Page 81 - Leadership in the Indian Army

* * *

That night, Rasheed visited her room again. But instead of smoking in
the doorway, he crossed the room and sat beside her where she lay on

the bed. The springs creaked as the bed tilted to his side.

There was a moment of hesitation, and then his hand was on her neck,

his thick fingers slowly pressing the knobs in the back of it. His thumb

slid down, and now it was stroking the hollow above her collarbone, then
the flesh beneath it. Mariam began shivering. His hand crept lower still,

lower, his fingernails catching in the cotton of her blouse.

"I can't," she croaked, looking at his moonlit profile, his thick shoulders

and broad chest, the tufts of gray hair protruding from his open collar.

His hand was on her right breast now, squeezing it hard through the

blouse, and she could hear him breathing deeply through the nose.

He slid under the blanket beside her. She could feel his hand working at

his belt, at the drawstring of her trousers. Her own hands clenched the

sheets in fistfuls. He rolled on top of her, wriggled and shifted, and she
let out a whimper. Mariam closed her eyes, gritted her teeth.

The pain was sudden and astonishing. Her eyes sprang open. She

sucked air through her teeth and bit on the knuckle of her thumb. She
slung her free arm over Rasheed's back and her fingers dug at his shirt.

Rasheed buried his face into her pillow, and Mariam stared, wide-eyed,

at the ceiling above his shoulder, shivering, lips pursed, feeling the heat
of his quick breaths on her shoulder. The air between them smelled of