"You really must not be feeling well." I toss the remainder of the glass away and stand. "That's the only justifiable explanation I can think of for this sudden change of heart."
"I haven't had a change of heart," she declares. "God, you can be so infuriating."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"I'm going to bed," she says.
"Wait."
I grab the tote bag from my desk. I already examined the contents inside after Judge left. There's nothing much of interest in there. A pair of shoes, the remnants of her dress. A purse. The lipstick was already taken for testing, which came back clean. But that does not surprise me. The Tribunal suspects she applied the poison directly to the coat of lipstick she was wearing and disposed of any evidence, and I am inclined to agree.
"Give these to Antonia so she can return them to Ivy's closet." I hand the tote to Mercedes, and she glances inside. A strange expression comes over her face as she examines the contents.
"Are these from that night?" she asks, her voice strained.
"Yes. Why?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing. It just... it gives me bad memories. That's all."
"Get some rest," I tell her. "You'll be more like yourself in the morning."
She nods, turning away. "Good night, brother."
12
Santiago
I find my wife tangled up in her bedsheets, trapped in the grips of a fitful sleep. She mutters something unintelligible as I cast the soft glow of the candle in my hand over her body. I didn't want to come back here tonight. Every night, I tell myself I won't. There has to be some resistance to this madness. But after Mercedes took it upon herself to inform me of the bruises, I had to see them for myself.
She curls into herself as I peel back the top half of the sheet, exposing her torso. A sharp intake of breath leaves my lips as I see the damage for myself. If anyone were to see her this way, they would undoubtedly think she had been beaten in places. And something is so horrific about those blemishes on the perfect canvas of her skin. It bothers me more than I had anticipated, and I can only wonder how I will feel once I see the permanent destruction I intend to inflict upon her.
I replace the sheet and turn away, chest heaving as my fist curls at my sides. Why did she have to do this? Why did she have to betray me and force my hand? And why does the prospect of what's to come bring me more torment than pleasure?
"Santiago?" Her sleepy voice whispers from behind me.
I close my eyes, tempted to leave without a word. But I can't seem to move. I can't look at her. And I can't be away from her. She truly is the slowest, deadliest form of poison.
The silence stretches between us, until finally, she asks the question on her mind.
"Have you come to take your fill of me again?"
"No," I bite out.
Against my better judgment, I turn to face her, placing the candle on her nightstand. She's peeking up at me with tired eyes, hair strewed across her pillow like strands of silk. I reach out and smooth them away from her face, my dark mood casting a shadow as I study her.
"It's a shame what you’ve done.”
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"Just remember when you look upon yourself next week, loathing your own reflection in the mirror, you only have yourself to blame."
She flinches, yanking away from my touch as she curls into herself protectively. "What are you talking about?"
"I told you there would be punishment for your sins," I answer. "And it will be equal to your crime."
She chokes back a quiet sob and shakes her head, reaching out for my hand again. "Please don't be cruel. You don't have to do this. It doesn't have to be this way."
"But it does." I pull my fingers from her grasp, feeling the loss of her warmth immediately. "You determined this course the day you decided to betray me."
I head for the door as she calls after me, desperation coloring her voice. "Please, just look at me. I know you want to. I know you are capable of listening, if you could just let go of this hatred for one minute—”
"Go to sleep," I command. "Your physical therapy begins tomorrow."
"Physical therapy?" she echoes in confusion.
I offer her one last fleeting glance.
"To ensure the safety of my child," I answer coldly.
13
Ivy
I don’t sleep after he leaves. It’s been four weeks since the poisoning. I only know because I start my period again. I don’t know how long I was in that cellar, but I guess I’ve been locked in here for at least two of those weeks.
I’m just glad I don’t have to ask for tampons. I’d hidden some in a tissue box the last time.