Chapter 13 - The Suspicion Grows
My heart stopped entirely, skipping a beat in my chest, but I forced my facial muscles to relax into a look of mild, medicated confusion. "Talking?" I repeated, tilting my head slightly. "I was singing in the shower, Arthur. Why? Did I sound bad?" I offered a sheepish, innocent, slightly vacant laugh that sounded exactly like the old Clara. Arthur stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. The silence in the room felt heavy enough to physically crush my bones. His eyes darted around the room, looking for a hidden phone or a second person. Finally, the suffocating tension broke, and he gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand. "No, my love. It just sounded like you were having a conversation. Must have been the acoustics of the tile." But I knew deep down he wasn't fully convinced. That evening, I noticed him watching me much more closely, his gaze sharp and evaluating. When I poured him a glass of wine, his eyes tracked my every tiny movement, looking for tremors or hesitation. When we sat down to watch a movie, he casually left his unlocked phone on the coffee table, screen up, as if baiting me to look at it. I ignored it completely. The next morning, the ritual changed in a terrifying way. He brought the pill, but this time, he didn't just ask me to open my mouth. "Swallow it with this," he said smoothly, handing me a glass of warm milk instead of water. Warm milk deeply coats the mouth, making it incredibly difficult to hide a pill in the cheek without it melting instantly and tasting incredibly bitter. Pure, unadulterated panic flared in my chest. If I refused, he would know immediately that I was faking. I took the pill, placed it in my mouth, and took a huge, desperate gulp of the milk. The bitter, toxic, chalky taste immediately flooded my tongue, making me want to gag. I forced it down, actually swallowing the heavy sedative for the first time in weeks. I showed him my empty mouth. He smiled, his eyes gleaming with dark triumph. "Good girl." As soon as he left for work, I ran to the bathroom, shoved my fingers aggressively down my throat, and forced myself to throw it up, gasping for air over the porcelain sink until my throat bled and my eyes watered. He was getting deeply suspicious. My time was rapidly running out.
