Chapter 8: Paralysis

Raj sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the empty suitcase in the corner.

His mother had told him to pack. Had ordered him to leave. That had been maybe fifteen minutes ago, though time felt strange and elastic now. Could've been five minutes. Could've been an hour.

The suitcase remained exactly where it had been since they'd arrived. Leaning against the wall, still partially unzipped from when he'd pulled out clean clothes this morning.

Pack your things, Raj. I don't want to see you right now.

His body wouldn't cooperate with the command. His legs felt welded to the mattress. His arms hung uselessly at his sides. Even turning his head to look at the suitcase required conscious effort, like his muscles had forgotten how to respond to simple thoughts.

Down the hallway, his mother's voice carried through the walls. Soft. Gentle. Completely different from the sharp anger she'd directed at him moments ago.

"It's alright, sweetheart. He's gone now. You're safe."

Rony's response was too quiet to make out. Just a murmur. Probably still maintaining those perfect tears.

Raj's hands curled into fists on his thighs. The motion felt automatic, mechanical. His body's only remaining reflex beyond breathing.

He should stand up. Should cross the room. Should pull clothes from the dresser and fold them into that suitcase. Should call his father and figure out where the hell he was supposed to go at this hour in a city he didn't know.

Instead he just sat there.

Sri's footsteps moved around in Rony's bedroom. The floor creaked under her weight as she walked from one side to the other. Probably examining the broken door frame. Probably mentally cataloging the damage her violent son had caused.

"We should get the door fixed tomorrow," Sri said. Her voice was clearer now. Louder. She must've moved closer to the hallway. "I'll ask your father about a locksmith in the morning."

Another murmur from Rony. Then a pause.

"Oh, beta." Sri's tone shifted, became even softer. "Of course you can't sleep in here tonight. Not with the door like this. You won't feel safe."

Raj's jaw clenched. His teeth ground together hard enough to make his molars ache.

Here it comes.

"Would you feel better sleeping in my room?" Sri asked. "Just for tonight, until we get the door repaired. I don't want you to be frightened."

Rony's response was louder this time. Still shaky. Still maintaining that traumatized victim performance. "I... I don't want to be an imposition, Aunt Sri."

"You're not an imposition. You're my responsibility. My..." She paused. Raj could practically see her face, the way her expression would soften with maternal determination. "You're my son. And I won't let you sleep somewhere you feel unsafe."

The words hit Raj like physical blows. My son. She'd said it so easily. So naturally. Like it was a simple fact rather than exactly what Rony had been manipulating her toward since the moment they'd arrived.

"Are you sure?" Rony's voice carried down the hallway, perfectly uncertain. "I know Raj didn't want me staying in your room. He got so angry about—"

"Raj doesn't make decisions about who I comfort or protect." Sri's interruption was firm. Final. "Especially not after what he did tonight. Breaking down doors, threatening you... No. You'll sleep in my room where I can keep you safe, and Raj can deal with his jealousy on his own."

Footsteps moved in Rony's room. Drawers opening. Probably pulling out pajamas or clean clothes for the night.

Raj's mind finally started working again, cutting through the paralysis with cold calculation.

If he left tonight—actually packed and called his father and found a hotel—he'd be abandoning his mother completely. Leaving her alone with Rony for however long she decided to stay. Days, probably. Maybe a week. She'd said she wanted to remain until Rony was "emotionally stable," which could mean anything.

And Rony would have unrestricted access to her. No interference. No witnesses. No one to even attempt intervention when he pushed boundaries or manufactured crises or extracted new concessions through emotional manipulation.

The photo session would seem innocent compared to what Rony could accomplish with unlimited time and privacy.

But staying meant defying his mother's direct order. Meant the risk of making her even angrier. Meant potentially triggering another confrontation that would give Rony justification to send those blackmail photos to his father.

Raj tried to imagine that scenario. His father's phone buzzing with a message from an unknown number. Opening it casually, maybe during a meeting or lunch break. Seeing his wife lying on a bed with her teenage nephew pressed against her side, both of them smiling at the camera.

