violently in the way he loved. He pulled his helmet down over his head, adjusting the fit so he could see and then walked the bike to the barely visible start line. Beside him she twisted her wrist down again and the engine of his bike screamed out its annoyance at being stationary for so long. Killian slapped his visor down, his world turning a grey through the polarized perspex, and echoed her revs with a twist of his own wrist.

The mystery woman looked to him at the same time as he looked to her, holding up three fingers and then pointing to the road head. Killian nodded, her signal clear; on the third rev they would go. One lap, less that two minutes.

She revved the bike once, the engine squealing before the sound disappeared into nowhere, the bike between her legs calming. She did it again, and Killian did too, the back wheel of the bike he was riding squirreling a little, a fresh smear of rubber from the tyre appearing on the tarmac. The anticipation between them was almost palpable, both of them lowering their bodies to the fuel tank, getting as close to it as possible for aerodynamics and increased speed. And then a third rev echoed out across the track and the squeal of tyres was all that could be heard as they both took off for the first corner.

The Hayabusa had more torque, tearing off the start line with a ground shaking rumble. Killian tucked in his knees and elbows, the wind rushing over his shape like he wasn’t even there. The Yamaha wasn’t far behind, the woman’s lighter weight nothing for the huge capacity engine, and Killian cast a quick glance to under his armpit to judge the distance between them. She was good, using the inner racing line to cut up the inside of him, whizzing past him as he sat up to assist his braking towards the first corner.

She had no fear, barely leaving herself enough time to brake efficiently as they approached the bend, her tiny frame leaning into it despite her lack of knee protection. Her knee was millimetres from the ground, the bike travelling at around 128 km/h, but she had no reservations about accelerating out of the bend and leaving him behind. Killian was barely out of the corner himself when he saw she was swinging over to the other side, knee down around the next bend, the familiar sound of a gear change echoing through his ears.

Killian focused on the back of his bike, the unknown woman riding it handling it like she hadn’t ever ridden anything else. The bike bowed to her every command, even when she pushed it to its limits down the straights. It was here Killian could catch up, the power he wielded in the Hayabusa far greater than the Yamaha, and he slipped up the inside of her and overtook her with ease. But his bike was heavy, and it took a longer time to accelerate out of corners, so it wasn’t long before the blonde beauty was leaving him in her dust once more.

The track had an ‘s’ bend about a third of the way around, something that ever rider had to slow down to almost a stop for. It was tight, and there was a straight approaching it, so Killian used the opportunity to zoom past her in the hopes he could dominate the narrow section. He was wrong. She was a speed demon, or just full out crazy, but she managed to slip the 379 lb machine right past him, their thighs brushing when they were upright in the middle part of the meanouvre. She even had time to look over to him, and even though Killian couldn’t see her face through her visor, he was sure she was smiling.

Neither were in their racing wear, and that would slow them both down, so the rest of the race would be down to their ability as racers. Who was the most brave? This track had a few notorious sections, Killian knew that better than anyone and had recently learned the hard way that no one was immune to failure, regardless of ability. Liam was a far better rider than he could ever hope to be and he had been snatched from humanity in the blink of an eye. Maybe that was why, even with the faster bike, Killian took his time, being more than cautious around the twists and turns that made up the track, losing time in hesitation as the mystery woman sailed to a victory.

There was less than a wheel length in it as they crossed the finish line, both throttles fully open, engines screaming to deafening volumes. They both sat back up on the cool down lap, allowing the bikes to roll around the track and their racing hearts to return to normal. With the engines idling on the start finish line, they both pulled off their helmets at the same time. Again her hair tumbled effortlessly over her shoulders whilst Killian’s looked like he had been pulled through a hedge, adorably sticking out in all directions.

“Woo!” He yelled over the sound of their engines, a boyish grin on his face, cheeks pinked from adrenaline. “What a rush!”

“Yeah!” She screeched, slapping the fuel tank on Killian’s bike like she was praising a horse.

“You,” he pointed at her, losing his words. “I-.”

“Did you enjoy losing?” She panted, her own adrenaline speeding up her heart.

“To you? Absolutely! You’re a bloody brilliant rider, love,” Killian offered, catching his breath.

