Page 41 of A Twist of Poison

Toeing off my boots and removing my coat I shuffled to get in a more comfortable position, setting one of the large cushions behind me and another next to it in an L shape cushioning my back and side as I laid my legs on the couch and relaxed back.

Pulling out my phone, I took a picture and performed an image search on the internet. It surprised me that it pinged back with something. It directed me to a website with absolutely no useful information on it. A blank slate with no features that stood out or menu to explain what this website even entailed. There were pages to click onto, but every time I did, it prompted for a password which I obviously didn’t have. I groaned, angry and frustrated that there was absolutely nothing in the apartment. Where else could I look? Therehadto be something, somewhere. Before I knew it, my eyes closed of their own accord.

My phone fell from my hand clattering on the flooring as I jolted from the sound, grimacing from the sudden movement. Dammit. It would take more than a day or two to heal fully from the wounds inflicted on my body. Frustrated that once again I’d have to be hidden away from everyone, I started making excuse after excuse I could use to hide the healing process.

I rolled on my side, holding my stomach, and reached for my phone as the screen lit up with the time displayed. I peeked around, only just noticing the darkness of night-time that’d crept in. Godammit, I must have slept the afternoon away, not even realising I was that tired when I’d sat down earlier in the day.

I yawned, carefully swinging my legs round and stood up. I clasped my phone, reading the message that awaited me and making the first of many excuses.

Lizzie: What rock have you been hiding under? Your ass needs to walk itself to mine for another girl’s night.

Milla: Rain check? Not feeling good. Thinking it’s something that’s catching.

After shuffling to the bathroom and using the facilities, I washed my hands and looked at myself in the mirror above the vanity unit. My eyes were dull, lifeless. The windows to the soul were currently devoid. My unique eye colour used to glimmer with optimism. Now… just nothing. Unguarded, I peered deeper into them. They reflected with bone deep tiredness, the kind that didn’t come from a lack of sleep but just exhaustion of the life I lived weighing heavily down on me.

After getting undressed ever so slowly, I chucked the clothing to the side for the maid who came in to clean and do laundry, because fuck it, he paid for it and I was in blistering pain because of him. His staff could pick up after me when I couldn’t fully function.

I pulled on an oversized t-shirt that was about four sizes too big for me for comfort as I glided under the sheets of my bed. I sniffled and a few tears escaped unbidden. I’d never been a crier. I hated crying, especially over the same situation. It made me feel weak.

Tonight, until I fell asleep again, I’d allow myself to feel all the messed up broken parts of my corrupted soul, to feel the loss of the life I thought for myself. And then tomorrow morning I’d build those walls solidly high again. As I drifted off into a fitful sleep, I wondered to myself for the millionth time how much more I could withstand.

Chapter17

Milla

My body stirred from sleep as something brushed up against the skin on my thighs. I shook it off, turning my head to the side as I tried to fall back into the deep slumber I’d been in. But the sensation persisted. I huffed irritably, opening my eyes and I came face to face with my nightmare. The living being one.

I hid my flinch. His hand continued upwards, and I massively regretted wearing easily accessible clothing to bed instead of my usual shorts and top. His hand cupped me, and I unintentionally cringed in pain from the pressure.

“Need to make sure the goods aren’t damaged long term,” he remarked blandly, detaching himself from on top of me and standing beside the bed.

I bristled at the insinuation that I was his property, even knowing the technicalities that, in a sense, it was true. The damage caused was from him. I tamped down on the anger coursing through me.

One positive thing was that whenever I had to recover from any pain inflicted on me, I had a small reprieve while I healed back physically to full health. That tiny patch of space was a deep breath after being suffocated for too long.

“Come in, Doc,” he called out, glancing at me. The doctor, who’d tended to my wounds and treated me before, walked straight over to me as I steadily sat up and leaned myself against the headboard.

Doc, aka the on-call doctor forhim, kept tight-lipped and did exactly as ordered. The situations he’d seen me in over the years… if he was a genuine care giver, abiding by the laws and rules, he’d have reported what was going on a long, long time ago. He’d have stepped in to help. But he was just another person who could be bought with money, or blackmail.

Doctors pledged oaths. This man, who must be in his sixties going by the greying of his hair and the wrinkles covering his face and hands, was one of the worst. Promising to ease pain and help you, when all he did was turn his head away, looking in the other direction dismissing everything he’d seen and heard. More than likely to bring in an extra pay check to fund his drug habit or new mistress. It was truly nauseating. It opened my eyes to real life.

If I’d believed the other night was awful, it was nothing as bad as this. He ordered a full physical examination, internally too. I gritted my teeth and let my mind settle into the safety of oblivion once again, as my entire body was prodded to a satisfactory level. It was fucking degrading, and he knew it.

Completed, they left me alone with the parted words of ‘be back soon’whispered into my ear. I drifted back into an erratic sleep, full of memories.

Memories that I used every inch of my determination to swipe away every single day. But at night they unravelled from their hiding place and glided into my mind, reminding me in graphic detail of all that had happened. Of what I tried my hardest to push away. OfwhomI pushed away. Some things were never meant to be recalled. They deserved to rot at the bottom of your tarnished soul to never surface again.

I was shaken awake; a firm grip held onto my shoulders and fingers dug in painfully. On instinct I threw my hand out backhanding whoever it was. My arm throbbed with the impact of hitting some part of their hard body. I was unable to move quickly; I was still dripping in absolute agony. But the person grabbed hold of my wrist tightly to the point where I could feel the bones grinding against one another. I cried out and peeled open my eyes.

“You’ve been asleep long enough. Get up,” he demanded. “You need food and drink.”

Stumbling from bed, I ignored his veiled threats. Hitting my phone screen and seeing the time, I noticed I’d been asleep most of the day, again.

He’d decided to get comfortable in my space—his technically—and had taken a shower in my bathroom. I gritted my teeth.Guess it was his then.

Deciding to put together some food, my stomach growled in annoyance from lack of sustenance. I wished I was somebody who could eat their feelings, but my appetite vanished with stress, much to my body’s protest.

As I moved slowly across the room, I noticed his phone, unlocked and unattended on the arm of the couch, with the home screen display brightened. I peered back in the hallway’s direction making sure I wasn’t being watched but all I heard were the continued sounds of the running shower.

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