Highway Murder

Content warning: References to physical and sexual abuse



"You should be kissed often and by someone who knows how." 

- Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchel

Twenty-year-old me shudders inside the soft cotton blanket while reading arguably the most romantic novel of the twentieth century. White lamplight illuminates the pages while I lay on my stomach, swallowed by the covers. My right-hand slides lower to cater to the throbbing between my legs. There's another bed on my left with covers folded. My roommate left for the Halloween party four hours back. She said she'd be late, although the college has announced that no late-night parties will be allowed on the campus after a few incidences of violence on the adjoining highway recently. However, the youth are not famous for complying with authorities.

It's good for me, though. Don't get me wrong. She's lovely, but she is also spritely and garrulous to the extent that I'm exhausted by merely watching her talk. The social battery, my roommate Zara, needs constant parties, whereas I need solitude and romance books to recharge. 

"I'm telling you, Zubair, if you touch anything of mine in our room, I'll kill you." Zara rudely interrupts my recharging by drenching me with a bucket of yellow light and her cautionary command to her brother Zubair.

Rolling my torso towards the door, I squint to greet the duo with a wave. I pull the covers over my chest while attempting to sit straight on my bed. I'm not dressed for company with white buttoned-down cotton pyjamas and no bra; the classic literature isn't helping. "You're back early? You said you'll stay for the after party." 

"Yeah, that's a long story. I'll tell you later. Need to rush to the washroom first," She dashes to the washroom, swaying on her feet. "I knew I shouldn't have drunk those last two beers!" 

Zubair frowns at her. He hangs around in our room a lot. Lacking social skills compared to his sister, he's more like Rhett, the silent brooding type. And Rhett Butler is my current book boyfriend. 

The bed complains with a creak when he flops on Zara's bed. He says sheepishly, "Sorry." 

I shrug. "It's still standing. No harm done." 

He chuckles as he leans his tall, brawny, unshaven frame on Zara's headboard. 

Our room's tiny, with two single beds separated by a bedside table cum drawers. One of them hangs open, and a spiral of cables, chargers, and earphones peeks out. It's not pretty. I slam it shut with my left foot. 

When he eyes my hanging leg, I'm thankful I'm wearing pyjamas, not shorts, as it's slightly cold in Delhi. 

"What are you reading?" he peeks over to my side to read the open book on the table. 

I snatch the book and slam it shut. 

"Whoa! What was that for?" He tosses both his legs on my side and sits up. 

Closing the book doesn't help. On the cover is a handsome Rhett Butler in a satin white shirt buttoned open to the waist, carrying the ravishing Scarlet O Hara, with her bosom bare despite all the clothes in place. 

"Oh!" Zubair smirks. 

"No!" It's not what you think. For your information, this is a historical fiction set in the American Civil War and the reconstruction period that followed the war."

"Sure," he leans back on the headboard and shrugs. "The cover says it all." 

I grit my teeth and say, "Haven't you heard 'Never judge a book by its cover'?" 

"I agree. Look at you. You look like an intellectual stuffy hustler, but you have varied interests," he says as his fingers are busy typing on his phone, hiding a smile.

I ignore him and pick up my book again. 

"Are you coming for the Diwali party on Sunday?" He looks up from his mobile phone. 

"No. I don't go to parties. And anyway, nobody needs one more pair of hands to burst crackers and push Earth to its early grave." 

"I don't burn crackers either. Come on, we can be there for each other." He stares at me. His fingers stop moving on the screen. 

Whoa! Is he asking me out? 

My mouth's stiff like dried rubber. It opens, but only a croak comes out. 

He turns to me and whispers, "Please." 

Say 'Yes' stupid. He's the most decent guy you know. And he's hot, too. 

"What are you still doing here, Loser?" Zara announces her arrival and saves me from the dilemma of answering immediately. 

Zubair springs up from the bed with a mischievous smile. "Yeah, well, I'm going. You don't need to throw me out, Zozo." 

He walks to the door, watching me unceasingly. At the door, he says, "Think about it, Sam."

Ugh! He didn't need to call me by my nickname, Sam. It will make it so much harder to reject him. Anyway, only a fool will reject him. I should have replied. I must go after him now and tell him I'll go to the Diwali party, just for him. 

"Ah, I knew he wasn't here to make sure I was okay," Zara said as she fell back on her bed. 

"What do you mean?"

"He came to see you, can't you see?" 

"Bullshit!" I throw the pillow at her. "Why did you get back home early?"

"There was a murder near campus on the highway. Two men attacked a couple. The girl was raped and killed; the boy was stabbed and is fighting for his life in the hospital. At eleven-thirty, the Police broke up our party and ordered all of us girls to return home, preferably with an escort. Zubair offered to escort me, whereas I asked Raghav to. But being my brother, the Police chose him."

<<Two teenage girls who were eloping with their boyfriends together were found naked and brutally murdered on the Lucknow-Agra road. Girls had been raped, and their bodies had been chopped into pieces. The boys were also killed on the spot. The perpetrators are missing. The crime is believed to have been committed by a gang of boys who have been active for last six months.

A ten-year-old girl stares at the headline with the picture of mutilated naked bodies covered by white cloth stained with red patches in the newspaper. 

"Girls think we're tyrants if we stop them from talking to boys. The world is a jungle, and boys just need an excuse to turn into beasts." Her grandfather points to the newspaper in the child's hands and says, "These girls deserve this. Girls from good homes don't elope with boys, do they?" 

The little girl glances at her young brother, who's busy striking multicoloured marbles while squinting his eyes, and wonders if he'll be a monster one day, too.>>

"By the way, Divya asked me to invite you to the Diwali party. I told her you might refuse, but she insisted," Zara says while applying a generous amount of moisturiser to her feet. 

"No! I can't. And please don't ask me again." Slamming the book shut, I push it deep inside the drawer. "Can you please switch off the light from your end?"