“And how did your bike look like from behind?” She quipped with a wink. “Bet it never looked so good, right?”

“I wouldn’t know, love,” Killian grinned, revisiting the now imprinted image of her perfectly shaped rear as she sat astride his bike. “I wasn’t looking at the bike.”

Killian couldn’t tell at first if the rosy tint to her cheeks was from her blush or her tight fitting helmet, but when she averted her eyes shyly, he knew it was the former. It made him smile, cheeky and juvenile, just like the way she had somehow made him feel when the last three weeks had been nothing but empty.

“Might I add that the front is just as beautiful.” When she looked back at him, Killian raised an eyebrow, tracing the ridges of his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she muttered through her smile, nodding reassuringly.

It was Killian’s turn to blush, thankfully mostly hidden behind his already reddened cheeks, only the tips of his slightly pointed elven ears giving away his true feelings. He averted his eyes, focusing on the ignition key in front of him, his vision shaking with the motion of the bike. “Can I ask you something?” He said suddenly, turning the engine off and looking back over to her.

“As long as it’s not my name,” she smirked. “Loser,” she teased.

“Quite,” Killian laughed. “Do you miss it?” He added, pointing to the bike between his legs. “This thing has more power than any other road legal bike, nearly twice the top speed of that thing,” he pointed to the R1 she was sitting on and she looked down at it. “And yet you beat me,-”

“You let me win,” she cut him off.

“I assure you, love, I did not,” Killian laughed with a defiant shake of his head. “You’re a fantastic rider who clearly misses racing. What happened?”

Her smile faded instantly and she swallowed hard. Killian could see he had tugged at a nerve, possibly one that had been cut and continued to fray over many years, and he immediately regretted his words. Her silence was deafening and when she lowered her head and took a long, steadying breath, Killian felt like the worst person in the world.

“You know what?” He said quickly, slapping his helmet with both hands to gain her attention. She looked over to him and he smiled a weak, apologetic smile. “How about dinner?”

“It’s a bit early for dinner,” she chuckled.

“Tonight,” Killian insisted. “I don’t need to know your name to take you out, do I?” He poked out his bottom lip and pretended to be upset by the prospect of her declining, lifting a cocky eyebrow at her before his lips turned up with a smirk. “And you can still keep the bike,” he added, hand over his heart.

“Really?” She didn’t believe him, even if she had won it fairly.

“Aye, love, I’m a man of my word.”

He gave her a smile, one she was sure had won over the hearts of every one of his fans, and one she felt powerless to resist. She studied him for a moment, smitten with his charm and handsome features, something she said she wouldn’t fall for again, but was failing miserably to ignore. She knew him. She had seen the headlines. Killian Jones, World Champion, playboy. She regarded him with a narrowed gaze, unsure if she was just another Killian Jones conquest or if he was genuine. Had the media got him wrong? Was he a man of his word?

“Okay,” she said finally, a coy smile spreading across her face. “Tonight. Do you know how to plan a date?”

“Oh, this is a date now?” He teased with a wry grin.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Who knows? Maybe if you play your cards right, we might follow up dinner with a little dessert.”

Killian ran his tongue over his teeth, eyes flicking over her leather clad body still nestled atop the bike he had just lost like she belonged there. What he wouldn’t give to see her in that exact position sans leathers, the sounds she would make with the rumbling engine pressed against her most intimate region something he was having a hard time not imagining. He looked up to her, eyes darkened by his lustful thoughts that made her breath catch in her throat. “I assure you, love, there will be nothing little about dessert.”

[atomicpenguindreamer]

Early April 2020

When I looked at my wristwatch, it struck 9:45. I was getting late for the evaluation centre which was some distance away from where I lived. I was in my formals as a teacher should be, but my elbow crutches were not complimenting my good dressing and didn't allow me to walk at the normal pace so I stood on the sidewalk. Though I waited for a taxi for a while, I couldn't get any. My only option was hitchhiking and that always worked because 'people are kind'. Seeing a young man with crutches, unable to walk, looking meek, everyone would want to help. That was the best thing being on the crutches, one could get all the attention, whether wanted or unwanted. I just gave a wave at a passing biker, he stopped and helped me hop on the back seat and then we drove off.

