Sorry, not sorry

"Sorry, I'm not sorry darling.” He stopped breathing.

***

A few months ago

"Oh my goodness Beck, where in seven hells are you? They are going to commence the program in a while, and I really don't care if you reach here on time or not. I'll go ahead with what I've been waiting for since months, you understand that?" I snapped.

"God, you need to calm down Ash. I know how much this means to you and it's as important to me as it is to you. I'm on my way, and will be there in a jiffy. You carry on with meeting and greeting everyone and I'll come in absolutely no time, don't worry." He said through the phone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you're requested to take your seats since we will be beginning with the book launch anytime now." they announced.

"I hope you heard that, Mr. Beckett Jones. I got to go, you take your time and arrive hours after the function is over, that would be perfectly fine." I hung up and angrily dumped the iPhone in my pocket, walking towards the stage area.

It was the 11^th of July, the big day. My social awkwardness was skyrocketing in front of what looked like more than two hundred people, sitting and waiting for ME, with no idea of the goosebumps they were giving me. Oofe, you got this Ashley. I like talking to myself, more than I do to others. It’s an introvert thing, you’d know if you’re one. I climbed up the stairs leading to the stage to find the two of them already seated. There they were, talking to each other. Mr. Steve, who was reluctant at first but finally agreed to publish my book and Mrs. Nandini, who was the chief guest for the day, oh and also the best bestselling author of a political fiction. She was the one who inspired me to write a book based on a subject like this, but I’ve never let her know that. Did I mention she’s my mother as well? No? Like mom, like daughter. Two wooden chairs were arranged next to them and it seemed like one of them would have to remain unoccupied. I took the chair to sit when I suddenly felt cold. It was the air conditioner in the hall. God. My mum smiled at me which I reciprocated. Looking at the DW watch on my hand, I sighed. “We can start.” I whispered to them.

“Good afternoon, everyone. First of all, a huge thank you to all of you who’ve taken your precious time to assemble here for the book launch of Ms. Ashley Das.” The male anchor spoke while directing towards me. At least he said Ashley, not Ashwini, the weird name my parents had decided for me. He continued, “As you all must be aware by now, the book named ‘A Peephole to Truth’ has been a highly controversial subject in discussions across the nation, owing to its political nature. The title suggests exactly what the piece is about, an exposure to the reality of corrupt politicians. A lot of organisations have petitioned in order to ban the book, but all in vain. Here we all are, ready to welcome this peephole to the truth with open arms.” The audience was applauding when I saw Beck hurry through the doorway, running towards the stage. How embarrassing! He had put up a show for everyone to see while he hastily perched onto the wood. The majority of guests consisted of journalists, bloggers and other influencers and their chatter was clearly audible to us. They’re definitely discussing something that has to do with Beck or our wedding, which is supposed to be somewhere around November or December this year but going by his behaviour, I think they’d have to wait until at least next year! Gawd, I have no idea what this compère is babbling about, but I’ll nod my head and smile in agreement.

I was lost in my thoughts when I heard my name being called and found everyone staring at me. Oh, chill Ash. I took to the podium and gave a long ass speech, ending with a request to go check my book out. You don’t want to get into that stuff. Skip.

After getting back to my seat, we had to get scores of pictures clicked, so we got down. I was still pissed at Beck and was pretty much ignoring him until he did what made my heart melt every single time. I hadn’t even realised I’d been shivering until we were posing with the books and he pulled me close and switched places to act as a barrier between the AC vent and me. Isn’t he the sweetest fiancé? Well, if only he’d learn to show up on time. Getting a whiff of my favourite perfume from Beck’s arms, I couldn’t help but forgive him. We ate and drank and laughed only to return dead tired.

I lived with my mom alone, but it never felt like it. She had achieved fame, a lot of it. The constant visitors to our red brick villa were solid proof of that. To add to it, Beckett would come to see us almost everyday. Both grew really fond of each other, which is why he’d offer to drop me off after dates, just to say Hi to her. I liked our little bookish family, and our lovely life.

Beck was mainly a well-known Booktuber, a Youtuber who talked books, but also wrote blog posts every once in a while. In fact we’d met at a book event of a debut author three years ago and guess who is debuting now? I was an HR manager until I got into the writing field. Beck and I bonded over novels and our common love for poetry and Nietzsche. We really loved each other, which is why my mom was fine with me spending most of my time with him.

***

It had been three months since my book was made available for political enthusiasts to purchase. I was sipping on my morning tea under the covers after having spent the night at Beck’s place. I was reading my own book for the third time after the release while he was busy shooting his new video out in the balcony when my phone started playing the ‘Opening’ ringtone. It was mom.

