Page 20 of Web of Lies
He pokes at the corner of his mouth with his tongue, taking a deep breath. “I thought you didn't want to see Regan anymore?”
I laugh. No, he's not going to gaslight me into believing that I would ever not want to see Regan. “Of course I want to see Regan. Why in the world would I not want to see her?”
“She kept calling and calling and you said it bothered you, so I told her to leave you alone.”
I stop laughing, the smile dropping from my face. “And she listened to you?”
“Well, yes,” he says. “I'm your husband. I know what's best for you. She was harassing you and you wanted to be left alone, so I made sure you got what you wanted.”
“Call her, Adrian. Now.” I don't believe for a moment that Regan would just accept that I didn't want to talk to or see her, no matter who said it.
“I'm not doing that,” he sighs. “It's been so long since then. There's no reason to ruin the weekend with all these dramatics.”
“I'm not being dramatic. I'm trying to get my life back in order. Regan is my best friend. She's the only family I have left. I won't lose her.”
He abruptly stands, throwing his arms out wide. “Am I not your family? We're married. That should count for something.”
“It certainly should. I'm asking you to do something very small for me. It's just a phone call.”
He crosses his arms and stares down at me. It's almost a glare. “After you finish your coffee and have some breakfast.”
I shake my head, sighing. “I'm an adult, Adrian. And as you said, we're married. You don't get to control what I eat or drink or when I do it, and you don't get to control whether or not I talk to the people I want to talk to. I have been unwell, but I'm going to be just fine very soon.”
“Haven't I been taking good enough care of you? I'd think you'd be a little grateful.”
I blink at him. “I'd be grateful if you reached into your pocket and handed me your phone so I can call my friend.”
He takes a snarling breath and leaves the room.
Adrian doesn't come back into the bedroom until Sunday evening. It's the longest I've gone without seeing him since we've been married. I only left the bedroom long enough to go to the bathroom and I didn't venture downstairs. I was worried what I would or wouldn't find once I got down there. The past few days of not taking any medication have dramatically improved my stability, further solidifying my fear that they've been drugging me this whole time. I am hungry, though. Days without food have made me a different kind of shaky. I need to get out of here.
Adrian doesn't come fully into the room. He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed and watches me for a minute before he says anything. “I've tried, Larken. I really have. I wanted to make things easier for you.”
“What things, Adrian?”
“Everything. You were consumed by your grief. You couldn't function even at home. I took on so many additional responsibilities to keep both of us afloat, not to mention everything I've done to keep your father's company from running into the ground in your absence.”
I blink at him. I would have been fine. I did have a difficult time with my father's death, but I would have pulled myself together after a couple of weeks if he hadn't interfered. If he hadn't started drugging me and keeping me asleep or unstable. He did that. And now he wants to pretend he's been some kind of savior?
When I don't respond, he continues. “I hired a nurse to care for you when you couldn't take care of yourself and you have behaved like nothing short of a difficult child in regard to her. You have rescheduled or refused every medical appointment I have made for you. You demand the use of a phone but then try to destroy it when I give it to you. You beg to see your friend but turn her away when I invite her over. I don't know what else I'm supposed to do for you.”
It takes every drop of self-control I possess, but I don't argue with him. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to tell him that he's the one who created this situation. That he's the one perpetuating this hell. That he's the one who broke me and now he's trying to take everything from me. My company. My freedom. My sanity. He's trying to destroy me. But I don't say any of that. He would only brush it off or pretend like I'm attacking him with some kind of unhinged accusations. He would pretend to be the victim in this situation. I won't allow that. I'm not confused anymore.
He sighs heavily, looking up at the ceiling as if he's the one who needs to gather his patience or collect himself. “Do you want dinner? I made a chicken casserole.”
“No, thank you. I'm not very hungry.”
He runs his tongue across his teeth and tilts his head. “So you're just not eating?”
“I'll eat when I'm hungry.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Suit yourself.” Then he shrugs off of the door frame and disappears back down the hall.
He doesn't come back again, which is surprising because he had a whole folder full of things for me to sign just a couple of days ago. I can't say that I'm not curious about what was in the folder, but when I finally fall asleep in the early-morning hours the folder isn't what I'm thinking about. My last thoughts before sleep were cycling through the menu at Delgado's and where my phone might be hidden.
It feels like I've only just fallen asleep when I'm dragged out of bed by my ankles. The back of my head hits the low footboard on the bed frame then the floor. It's still pitch-black in the room and I can't see anything, but that doesn't stop me from trying. Just when my eyes start to focus on the dark shape of the person gripping my ankles, a piece of bunched cloth is pushed into my mouth and something is shoved over my head. I didn't even have time to scream and now I'm being carried down the stairs by my ankles and forearms. I can already feel the bruises beginning to form.
The shock wears off before we get to the bottom of the stairs and I start thrashing, kicking my feet, jerking against the hands digging into my arms. I get one leg free and I kick out, my foot connecting solidly with what feels like a thigh as the impact jolts up my leg.