"Thank you so much," I said while he helped me get down from the backseat. The biker gave me a wide smile and went. It was still two to ten, I felt relieved that I reached in time.

Army Public School, a modern structure and the evaluation centre for class x aisse, was located in the middle of Allahabad Cantonment, surrounded by symmetrically planted trees and beautiful gardens. The best place to send your children for education is in the city.

I showed the guard my relieving order and headed to the exam department to execute the evaluation work. We were a team of twelve evaluators and a head examiner to supervise the whole process. As we were evaluating the answer book assigned to us, I saw somebody entering the room wearing a smile on his face. The head examiner greeted him and started talking about how good/poor the students did in the exam and the usual teacher's stuff. I knew that man too, he was employed at the same school in the second shift where I worked but never interacted before. We just knew each other's names. After talking a bit with the head examiner he came to me and wished me morning, I also wished him with reverence. He saw me with the crutches before in the school, so it was an obvious question that how  I managed to come there as finding a ride was difficult in the cantonment area. I told him all that I did earlier in the morning and when I finished he proposed that I could come with him. He would pick and drop me from my rented apartment. I hesitated to accept it but I had to, cause there were no other options and hitchhiking was not a great idea in that condition of mine. I agreed to the arrangement.

Mr Akash Rastogi, yes that was his name. He was in his early forties, short height, lean, grey short hair parted from left to right, spectacled nose, trimmed stubble and crooked body. He suffered 'Hemiparesis'.

Lemme give you a brief idea about Hemiparesis. The most obvious symptom of hemiparesis is the partial paralysis of one side of the body. Symptoms correspond to the side of the brain or spine that has been damaged. An injury to the left side of the brain typically results in weakness on the right side of the body. An injury to the right side of the brain typically results in weakness on the left side of the body. Hemiparesis caused by a stroke or many other countless reasons makes you completely or partially paralyzed.

Due to partial paralysis, he could not move the affected right side of the body efficiently. Paralyses twisted his wrist, leg, and face, yet he smiled and treated everyone with a happy face. He could walk without crutches and use a four-wheeled scooter, especially designed, to go to work and regular places. This was the reason I hesitated in the first place to take help from him. But as I agreed, I dressed and went to the supposed place to wait for him. He seemed happy enjoying my company rather than being lonely in the centre.

People always asked about how I ended up with crutches who met me after a very long time. And every time I had to tell them about that horrific accident which took place in late June 2019. I was returning from my village through NH 27 on my Royal Enfield 350 classic at an average speed of 80 KMPH. It was more or less six in the morning. The highway, less trafficked, gave me more space to drive at the speed I wanted. On one of the sharp curves, when I was at slightly less speed than before, a stray ox dashed from the so-called garden in the middle of the highway and bumped directly into me. That was a great collision, I blacked out for a fraction of seconds. When I regained consciousness, I was skidding on the road on my right side and my bike was behind me. Some bikers on the highway saw the accident and came to the rescue. They helped me get on my feet but I couldn't put pressure on my right leg. Somehow I managed to go under the shed of a tree with their help. They asked me whether I was ok. finding the affirmative answer, they all went on their journey. I was alone under the tree shade. I could see some daily wagers working on drainage. I called one of them and asked him to arrange a chair for me. My legs hurt, I couldn't bear the pain. Anyway, When seated on the chair, I dialled my brother to tell him about the accident. He knew what to do. He told my uncle and they dashed outside with my cousin and a childhood friend to reach me as soon as possible. Almost sixty km was to be covered and that would take time. The pain increased higher and higher by every single minute. I dared to take off my high ankle shoes, first I undone the laces slowly and completely removed them from the eyelets. My ankle felt numb after so much pain and swelling. I carefully lifted my leg and held it in a fixed position then slowly slid off the shoe by the heel. I took off my socks too to have a closer look at my broken ankle. There were no bruises at all, no bleeding, no cuts but my toes, they hung inwardly like zero degrees on a line and could not reach up to ninety degrees at all. My anxious uncle, brothers and my friend reached the place where I was desperately waiting for them, deliberately hiding all the pain from my face so that they would not panic. They took me to the hospital and the doctor did a couple of check-ups and X-rays and said I broke my fibula severely and needed to be operated on. The operation was successful. I now had seven implants fixed in my ankle and I could no longer walk properly until it heals and this way I ended up with the crutches.