“Hey momma, what’s uppp? Why are you up so early—­?” I spoke, holding the wooden cup in my left hand.

She interrupted me. “Guess what, dear? You cannot imagine what just happened. I got a call, oh my god how do I tell you this? This is too much for my fragile heart to hand—”

“Is everything okay, mom? Do you mean it in a bad way or a good way? Be right there, I’m coming over right now.” I said while getting out of the blanket. By now, even Beck had a concerned look on.

“I mean it in the best way possible. Mr. Steve just called and gave me amazing news. Remember, he had sent an entry for ‘A Peephole to Truth’ to the Orwell Foundation? That was the last date of submission, and you know what? You’ve done it, child. Your book had been shortlisted and you’ve won the prize! They have invited you for the felicitation ceremony at The Mermaid London Auditorium next to next month. There are going to be the best people from this industry, including your favourite writers and journalists. You’re excited darling, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. The phone was on speaker and Beck was beside me grabbing by the shoulders to prevent my collapse.

“Good Lord. Of course, mom!! This is damn exciting. This is so cool. I knew it would be a masterpiece the second I’d ended reading it. The award was meant for Ashley. It was meant to be hers.” Beck said.

“Oh My God. This is really cool, mom. Please tell me you aren’t joking. Tell me this is real! The best award for political writing is mine to have, is that what I'm hearing? This is the best effing day of my life, mom. Thank YOU, and thank you Beck.” I was nearly tearing when I hugged Beck. “You two are my greatest supporters.” I wiped off a tear on my right cheek.

***

It was a chilly morning of December when I put on my black faux leather jacket over the olive green silk saree I was wearing. I know, I know. But mom wanted me to dress Indian for the day and it was cold outside. Looking at the mirror, I spoke to myself, “You don’t look that bad, after all.”

“Course you don’t.”

For a moment, I thought the mirror actually replied back but it was my soon-to-be-husband. I smiled looking at him wearing my favourite black tuxedo I’d gotten for him on his birthday. “Hmm, You don’t look bad either.”

We got into the car with mum and drove to The Mermaid. We were on time for the award ceremony. There were a few familiar faces and several unfamiliar ones staring at me with what appeared to be praise and jealousy. We took our seats and it wasn’t long before my name was taken. “And now we call upon the showstopper for the night, Ms. Ashwini Das, who is the face behind ‘A Peephole to Truth’. ” Fancy address! I walked up, more confidently this time, to get what was mine. I had to admit, me and my fam; our chests had widened with pride. I didn’t speak more than a couple of sentences after accepting the memento and hurried up to my seat in the audience. The event went on for the next three hours and we were fatigued to death by the end of it. “Can we go home now, mom? I’ve arranged a little party tomorrow, so I need to look fresh as a daisy, not like an ugly monster with dark eye bags.” Seeing mom nod, I called for the car and we three rested our heavy bodies on the soft seats for the thirty-minute drive.”

Everything was a mess at home as the Red Letter Day was going to be next week, even though most of the arrangements had been assigned to a reputed wedding management company. And here we were, amidst the chaos, planning parties with our peers. We preferred bookstores and libraries over clubs and discos, and this was going to be one of the rare nights we’d be found at one of these. I managed a picture in the black turtle-neck one piece I was wearing, before I’d ruin the look with a beige cardigan over it and posted an Instagram story. Caption: ‘HEADING TO FABRIC LONDON!!’ Beck was quite active on Instagram as well, unlike me, who wasn’t even physically active, let alone virtually. “Welcome back, my bibliophiles. Today I’m here with...” Blah. Blah. Blah. He kept recording his video until it was almost six o’clock without realising he'd himself invited our friends exactly fifteen minutes from then. I cried, “Beck, you can seriously do this any other time. Rebecca and the others assured they’d be there by six. And you’re least bothered! You can shoot the video later yaar, c’mon let’s rush now.” He couldn’t care less and continued without a slight worry.

Never ignore or brush off a woman when she is upset. I repeat, just do not!

“The fuck, Beck? Are you seriously planning on having a fight right before we have to go to a party?! Are you listening, like do I even matter to you?” Well, at least he’s looking at me now. But I had an epiphany. I don’t want it to be this way. I don’t like what’s happening. I don’t like any of this.

“You don’t have to bring such things up for my attention, you get it?” He said, giving that annoying smirk.

“Well, it did work...Hey we can’t just invite people somewhere and keep them waiting for us, the hosts, okay? I love how hard you work and I know you don’t like parties either. But let’s do this for Rebecca, John and Rachel, please? Think of it as your bachelor party plus the annoying to-be-wife maybe?”

