Monique's Masquerade

The fear of Darkness doesn’t stem from the dark itself but rather everything it takes away from us. Darkness is perhaps the scariest element because it is the lack of light, the lack of warmth and a lack of life. A child does not scream when the lights are out because the darkness threatens her. It is the lack of the assurance the presence of her parents provides. But sometimes the presence pushes one towards more darkness.

“We are your parents. We know what is best for you. Do you want to grow old and alone with cats? What will the people tell us, that we let you waste your life by chasing dreams? You may choose to be a child, but we have to take the adult decision here. You are getting married in a fortnight and that is it.”

“But Ma, I am barely eighteen. I have my whole life ahead of me. I want to travel the world, watch the opera, design dresses for queens and princesses. There is so much that I can do. I cannot be tied with a man almost twice my age with no ambitions whatsoever.”

“Ambitions? What you call ambition is foolishness. You will die a lonely woman; I tell you and we won’t be there to take care of you. You really think that we would abandon you to such a fate. We are your parents.”

“All you think of is what people will say. Why can’t I take care of myself? I do not have to be alone. I can adopt a child and bring him up. I will not end up alone, but I need to find myself.”

“Are you even listening to yourself. What you are talking about is impossible. You have to live in the real world. You need a man. You are a woman. How can you forget that?”

“I can be my own man, Ma. I just want to make a name for myself.”

“You are not making a name for yourself with our name attached to yours.”

“Then so be it.”

***

It was a dark night. The fire burning violently nearby failed to permeate the thick blanket of nothingness that enveloped the broken frame of the woman hunched in her own misery. Her wavy black hair was a tangled mess. There was blood clotted on her forehead that she did not bother to wipe. Her light brown eyes looked around in a daze failing to register the place or the situation. The shadows of the trees played hide and seek with the rising flame, an eternal dance of light and dark, good and evil. She had lost much that night. She had lost the last remains of the strength to make it out on her own.

The droning of the ambulance, the police cars and the fire trucks seemed to resonate with the droning of the insects in the nearby trees, none more prominent and none relevant. Hands went up to feel the throbbing sensation in her head before she realized where she was. She laid at the base of a tree, entangled among its roots, her body none so different from the giant structures pushing against every aching muscle on her bones. Before long she had been discovered by the drone rescue team. A ghastly memory of what had happened represented itself from the bandages over her head and her hand worn in sling. The night had taken from her the one sense of belonging she had possessively held on to, despite having ample cause to let go.

“Miss are you alright”, a rescue worker asked.

The woman barely nodded.

“Ma’am can you give us your name or an emergency contact number that we may reach?” He asked her cajoling.

“Henry Monet, but he is currently in France.” she said sighing. The name of the famous music director sent a smirk up the rescue worker’s face. He thought she must have really hit her head hard, shook his head and stepped away. That was when another man in uniform stepped near her, older and more experienced.

“Ma’am can you tell us your name and address?” he asked.

It was then the battered woman looked up for the first time with amusement on her lips. “My name is Monique, just Monique. I have been living at the Spectrum Penthouse in Fairmont. Can you escort me there?” she said. Inspector Simms did not miss the note of sorrow in her eyes but he recognized the name immediately.

“I am sorry Ma’am, but we need to get you checked first. Would you mind accompanying my men to the hospital?” he asked.

Monique nodded and was soon led away in a police vehicle. She was placed in the police vehicle, a blanket wrapped around her as the team gathered to discuss the scene.

The blanket was more for shock than warmth. The man who was supposed to escort her to the hospital was discussing some details with his superior. The paramedic had checked her and inferred that it was mostly shock. The blood that clung to her hair was not hers. She had a small cut on her forehead, a bruised left hand, and a dislocated wrist. Still, she needed to go to the hospital for a thorough check up and a CT Scan.

With the fire still blazing nearby it was a smouldering ninety eight degrees she watched as the hoses tried hard to douse the flames that had turned her life to dust. “Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust” it seemed to whisper into her proud mind. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. This was all wrong. This was her punishment for tempting fate, for her desire to be happy. Monique rubbed her arms trying to ease away the numbness, trying to acknowledge that she was still living while he was not. Did it have to be on the eve of the day that she had waited for so long?

“Monique, I think it is time, don’t you think?”

“Time for what Rishi?”

“Tie the knot of course. You have been asking me for so long. It will be easier for the fashion house if we have joint assets for a change. Also, that way you don’t have to lie at church about you being married to an unbeliever because you actually will be.”

