Chapter 3
I took the cup, and as I was about to take a sip, I suddenly met his eyes.
They were cold as ice, like a winter night.
I paused, stunned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
He didn't say a word.
I looked down at the cup.
It was a dark brown color, and the smell was a bit bitter.
But there was a hint of something else mixed in, something I couldn't quite identify.
I couldn't tell what it was.
But it made me feel uneasy.
"Who gave you this medicine?" I asked.
"The doctor," he replied.
"Which doctor?" I pressed.
"Why are you asking so much?" he said.
I looked at him.
Three years had passed, and for the first time, I truly met his gaze.
His eyes were empty, cold, and lifeless. There was nothing there.
Suddenly, it hit me that this cup of "medicine" wasn't meant to heal my throat.
I put the cup down and stepped back. "I'm not drinking it."
His gaze shifted, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "What did you say?"
"I said, I'm not drinking it," I repeated.
He started walking toward me.
I kept backing away.
"Don't come any closer," I pleaded.
Rodney grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight that it felt like he might snap it.
His strength was insane, like he could crush my bones if he wanted.
"Drink," he said, his voice cold.
"No, I'm not drinking it," I yelled.
He clamped down on my chin, his fingers digging in so hard that it felt like he was trying to break me.
It hurt so badly.
The pain was so sharp that I couldn't help it. Tears started streaming down my face.
Rodney picked up the cup and shoved it to my lips, trying to pour the poison into my mouth.
I struggled frantically, kicking him and biting his hand.
Half the poison spilled, scorching my throat. It burned like hell.
He wouldn't let up.
He pinned me in place, pouring every last drop of that poison down my throat, not a single drop left.
Once he finished forcing the poison down, he released me.
I collapsed to the floor, clutching my throat, coughing so hard that it felt like my lungs were about to burst.
I wanted to scream at him, to ask if he was even human.
But all that came out was a hoarse, broken whimper.
He loomed over me, looking down.
His eyes were disturbingly calm, like he was watching some dying bug.
"Don't be scared. It's temporary. Once Phoebe recovers, you'll get your voice back," he said.
He turned and walked away.
The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the room.
I sprawled on the floor, desperate to cry, but not a single sound escaped my lips.
My throat was already failing me. No matter how hard I tried, my voice slipped away.
Just then, my belly stirred.
It was the baby.
It was over three months.
Every time Rodney got drunk and mistook me for Phoebe, that was how the baby happened.
I looked down at my belly.
It was starting to show, a gentle curve. I knew that was my baby.
He was still alive.
He was still moving.
He had no idea his father had forced his mom to drink something that stole her voice.
I touched my belly, tears streaming down my face.
I said sorry to my baby.
I was so useless because I couldn't protect myself.
But I swore I would keep my baby safe, no matter what. And I wouldn't let anything hurt him.
After that, my voice was completely ruined.
It was not temporary at all.
It was permanent because Rodney had added something extra to that medicine, something meant to hurt me.
It ruined my vocal cords for good.
I lost my voice forever.
Did he know? Of course, he did.
But he never once came to see me.
He was with Phoebe, celebrating her recovery from the cold.
I lay in the hospital bed, all alone.
No one came to see me.
On the day I was discharged, I took a cab home alone.
When I got home, Phoebe was sitting in the living room.
She saw me and smiled. "Hey, Nevaeh, you're back. How's your throat?"
I kept quiet.
I couldn't speak.
She stood up and came up to me. "Do you know what was really in that cup?"
I looked at her.
"It was sulfuric acid," she said.
My eyes widened in shock.
She smiled. "Fooled you. It wasn't sulfuric acid, but it might as well have been.
"After you drank it, you could forget about ever speaking normally again for the rest of your life.
"Rodney doesn't want to hear your voice, and honestly, neither do I."
She patted my cheek, mocking me. "Stay quiet and be a good little mute. Isn't it better this way?"
She walked away.
I stood there in the living room, shaking all over.
That night, Rodney showed up for me again.
I thought he actually cared about me this time.
But I was wrong.
He showed up to ask why I hadn't cooked dinner.
I pointed at my throat to tell him, "I can't speak."
Rodney barely glanced at me.
"Type it," Rodney said, his voice cold.
I took out my phone and typed out a message: [The doctor said I'd lost my voice for good. I'll never be able to speak again.]
Rodney glanced at it. "Okay."
He gave one word, as if it meant nothing to him.
Then he said, "Cook. Phoebe is hungry."
I froze.
I had gotten out of the hospital.
My throat was messed up.
I hurt all over.
And he told me to cook, because his crush, Phoebe, was hungry.
I walked into the kitchen.
I cooked because I loved him.
Even after all this, I still loved him.
That night, I was in the kitchen cooking while he was in the living room, keeping Phoebe company.
Once dinner was ready, I carried the dishes out to the living room.
Phoebe was lounging on the couch, while Rodney sat beside her, peeling an apple for her.
When Phoebe saw me bringing out the food, she pulled a face, clearly annoyed.
"Rodney, look at the way she walks. It's so awkward," Phoebe sneered.
Rodney looked up at me.
That was true. I guessed I did walk awkwardly.
My leg still hadn't healed up.
The spot where it broke was still aching.
That was why I walked funny.
Rodney didn't say a word.
Phoebe stood up and walked over to me. "Here, let me help you carry that."
She reached out, pretending to be helpful as she took the dish from my hands.
And then, she let go on purpose.
The plate dropped to the floor and shattered completely.
The food was scattered all over the floor.
She screamed and jumped away. "It's scalding."
Rodney came running over. "What happened?"
Phoebe jabbed a finger at the mess on the floor. "She's trying to burn me. She shoved the plate at me."
I froze.
I didn't do anything.
She dropped it herself.
I wanted to explain, but I couldn't make a sound.