What would his father think? The photos looked intimate even though Sri believed they were innocent. Context wouldn't matter. The image itself would poison everything.

His parents' marriage would implode. His father would demand explanations Sri couldn't provide without admitting she'd been sleeping in the same room as Rony, letting him call her mother, participating in recreations of maternal bonding that crossed every normal boundary.

And Sri would blame Raj. Would see it as his fault for provoking Rony into retaliation. Would probably defend the photos as innocent while simultaneously being humiliated by having to explain them to her husband.

Rony had engineered a perfect trap. Every possible action led to disaster.

Raj's phone sat on the nightstand beside his bed. He could see it in his peripheral vision, screen dark and silent.

Call your father. That's what he should do. Explain the situation. Ask for advice or backup or just someone else to see what was happening here.

But what would he say?

Dad, I broke down my cousin's bedroom door because he took photos of Mom in a saree and now she's kicking me out.

That's how it would sound. That's how Rony had framed it. And Sri would back up that version because it was the only version she believed.

Any attempt to explain the real context—the manipulation, the blackmail, the sexual undertones of everything Rony did—would sound like jealous paranoia. Especially coming from the son who'd just committed actual property damage and violence.

And if the conversation went badly, if his father got suspicious or angry or demanded to speak with Sri directly, Rony would know about it. Would sense the threat. Would tap send on that message draft before anyone could stop him.

Raj's hands unclenched slowly. His fingers ached from how tightly he'd been gripping his own thighs.

He couldn't call his father. Couldn't risk escalating this into a crisis that would detonate the blackmail.

More footsteps in the hallway. Two sets now, moving together. Sri and Rony walking from his damaged room toward hers at the far end of the corridor.

They passed Raj's door. He could hear their proximity, the soft shuffle of Sri's sandals and the lighter tread of Rony's bare feet on the wooden floor.

"You'll feel better after some rest," Sri was saying. Her voice faded slightly as they moved past. "Everything seems worse when you're exhausted."

"Thank you for being so understanding." Rony's response was quiet. Grateful. The perfect tone of a traumatized child being rescued by a protective parent. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out. I promise."

Their footsteps continued down the hallway. Raj listened to them recede, tracking their progress toward Sri's bedroom by sound alone.

A door opened. The distinctive creak of Sri's bedroom door, the one that always stuck slightly in its frame.

Both sets of footsteps entered. The floor in Sri's room had a different acoustic quality than the hallway—duller, more muffled. Probably the rug beside her bed absorbing sound.

Then the door closed.

The thud resonated down the hallway. Solid. Final. Like a barrier descending between two separate worlds.

Raj sat in the darkness of his own room, still fully clothed, still staring at the suitcase he hadn't touched.

An hour passed. Maybe longer. His sense of time had completely disintegrated.

He'd made his decision without consciously choosing it. Passive resistance. He wouldn't pack. Wouldn't leave. Wouldn't call his father or make any moves that could be interpreted as escalation.

But he also wouldn't actively confront his mother about defying her order. Wouldn't force a confrontation tonight. Would just remain in his room, quiet and unobtrusive, gambling that she wouldn't physically come drag him out.

Tomorrow would bring its own problems. She'd probably be angry when she realized he was still here. But that anger carried less immediate risk than abandoning her completely or triggering Rony's blackmail through panicked phone calls to his father.

It was the least bad option in a situation where every choice led somewhere terrible.

Raj finally stood from the bed. His legs had gone partially numb from sitting motionless for so long. He stumbled slightly, caught his balance against the mattress, then walked to his bedroom door.

He pressed his ear against the wood, listening.

Voices carried faintly from the far end of the hallway. Sri's bedroom. The words weren't clear but the tone was. Gentle. Soothing. His mother was still comforting Rony, probably helping him settle in for the night.