The next morning I woke a bit later than usual as the problem of reaching the centre was sorted out. I dressed up as usual and made myself available on the other side of the main road. Mr Akash reached on time and picked me up. Evaluation work for the day was over and I was waiting for him to come so that we both could go together to the vehicle stand. My curiosity was killing me, pushing me to feed it up with some answers. But asking about these things was hard and sometimes people got annoyed. I had to be very careful when and what question to ask him. We were back on the four-wheeled scooter, he asked me the same question.

"How did you break your leg?"

I answered this question so many times that I could easily tell it to anyone without putting too much into my mind. I told him all the story and in exchange for the answer to the question he asked, I queried about my question.

"How did you end up like this?"

He sighed and was reluctant to answer but he had to fulfil my inquisition cause I quenched his.

"I wasn't born this way," he replied with a sigh.

"Then what happened to you? I asked.

"Avi, There are some pages in your personal diary that you never want to open and read again. Sometimes you just want to move on and that is a great thing to do. But there is a catch, the more you avoid remembering the past, the more it comes in front of you. You just can't move on when the cruelty of life becomes harsh and despotic and not letting you go away with it." The voice seemed gloomy. We said nothing for approx. 20 minutes.

Then he said, "Oh! we reached, I will see you tomorrow."

We parted and he left for his home. I was left thinking about what he meant by saying all those things. I was eagerly waiting for the next day to come soon as I couldn't wait to listen to his story.

The next morning I got him waiting for me on the roadside, he reached early. I waved 'Hi' and he smiled. On our way to the centre, I wanted to ask him about what those words referred to but refrained myself from doing it because we had a day ahead with loads of work to complete and I wanted both of our heads on chill mode.

When we were on the road again, before I asked anything, he said "Tomorrow is off for us so we can enjoy some coffee on our way." I was delighted to hear that. Even I missed going outside with someone having coffee or tea. He pulled up at a coffee shop, less crowded and perfect for us to talk. I ordered two cups of latte for us. Sipping and relishing the hot beverage, I said to him " I didn't understand what you said yesterday. What did you mean by that?"

He composed himself and said, "As I told you I wasn't born this way, I had a normal childhood, storming adolescence and a great youth age afterwards. I was as normal as you have been before your accident". He continued.

"Summer 2012, after the break, the school reopened and as any other employee would say that he didn't like to rejoin after a long vacation, I was also unwilling to go to school. But a job is a job and I was happy that I was able to see the happy faces of the students again. Everything went well until 6th period, then suddenly I felt a jolt, a tremor in all my limbs. I couldn't feel neither my legs nor my hands and my head was going to explode. The book I carried in the right hand and duster in the other, fell on the ground as I lost all the strength to have a grip on them. I collapsed then and there. . The air around me felt so thin that my lungs couldn't take it in and I was gasping for air as I couldn't breathe. My body felt as if it was made of rock. I couldn't do anything, couldn't even call for help. But fortunately, I was in the school lobby and senior students were passing towards the chemistry lab. They found me grounded lifelessly. They took me to the staff room and put me on a chair. I quickly got admitted to the hospital. The doctor said the attack had severely damaged some brain cells that resulted in Paralysis. He had given me medication and an exercise guide to perform daily and said that if I follow the medication and the exercise, I could see some improvement. But a part of me knew that It was never going to be the same again. Even though I followed everything very religiously, I couldn't see much improvement. I couldn't get better."

I could feel his pain. But you can never say where the shoe pinches unless you wear them yourself. I knew that the story ahead was not going to be cheerful yet I had to hear it. He took a swig of latte and pushed himself to tell me the rest.

"Expectation hurts and it hurts more when you are turned down by someone you love, someone you spent three fucking years of your life with. Someone you think you would never get betrayed by. Life is both happy and sad, soft and harsh. And you have to accept it. Yeah! Avi, I am talking about my wife.

