Page 38 of Rest In Peace

"Swallow," Monica commanded gently, yet her eyes sparkled with a sense of triumph that belied the softness in her voice.

The soup made its reluctant journey down Victoria's throat, each spoonful an unspoken battle. Her face remained pinched in distaste, a silent testament to her inner loathing for the meal and, perhaps, for the hands that fed it to her.

"Every spoonful is a step toward recovery," Monica said, offering Victoria the brimming utensil. “Strength comes with nourishment."

Victoria's mouth opened mechanically, a trace of resolve flickering in her eyes as she accepted the tepid liquid once again. She swallowed, wincing subtly.

"See? You're doing well," Monica coaxed, her words clipped with urgency.

"Feels like swallowing needles," Victoria muttered after another spoonful, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Your body needs it," Monica replied, dismissing the complaint with a wave of her hand. She scooped up more soup, watching as Victoria steeled herself for the next bite.

"Can't we try something else?" Victoria asked, her plea soft but firm.

"Soup's what the doctor ordered." Monica’s response was automatic, her focus unyielding. "Finish it."

Victoria nodded, the corners of her mouth downturned. She took another spoonful, determination etched into the lines of her face, a silent acknowledgment of the ordeal. Monica's gaze never wavered, capturing each moment of Victoria's reluctant compliance.

"Good girl," Monica murmured, the pride in her voice failing to mask its commanding edge. The spoon clinked against the bowl as she scooped another portion of the murky broth.

Victoria's lips parted, accepting yet another mouthful. Her face twisted, a silent scream etched into the lines around her mouth. She gagged slightly but managed to swallow, her body convulsing with distaste.

"Nearly there," Monica said, peering into the bowl. Only a few spoonfuls remained in the watery grave of vegetables. "See, you can do this."

"Can I stop now?" Victoria's voice quivered, each word laced with the hope of reprieve.

"Almost done," Monica assured, the finality in her tone brooking no argument. She watched, almost clinically, as Victoria forced down the last of the soup, the grimace clinging stubbornly to her features like ivy to ancient brickwork.

"Every bit," Monica instructed, her voice a firm whisper. She held the spoon just inches from Victoria's mouth.

Victoria's eyes locked onto the quivering surface, her throat working to muster saliva for the task.

"I can't?—"

"Shh." Monica cut her off, tender yet unyielding. "It's for your own good. Strength comes with nourishment."

The spoon hovered, waiting. Victoria willed her lips to part, her body yielding to the command more than the plea within her. The warmth of the liquid did nothing to comfort the chills that danced up her spine.

"Swallow," Monica coaxed, her eye tracking the painful journey of the broth down Victoria's throat.

Gulping down the bitterness, Victoria's face contorted once more, a battle of revulsion and obedience. The empty bowl clattered lightly as Monica set it down, a hollow victory on the wooden table.

"See?" Monica's voice softened fractionally. "All done."

Victoria nodded, her eyes glistening not with gratitude but with the effort it took to keep everything down. The promise of no more forced her into submission; the taste lingered like a threat.

Chapter 38

The key turned with a reluctant twist, the click of the lock thunderously loud in my ears. I pushed the door open; my entry was a stagger more than a step. The familiar scent of home did nothing to soothe the panic that clung to me like the clammy sweat on my skin. My heart hadn't ceased its wild thrumming since I'd left Adam Andersson, his words still lodged in my mind.

My hand trembled as I reached back to shut the door, the fine tremors betraying the adrenaline that still coursed through my veins. A shaky breath escaped my lips, but it brought no relief. The safety of the walls around me felt like a facade, a thin veil that could be torn away at any moment by the truth of what had transpired.

I leaned against the cool wood for a moment, willing myself to regain composure. In the mirror by the entrance, I caught sight of my reflection—eyes wide and reflecting a terror that clawed at my gut, forehead glistening with the effort of keeping my fear at bay. The vulnerability was stark, naked in the harsh light of the foyer.

"Are you okay?" Coming from the living room, Matt's voice cut through my reverie, a thread of concern woven into the simple question.

I glanced up, meeting my own gaze in the mirror once more before turning away. My response was a whisper, tangled up with the remnants of dread, "Yeah, just… tired."

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