Raj moved to his light switch and flicked it off. Darkness swallowed the room. Only faint illumination from the streetlight outside filtered through his curtains, casting everything in shades of gray.

He returned to his bed and lay down on top of the covers, still fully dressed in the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing during the confrontation. His shoes were still on. He didn't care.

The ceiling was barely visible in the darkness. Just a flat expanse of shadow that his eyes traced without really seeing.

From Sri's bedroom, her voice continued. Quiet murmurs interspersed with longer pauses. She was probably tucking Rony in. Making sure he had enough pillows. Asking if he needed water or if the room temperature was comfortable.

Playing mother to the boy who'd just manipulated her into complete isolation from anyone who might question his intentions.

Raj's imagination supplied details he couldn't actually see. Rony lying in Sri's bed, probably on the side where Raj's father usually slept when they were home. His mother sitting on the edge of the mattress, stroking Rony's hair or holding his hand. Promising him safety and comfort and unwavering protection.

The image made Raj's stomach clench. He forced his mind away from specifics. Tried not to picture exactly how Rony would leverage tonight's events. How he'd use the "violent attack" as justification for even closer contact, even more dramatic demonstrations of his need for maternal affection.

More footsteps in Sri's bedroom. Moving around. Probably getting ready for bed herself now.

Water running in her attached bathroom. The familiar sounds of her nighttime routine. Brushing teeth. Washing face. All the normal domestic rhythms continuing as if nothing unusual was happening.

As if she wasn't about to sleep in a locked bedroom with a teenage boy who'd been systematically grooming her for days.

The bathroom water shut off. More footsteps. Then silence.

Raj strained to hear anything else. Any conversation. Any indication of what was happening in that room.

Nothing came through the walls. Just quiet.

He imagined Sri turning off her bedside lamp. The room going dark. Her sliding under the covers on her side of the bed while Rony lay on the other side, probably already pretending to sleep while his mind raced with plans for tomorrow.

Then Raj heard it.

A click.

Sharp and distinct even through the walls and distance. The sound traveled down the hallway and through his closed door with perfect clarity.

Sri's bedroom door lock engaging.

Raj's entire body went rigid on the bed. His hands gripped the comforter beneath him hard enough to make his fingers ache.

That lock had never been used before. Not once during their entire stay. He'd walked past his mother's bedroom countless times and the door had always been either open or simply closed, never locked.

Why would she lock it now?

The question immediately answered itself. She was protecting Rony. Making sure Raj couldn't enter during the night. Couldn't try to continue his "violent" behavior or make more accusations or interfere with her promises to keep Rony safe.

She'd literally locked herself in a room with him. Had created a physical barrier that prevented any outside intervention.

Raj lay in the darkness, staring at his invisible ceiling, listening to the silence that followed the lock's engagement.

Behind that locked door, Sri and Rony were sealed away from the rest of the world. No witnesses. No interruptions. No possibility of Raj walking in at the wrong moment or overhearing something that might finally break through his mother's willful blindness.

Rony had her completely isolated now. Had successfully turned Raj's attempt at confrontation into justification for exactly this scenario. A locked bedroom. Overnight access. His mother's unconditional trust and sympathy.

What would happen behind that door tonight?

Raj's mind raced through possibilities. Maybe nothing. Maybe Sri would simply sleep and Rony would too, both of them exhausted from the evening's drama.

But Rony had proven himself patient. Strategic. He'd spent days building trust, manufacturing scenarios, extracting concessions piece by piece. Tonight's lock wasn't an ending. It was an opportunity.

And Rony never wasted opportunities.

Raj forced his breathing to stay steady. Forced his body to remain still even though every muscle wanted to move. To act. To do something other than lie here uselessly while his cousin had unrestricted access to his mother.

But there was nothing to do. The lock had clicked. The barrier was in place.

His mother had chosen to seal herself away with Rony, believing she was protecting a traumatized child rather than enabling a manipulator who'd just achieved exactly what he'd been working toward since their arrival.