I stare at the poinsettias and mouth:Help me!
They don’t answer. None of these plants do, and the dead quiet is killing me.
These meds silence everything I care about around me. That’s why I don’t take them. But with these people, Idon’t have a choice.
A tremor runs through me. I miss Rhys so much. But he walked away.
By the time I blink, the table’s gone, and I’m climbing the stairs, except my legs aren’t working very well. A housemaid supports me, her arm around my waist. I think I hear music somewhere.
Caroling? Church bells? It could be the blood rushing in my ears from the meds.
In my room, for some reason, I find myself seated on the edge of the tub when another set of hands I didn’t see coming are on me, cold and clinical. They pry my jaw open and force more bitter pills down my throat.
I gag, but they waterboard me with a bottle of liquid until I swallow. The world tilts sideways, and I slither off as the tile floor rushes up at my face.
I wake up on the floor, cheek pressed to the cool tile. In my blurry line of vision outside the bathroom door, I see two housemaids dart around the bedroom, packing suitcases, stripping the bed I didn’t sleep in. One is shoving my fun, colorful clothes into black trash bags.
The fog in my head has cleared. The meds have worn off. But someone will come back soon with more. I can’t let them drug me again.
The bedroom door opens, and my father strides in. “Why is she on the bathroom floor?” he asks, disgust dripping from each syllable. “Has the nurse been here?”
“Yes, Mr. Black,” one maid says quickly.
No, she hasn’t.
My pulse claws at my throat, but I stay limp. Pretend to be out of it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my African Violet on the dresser. Her leaves flutter, and I see the signal.
‘Be a good girl,’Violet whispers.
My lungs seize. “I can hear you.”
“I’m standing two feet from you, you better hear me,” my father scoffs, standing in the bathroom doorway.
‘Rhys will come for you,’the plant murmurs.‘Let him rescue you. It’s what he’s built for. It’s his job. He loves you!’
“What?” I let the word blur like it’s just drugged confusion.
My father looms over me now, his cologne sour and sharp. “What the hell are you mumbling about?”
“What… What is happening?” I fake a slur, wobbling my eyes in the sockets.
“You’re getting married today,” he says. “I told you that.”
Wait. What? I don’t remember that.
“No.” The word claws its way out of my throat before I can stop it.
My father’s hand clamps around my arm, and he hauls me upright. He steers me into the bedroom, shoves me into a chair, and hisses, “Keep it up, and Kosta will spend all night teaching you a lesson.” His eyes flick down my body. “And since you bragged to your stepmother about having sex with that Quinlan, you’d better not lie there like a cold fish for Kosta like the first time. You will be a good wife and keep him satisfied.”
Bile surges in my throat, and I lean forward to vomit on the rug.
“Fuck.” My father jumps back. “You,” he shouts to one maid. “Clean up this mess. And you…” He points to the other. “Get her into the shower.”
The maid’s grip on my wrist is an iron clamp as she drags me across the carpet and back into the bathroom. I have to stay limp. I have to pretend to be drugged.
“I got this,” Roxy says, appearing in the doorway.
