02—Forcing me against my will.

02—Forcing me against my will.

“Forcing someone to love you can only make them detest you more.”

—Saumya Tripathi 

 

“Ssh…slowly.” There was something on my cheek. It kept on being touched. Were those fingers of a person? “Don't struggle too much.”

 

My psyche invaded without halting, with hazy thoughts in my mind before I could even open my eyes. The thoughts were merely hazy and twirled groggily inside—in my head, which I tried to get hold of with my crumbled memories. But I could not succeed. 

 

“Shhh… You are safe, little one.”

 

When my mind came back to its senses, I felt something rough strolling gently in a circular motion on my left cheek, which was rather sore. Sore? Why did my cheek feel so strained? The touch was gentle and smooth. However, my cheek seemed to be itching. I so wanted to itch and get relief; nonetheless, I stayed, unmoved and confused about almost everything.

 

“Keep still. Otherwise, you are going to hurt yourself.”

 

Albeit, I tried to open up my eyes, but it was of no use; my upper eyelids felt too heavy for me to open them. I tried getting up as well, but it felt like I couldn't even recognise my own body; it just seemed too heavy for me at that certain moment. I did not budge even an inch, despite my efforts to get up from the position. 

 

Why was it so hard to move? 

 

Why was I not able to move any of my muscles? I strived again. 

 

I struggled indignantly to ease away the numbness, but nothing worked. What was happening to me? Why was I not able to budge even an inch? What was wrong with me? My breath came out harsher with every passing second due to my mental efforts to be awake but not in motion physically. I was panicking inside. It was draining me psychologically. It was like my whole body was compelled to be at rest. I sprawled there unnervingly. My mind was so messed up with questions left unanswered that I was going into hysteria. 

 

Why were my reflexes not working at all? I wondered.

 

Still trying to move, I invaded my mind with the unstopping queries. As perturbed as I was, I didn’t stop trying to make sense of all of those. I couldn't. 

 

What was happening? I questioned myself again. It was turning into a recurring question now. This particular question captivated me like a recorder, which I was playing now and then. My eyeballs kept on ambling in the confinements of the eyelids restlessly. 

 

"Don't conflict with yourself, little one. You will hurt yourself in the process. Stop trying to achieve the things that are not in your hands," someone murmured softly near my ear. The question undoubtedly had a double meaning. Astounded and stunned for a few seconds, comprehending who it was that spoke, I tried to reminisce about the memories and the person to whom the voice belonged. When nothing made my mind remember the things that led me into this state, I started panicking more and struggling harder. Unfortunately, with the state I was in, I tried to do something, anything, anyhow, but my whole body did not cope with me. It remained as it was: motionless. 

 

I signed gloomily. I was disoriented. My head was pounding painfully. I restlessly tried again and again, fighting with myself to awaken my sleeping muscles, and this time I indeed succeeded after a very long period of struggling with deliberation.

 

Hastily, opening my eyes, I met with the same black piercing orbs; my eyes widened in fear, and I looked around fearfully to see—where I was and whom I was with. 

 

My heart pounded like an arctic ocean—severe waves. When I looked away, what I saw was even more terrifying.

 

I saw an L-shaped, leather-black, very long seat in front of me, and then, when I turned slightly to see up, I saw the roof—of the car—which was also black.

 

I was in a moving car! I mulled with angst. 

 

I tried to wriggle with my own treacherous body to sit up, but nothing happened. I stayed in my handicapped state. Still, there was confusion in me. Maybe because I wasn't conscious, entirely. Again, I turned to look at the man—to decipher where he was taking me, only to watch him watch me and my every move, which I tried to make out of desperation. He was just not staring intently at me, but there was something in his eyes that I couldn't get a hold of. Something primal—an urge to protect something—something that is hidden entirely. But what? Meanwhile, he patted my head gently.

 

Patting my head? Why could I not feel anything? Was something wrong with me? Why was he patting my head?

 

My breath faltered as my heart started to race when I saw the position I was in—a lap; my head was in someone's lap. And that someone was the man who was continuously caressing my hair. I had no choice but to look at what was before my eyes. We stared in silence, though. Inside me, there were storms of questions and fears whatsoever. My body remained frozen, and I was in a handicapped state. 

He didn't say anything. Staring and caressing, he peered at me like he was in another terrain and wasn't looking at me exactly. 

 

After a very fleeting movement of staring into his dark, large charcoal eyes, my eyes themselves began to close down without my permission. I tried to stay awake to get away from this stranger, who had been gazing at me intently since I opened my eyes. I shuddered at the very thought.

 

Where was he taking me? The question itself rebounded me in its arms.

 

I tried to speak, yet my mouth would not cooperate with my mind. Nonplussed, I tried to open my mouth again, but it was just another futile attempt in which I failed.

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