This made him cackle like a kid. “We will but I first need to shoot this please, please Ash. Tomorrow’s a Sunday and my subscribers will be awaiting a video, so I don’t really have another option.” He made an irritating puppy face.

“Oh man. Do I have another option, then?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“YES ma’am, you do. It's going to take me just another half an hour probably, but I can’t keep you waiting, obviously. You take the car and leave and I’ll follow when I’m done!”

I was skeptical at first, but eventually agreed. “Okay, sounds like a plan. But if I take the car, I highly doubt you will actually come, knowing that I have the resources to return home. I ain’t gonna let you do that, Mister Beckett. I hail a cab, you go with the Verna.”

“As you say, Almost-Mrs. Jones.” We had a hearty laugh while I booked a Nissan Micra on the app. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait much and in no time, I was at the nightclub.

On the entrance, Rachel and Rebecca were all set to pull into a long, tight hug. At times, we have no idea how much we needed something until we get to experience it. We went in while spilling tea to find John ordering drinks at the bar like olden times. Once a boozer, always a boozer! Because of the deafening bass, I could hardly figure out what he said but it was something along the lines of “Hey Ash! Long time, no see?”

“Yeah man, look at you, all grown-up!” I chuckled while locking into a warm embrace.

“You know that was pretty lame, don’t you?” He commented more than he questioned.

They asked about Beck’s whereabouts too and I informed them. We chatted about everything from high school and crushes to jobs and partners. That’s what happens when you meet long-gone friends, I guess. We were drinking and discussing when I got a call from an unknown number. I trudged to a corner to take it.

“Is this Ms. Ashley speaking?” came from the other side.

“Yes it is. Who’s this again?”

The feminine voice spoke again, “Ashley, we’re really sorry but this Verna got hit by a huge truck and the ambulance is now carrying this guy to the City Hospital. We found your number last dialled on his phone, so yeah. Please be quick, he’s bleeding way too much. I hope he’s fine.”

Oh my god, shit. I checked my phone and found two missed dials. Shit, the bursting music. I dashed out of the building without explanation and entered the first taxi I could find. In the ten longest minutes, the white structure came into appearance. I zoomed past the public and asked one of the unoccupied nurses which operation theatre Beckett Jones had been admitted in. She calmly answered, “Don’t stress out, ma’am. The bandaging has been done and his condition is much better than how it was when we brought him in. He’s in one of the good operation wards, Number 17. Allow me to direct you, please.” I slightly nodded and followed her to the red door ‘17’. She left me alone and I pushed the gate to find him lying on the metallic bed, covered in dressing, prolly unconscious. Gawd, I’m so sorry.

“I wish I’d have stayed or you’d have come early, Beck. None of this would’ve happened. You always run late and then drive recklessly, now look what’s happened.” I fought back tears.

He struggled opening his eyes but mumbled, “First stop crying like a baby, baby.” I smiled at the last words and took the space next to him. Saying "Sorry, I'm not sorry darling”, he stopped breathing. “Get the doctors, be quick!” I screamed looking at the monitor. The male doctor ran in and did something with the oxygen mask and tubes and wires and I-don’t-know-whats. “Is he alright?” I asked to no one in particular, when things were calmer. Help God. The same attendant smiled and responded, “He will be.”

It abruptly struck me why Beck (didn’t) apologise back in the room and what he meant. In the following time, I called and thanked the lady who’d brought Beck to safety just in time and plodded to the main counter to ask the receptionist whether police were involved. She replied in positive and requested me to have a word with them. It was helpful as they let me know all I needed. It wasn’t an accident but a planned attempt to murder. The ‘accident’ was captured in the CCTV and turns out the truck plate belonged to a local political party. Not-so-coincidentally, it was of one of the politicians, Baker who'd been trying to ban ‘A Peephole to Truth’. But why’d he attack Beckett and not me? That was when it hit me. The Instagram story. Among the thousands of viewers on my story, one of them could have been some aide of that Baker. He must’ve expected me to be in the car, so kept an eye on the route to Fabric. Poor Beck had to suffer so much, all because of me. And he still said he was ‘Sorry, not sorry’.

My sad thoughts were interrupted by an SMS that popped up on my screen. It read:

'That which does not kill us makes us stronger :) Love you both.

 -Mumma '

Mom had quoted Friedrich Nietzsche!

'Welcome to the club!

-ASHWINI'

I pressed 'SEND' when the doc waved to me with a smile.

***