Lethal

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Mr. Garnet wants you downstairs." Sophia's sharp voice disrupted my quiet escape from the chaos of the world around me. I looked up from the book nestled between my crossed thighs, and met her icy gaze. Standing at the threshold of my bedroom, she stared down at me through the lens of her designer glasses, perched on the bridge of her nose. The sound of her dull voice reached my ears, but I made no attempt to do as she instructed.

It's been a week since I accepted Dean's proposal. These past several days, Dean was hardly ever around long enough to withhold a conversation. While I found some relief in his absence, the days dragged on tediously, and boredom took its toll. I quickly learned that Dean was a man who demanded absolute control. The normal tasks I saw to everyday were now to be done during strict times throughout the day.

I was to attend my meals punctually, each at the scheduled time. If I overslept, I was to wait until lunch. If I awoke too early, I was to busy myself until it was time for breakfast. Every aspect of my day was governed by a set of rules that I had no choice but to comply to, routinely. It took me a few set backs to break free from my poor sleep habits, and as a result, I spent most afternoons listening to the sounds of my pleading stomach grumble in protest. Balancing breakfast had its challenges, but the real ordeal came at night.

Breakfast followed a systematic procedure, one that I attended alone. Then came the dreaded evening of dinner. Dinner was the one time throughout the day that I was guaranteed to see Dean. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he alway returned just in time for dinner. With this procedure came the equally dreaded questions. These were orchestrated questions Dean asked me as we saw to our meal.

"How was your day, today?"

"What did you occupy your time with today?"

"Did anything interesting occur?"

And like a well-trained actress, I effortlessly slipped into my role, delivering the rehearsed lines that followed each intended question, like reciting lines from a script.

"Everything was fine,"

"I spent some time reading,"

"No surprises today."

The performance would end with a brief exchange, after which the conversation would wither away for the remainder of the evening. The repetitive cycle of questions exasperated me to no end, but nothing irritated me more than Dean's apparent disinterest towards our 'conversation'. It was clear he had no real interest in my lifeless response. Night after night, he asked the same set of questions, and night after night, I gave him the same scripted answers.

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Dean caught on to my act, but as if committed to his role, he never broke character. He feigned ignorance, pretending that our nightly performance was nothing more than a casual exchange. I began to realize that the questions he would ask was merely a formality, like when a stranger asks, 'How are you?' without really expecting a detailed response. Regardless of my answers, Dean continued to pester me with the same questions, despite his obvious lack of interest.

"Ms. Holland," I snapped out of my thoughts and focused on Sophia.

"What does he want?" I asked, still not budging from my position. As expected, Sophia remained silent, patiently waiting for me to follow her down to Dean. I decided not to press further for answers from her. With a sigh, I placed the book down and mirrored her footsteps as we made our way down the corridor.

During the first few days of my stay here, I was seriously concerned by Sophia's behavior. She almost never spoke, except when carrying out Dean's orders. The frigidness in her posture made me wonder if there was ever a time in her life where she relaxed. I never saw anything remotely close to an emotion on her pretty face— not a smile, nor a frown.