"I got married in 2009. We were a very normal, happy couple, and had two kids, a son and a daughter. Every happy thing I could desire for, I had. And then this attack happened and everything went topsy-turvy for me. All my happiness turned to something which I could never wish to linger on. All my zeal and enthusiasm for life had become pale and passive. That one stroke in the past had changed every single minute of my future."

"Regular daily routines, like using the toilet, brushing teeth, shaving, bathing, putting on underwear and trousers, buttoning up my shirt and cuffs, combing and even eating stood in front of me like some cliff to climb on and I couldn't do it though I had all the equipment (out of order actually) needed. But I didn't let my anxiety take over me. I had a very understanding wife. She helped me with almost all the stuff I had difficulty with. Life went average, not bad, not good. And then I started noticing something. My wife, who was helpful and understanding in the beginning, acquired a completely ruthless attitude. She seemed fed up and always blamed me for my little physical improvements. She now engaged herself more in the care of my children than to waste time on me. Over time She became more indifferent than ever. Although I had a family, I was completely alone in this world."

"Every morning I had to tussle with getting ready for school. Toilet, my worst nightmare came true, traumatized me more than anything. As my right wrist was twisted in a way that I couldn't use, I tried to reach the bidet nozzle with my left hand to clean up. For that I had to bend my body slightly to the right side, not too much otherwise the poop would stain the toilet sheet and I would be left with some more work to deal with. Reaching down there was another problem as I was more accustomed to using it with my right hand. Anyway, I dealt with those problems daily. Brushing my teeth was easier but putting paste on them was hard. Dressing up decently demanded more effort than other things. After putting on trousers and a shirt, I usually called my wife to button up. Now when she didn’t care so much about my affairs, I had to do it all by myself. Buttoning requires two hands and I had only one working so it took me more time to do it. And then the school had many difficulties to offer. Countless trivial things meant nothing before, had become vexatious tasks to toil with. At first, I didn’t want to accept the reality but had to. There were no other options. This was my life since my accident, exhausting and burdensome. Gradually I got used to everything……. not everything.”

“Marriage is just not an emotional bond. Emotional support is needed as well as the physical relationship between the two. I had those physical needs too. I enjoyed intimacy a lot with my supporting wife earlier after marriage. Every night when we go to bed, we made love. We were two bodies and one soul. Inseparable, unite with some kind of magic no one could break through but after this so-called condition, all the magic vanished into thin air. She became unemotional and passionless to our relation. She denied every further indulgence of intimacy with me. I felt lonely in my bedroom. Sometimes I woke up in the night, thinking that I was all physically well and tried to persuade her for sex and every time she refused and turned her back on me. I felt humiliated, insulted and disgraced every time I tried that. I could remember that day when she discarded me mercilessly and said it on my face that she didn’t feel anything for me anymore and I had to deal with my sexual desire. And then on, Whenever I felt like having sex I masturbated beside her. Masturbating and cursing that was how my sexual life went. Months after months, year after year went by and there had been no change in my wife’s behaviour, rather she clung to a new tendency to avoid me all the time. We didn’t talk much, didn’t eat together or go to bed together. She settled her room beside mine. We saw each other just at breakfast and dinner while she served me. I hated my life. Sometimes I felt like crying, shouting and asking God why He had ripped away every happiness from my life and cursed me to live that way.``

“Gradually I have become numb to my pains and accepted the reality though it hurt. I focused more on my children and started writing poetry. I also published some books. If you like you can read them. They are not about how I lived unhappily, uncontented but the love and affection I got from my kids.” He sounded both sad and happy.

We drank six cups of latte in the coffee shop, the evening vanished and night took charge. We bade good night and left for our respective homes. That night I couldn’t sleep. I could connect to his pain. The pain after I broke my ankle was nothing in comparison to his. I suffered only three months of dependency on others and he had all his life to live that way.

I know how it feels to live a life at mercy of others. You feel frustrated and disgusted about your life. And when somebody you need the most leaves you, It becomes more frustrating than ever. We get betrayed by our loved ones, it happens all the time because the foundation stone of a relationship is laid on the weak ground of false vows and superficial material expectations. The relationship collapses like a weak wall on a weak foundation when a surge of misfortune and misery shakes it to the base. 

This is my first story.

Hope you'll all like it.

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Original 

by Avi Singh