Rishi’s nonchalance about getting married shocked her. To her marriage had always been a big deal. It was the thing that had taken away her entire family from her and now as she was paving the path for herself that did not take into consideration any compromise. Was she ready to write away her identity to a man she knew wasn’t half the man she deserved yet the only man she had ever had? It took her a few moments and few long-drawn breaths to make the decision.

“Ok, let’s get married”.

They had been together for over ten years but not a single one of them was filled with togetherness. Rishi was her boss; the uptight egotistical GM of a multinational fashion house and Monique was his secretary and the only woman who retaliated to the advances of his Casanova lifestyle. At first, she ignored his accidental touches. Then they gradually grew more frequent and more insistent, and she couldn’t avoid the confrontation anymore. She couldn’t afford to be the sensitive middle class Indian girl if she wanted to be working in the fashion world. She never had the height to become a model, but she always dreamt of the dresses that they wore, and she was exceptional at designing. Was her modesty enough cause of throwing away her career?

When after one offce party she found herself in a strange bed with bloodstains on it she cried for a whole day. But her leaves ended, and she had to join back and realized that she had been promoted. She didn’t bother about it. She wasn’t proud of it. But she could still live with herself knowing that she didn’t sell her body for a position but was the victim. When Rishi looked at her next there was something in his eyes that told her that there was nothing to fear. He had lost his interest in her as a woman, but he saw in her the talent that she possessed and he had every intention to cash on it.

Over the next few years, he became her mentor and her agent as she started designing on her own, crossing national and international boundaries till a contract with the Phoenix Group landed them in Fairmont.

Through all this time Rishi stood beside her, stealing her limelight, taking credit for the Monique collections that became the pride of socialites all over the world.

No one knew Monique the way Rishi did. He knew that she hated attention. He observed that she was conscious about the colour of her mahogany skin. He discovered that her family was a topic she avoided. He knew all her weaknesses and in turn had become a weakness. Rishi was not someone Monique could go against, and she didn’t.

At the hospital, once the tests were done she took in the stench of disinfectant and realised that her life had been cleansed of Rishi. Monique struggled with her tears, with her composure. It was a friendly hand on her shoulders that told her that it was okay to let her go. Monique broke into sobs as arms were wrapped around her. She turned her head to find Henry wiping way the corners of her eyes and take her in his arms.

“Weren’t you in France?” Monique asked bewildered.

“I cancelled the show. I didn’t wish to miss tomorrow. I am sorry for what happened. I know you wanted marriage almost as much as you wanted designing and even though it was Rishi, I know tomorrow’s wedding meant a lot to you.”

Henry was the oldest and truest friend that Monique had. He was the one who had named her as Monique. Their friendship began with a school project. He was her pen friend whom she was never to meet. But they did meet. When she decided to leave her parents and her family it was Henry who supplied her with the means to run away even while he was cooped up in a rehabilitation centre. It wasn’t exactly him who helped her. It was his brother, a man she never met but whom she heard of a lot. The brother that never denied Henry anything, even helping a stranger on his insistence. It was him who paid for her college, though she paid back every cent of the money she owed. While Rishi was the weakness she learnt to live with, Henry was her strength.

Henry had to be here to attend her wedding the next day and now he was to be there for the funeral.

“Couldn’t fate have caused the accident one day late. I could be his widow rather than a grieving mistress.” Monique told Henry between her sobs, who pulled her in for a hug.

A police officer came over to ask some questions to the grieving girlfriend. It was hard but Monique was putting back together pieces of her shattered heart, a loss she would have to live with. Henry helped her t by holding her hand throughout the ordeal. Inane questions came up like if they were drunk or not if they had seen an obstacle or not. An accident was what it was. An accident caused by the hands of fate which she had tempted by justifying abuse and exploitation for the sake of a semblance of normalcy.

Happiness they say only transverses one tenth of our lives and the rest we spend struggling against sorrow. Neither perturbed her. Monique did not have trouble in turning off her emotions. It was as simple as turning her head to the side. She could look away from her bleeding heart as if it did not belong to her. With every moment that passed by Monique’s heart was shutting down. Henry knew what was happening to her. It had happened before. Monique had told him how she feared losing her humanity sometimes simply because she could stop feeling whenever it hurt her too much to feel. Slowly Henry retrieved the hand that supported her. There lay a huge difference between what he wanted to do for her and what he could do. Henry offered her a ride home instead.