Page 72 of Grotesque Love

Carver tells me I need the pills. That they make me better. If that were the case, then why is my body feeling like all of the energy has been zapped away? Why is my head hurting? Why does my stomach feel queasy?

“You should eat some lunch soon.” Carver’s voice cuts through the quiet. “There is some leftover soup in the fridge. Danvers said you made it.”

To anyone else, his words would sound like an observation, but I hear the undertone loud and clear. How dare I do something so self-sufficient.

I open my mouth to say that actually, I hadn’t made the soup, Jas did while Sax took care of me in the tower but the words don’t leave my lips.

It hits me.

My monsters are real.

I know for certainty that I hadn’t made the soup. And if the groundskeeper hadn’t either…then they were real.

My monsters aren’t a figment of my imagination.

I swallow the realisation, keeping it safe inside me as Carver frowns.

Remembering his statement, I nod, pushing down the buzz of excitement that starts to build beneath my skin.

Sax, Mal and Jas are going to be waiting for me at sunset. That makes sitting under the weight of Carver’s heavy gaze much more bearable.

“Hmmm,” is the only response Carver makes as he gets to his feet and folds up his newspaper. He looks the same as always in his crisp, immaculate suit, dark hair swept back. Slick and suave but with an edge that makes my mouth go dry and my hands tremble.

“Will your friend be joining us?” With the nausea, I’d almost forgotten about Carver’s late night guest but it seemed rude of us to have a late lunch without her.

“Excuse me?” He freezes mid-fold.

“The blonde woman…” I say quietly, not looking at him. “The one from last night.”

I cringe, hating that I’ve spoken to him. After so long, months of silence, I no longer wanted to give him my words. He took so much from me, especially my voice, but since his absence and starting to feel myself again, I realised there’s power in withholding my words from him.

But now I’ve gone and ruined it.

“My sweet princess, I don’t know what you’re talking about. There was no blonde lady.” He bends down before me, pinching my chin to force my eyes up to meet his. There’s anger there, fleeting, but unmistakable, before he schools his expression into one of fake concern.

He sighs sadly, a pantomime of care. “Really, Ari. Just as I think you might be getting better, I realise how truly ill you are.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I chant to myself, refusing to give him more of myself than I already had.

You are not sick. You are not crazy. You are not sick. You are not crazy. You are not sick. You are not crazy. You are not sick. You are not crazy.

I know he’s trying to mess with my mind, make me question everything, and if this was before, when I was drowning in guilt from my mother’s death then maybe I would have believed him.

Sax’s words haven’t cured me, it doesn’t work like that. But he has helped me understand that it isn’t logical to hold on to all of the blame. I didn’t cause the accident.

Yes, I was the reason why she was on the road late at night…but she was my mother. I called her, needing help, and she’d chosen to come herself instead of sending a taxi or hanging up on me. Despite the way we’d grown apart since Carver had come into our lives, and even the argument we’d had earlier that night, it was proof that my mother still loved me. She wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life haunting these halls, wandering barefoot aimlessly through the corridors until I fade into nothing.

She would have never let me soak in this despair, not like him. He fed on it. Stoked it to life and kept it growing, hoping it would consume me. But now my eyes are open to it.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll take care of you,” he practically croons while I let my nails bite into the soft skin on my thighs, grounding me as he strokes my face. “It’s just us now.”

The joke’s on him, because it isn’t just us. As soon as the day fades into night, I will be back with my monsters and away from his greedy paws.

Carver feeds me, doting on me for the rest of the day, barely leaving my side until it’s time for bed. He makes a few grumbling comments about how my routine has been ruined while he was away, as he hands me my nightly dose of meds.

When I was taking my pills properly, I slept away most of my days, ending up in bed before the sun set more often than not and waking while it was already high in the sky. Since I’ve beenweaned off them, and have been missing doses, they don’t seem to be making me as exhausted.

It’s clearly making Carver agitated that the sun has already set and I’m still awake, but since I’m just as eager to end the day, I don’t protest too much as he tucks me in.

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