Page 17 of Grotesque Love

He freezes, hands still as he cocks his head to the side.

“Please?” I ask hopefully, flicking my gaze up to him from under my lashes. I hate that I have to beg him. Hate how feeble I sound. “Just to the solarium. I want to feel the sun on my face for a while.”

“Fine.” He nods, taking a step back. “On the condition that you let me carry you.”

The smile that had started tugging at the corners of my mouth vanishes.

“I think I can walk,” I mumble, meaningI can walk. I want to walk.“I made it to the dressing table.”

He smiles down at me, gently stroking my hair, “Three steps is hardly an achievement Arianwen. You’ve been in bed for weeks, let’s not risk it.”

“Yes, Carver.” Swallowing back the bitter taste in my mouth, I let him help me carefully to my feet, his grip on my arm a little too tight.

As we make our way out of the room one painstakingly slow step at a time, my knees shake the whole time. It’s like my legs are jelly, so weak they can hardly hold me up.

As soon as we get to my bedroom door, Carver sweeps me up, and I’m left with no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck.

The bergamot tones of his aftershave tickle my nose, combined with a lingering scent of tobacco, and it makes me want to sneeze.

My stomach roils. I don’t like it.

It reminds me of…something.

The house feels eerily silent as we make our way down the corridor. The air is thick with an unspoken tension, and I can’t shake off the nagging feeling that something isn’t right.

We finally enter the solarium, and I’m momentarily overwhelmed by the warmth of sunlight streaming through the glass walls. It’s soothing against my pale skin, but it doesn’t dispel the unease that lingers within me. There’s darkness clinging to us.

Carver guides me to my favourite chaise lounge and settles me down gently, his eyes never leaving mine. The feel of his hold is burned into my skin, fading slowly as I try to shake off the sensation of him carrying me like a doll.

“Rest,” he commands, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”

I watch as Carver walks away, some of my anxiety draining away with his retreating broad form. Everything is off kilter. In the back of my mind, there are voices whispering, warning me. But I can’t make out what they’re trying to tell me, the thoughts disjointed, fluttering around like fireflies.

As I lean back on the chaise lounge, the sun’s rays warm my face, but they do little to calm the racing in my mind.

I try to recall the events leading up to my illness, but everything feels fragmented, shattered like glass. The gaps in my memory are chasms of nothingness. There is just…blackness.

A door closing startles me some time later, and when I turn my head Carver’s eyes are already fixed on me.

Without saying a word, he walks toward me, his steps measured and deliberate, and he holds a small silver tray.

His face is an impenetrable mask of blankness as he slides the tray onto the small side table. Pulling a small footstool closer, he sits in front of me.

What is he thinking?

What is he hiding?

I glance to my right, to the glass of apple juice on the tray alongside two pill bottles, one that looks familiar and a new smaller one.

“What’s this?” I ask, trying to sound calm despite the unease welling up inside me. I already take what he gives me, so why is he acting strangely?

Carver’s lips curl into a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve been speaking to your doctor, and we think it’s time to adjust your medicine.”

He reaches over and taps the lid of the smaller bottle, “We’ll be trying a new combination.”

My heart quickens and my mouth feels dry.

“What kind of combination?” I press further, hating the desperation that was seeping into my voice.

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