Adultery Indian Social Worker and the Bully by shiprat

[Ramesh_Rocky]

The pain elsewhere in my body, especially my ass, went away a lot faster than I expected. I had seen slum women get battered and be laid up or in pain for days. Maybe it was the benefit of my genes or my fitness regimen, but I bounced back fast, at least physically.

Non-physically, it was a different story. Bouts of panic and depression and guilt. Fitful sleep, tossing and turning, with recurring flashbacks and nightmares.

The biggest problem was figuring out what to do with my day, now that I had quit my job. Barring occasional holidays and vacations, I had never really had this much free time. Until now, I had always been busy during the week with 12-14 hour days, first studying, and then working. I knew grad college in Stanford would keep me busy too. But the intervening months would be hard, especially dealing with the PTSD.

I tried watching TV and reading books. But my mind wouldn't focus. One morning, about 2 restless days after I quit my job at the NGO, I found myself standing in front of our liquor cabinet.

At 8 AM.

It was Anup's hobby to collect different kinds of fancy booze and keep that push looking cabinet well-stocked, like some regal British aristocrat. His friends and family knew this, so kept sending stuff as gifts too.

Just a few weeks ago, Anup and I had discussed it on Skype.

"Hehe, today Nisha had come over and was admiring your booze collection. And was asking, how will it get used up, with you in the US?"

"Yeah, I have been wondering about that. You're not much of a drinker, at least not of the stuff you have. And you can't bring it all over."

"So what do you think? Give away to friends?"

"Yeah, or have a couple of drinking parties at home with all our friends to finish it. Your call."

"If we decide to give them away, there will be a stampede over the single malts."

"Haha, yeah, it's Delhi. Nothing is as worshiped as single malt."

Over the course of that violent and debauched night, Lallan and I had finished five bottles of hard liquor. I had seen them strewn all around the house. That made it almost two liters each of strong imported alcohol. Enough to cause alcohol poisoning in anyone except the most hardened alcoholic. I think it was the continuous strenuous physical activity of sex that had kept that from happening.

As I thought about that night again, I felt another bout of fear and panic and looked around to make sure I was alone at home. I went to the door and double checked the lock. Then I came back and grabbed the first bottle I could reach for.

It was 8:04 AM. Definitely wayyyyyy to early to get drunk. Maybe just a small drink, to calm my nerves. I opened the cap and without bothering with a glass, just put the bottle to my lip, like Lallan had done it.

The next thing I remember, it was almost noon. The bottle was one third finished. The door bell was ringing in the distance. Maybe it was the numbing effect of alcohol, but for the first time in a while, I did not feel crippling fear or panic. I blinked, got up, and slowly and carefully walked to the door.

"Registered letter." the courier guy said.

"Hmm." I took the pad from him to sign.

I heard him take a loud sniff and grimace a little as I handed back the pad and took the letter. I could see from his face that he had smelled the alcohol on my breath, and was probably judging me, thinking I am one of those rich alcoholic housewives who just sit around all day drinking.

Who cares? The letter had some information about our car insurance. I didn't even bother to open it. Went back to my bottle.

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