Crimson peak re-telling (Reader x Tomas Sharpe)

ℭℌą℘ţℯr XVIII

Truth

Avoiding Lucille's poisoned food was harder than you expected. Once you had hidden away in your room, you poised yourself on the floor, fingers ready to make yourself vomit right as she was entering.

As planned, you heard her coming and started retching, bringing up the small amount of food you had consumed that day. Smiling inwardly, you looked up at her with what you hoped was a pitiable expression. Lucille looked down on you with slight discuss and laid the tray of food down on the night stand. You eyed the poisoned food warily. Lucille stooped down and slid one hand under your arm, pulling you up violently.

"In bed," she commanded, pushing you slightly towards the mattress.

You sank into the comfortable bed and slid down. Lucille sat on the side and took the bowl in her hands.

"I'm still nauseous," you protested, as she raised the spoon, the heat rising off the soup.

"This will help," she promised.

"I don't think I'll keep it down," you responded, sinking deeper into the covers, wishing more than anything Thomas were here.

"Try," she answered briskly.

She propped pillows up behind you with one hand, angling your head for swallowing the soup.

"Please," you tried, pushing her hand away.

"You're lucky I'm here," Lucile said. "Not just anyone would take care of you."

She made it sound like you were a burden somehow.

Suddenly, outside, you heard a loud hum start to get louder. Turning, you saw Lucille frown.

"What's that?" you asked.

"Thomas must have gotten it working," Lucille sneered, putting the soup back on the table in favor of going to the window. She peered around the side and must have been upset by what she saw for she stormed back and picked the soup up with renewed energy. You looked for a way out. Any way you could find. But other than assault, you could not see how to avoid eating what Lucille was now nearly forcing in your direction.

You panicked, wondering how long the poison needed in your system to do any harm. If it sat for an hour could you still throw it up without lasting effects? You certainly did not want to cough up blood. Lucille gave you a sadistic smile as she watched your panic. Did she know that you knew? You did not feel that you could take her in a fight. Not without a weapon, anyway, and there was nothing within reach that would help.

Lucille put down the bowl, focusing more on the spoonful at the moment. She blew on it slightly and lifted it to your mouth. With a loud crash, the soup bowl flew a few feet and hit the floor, splattering the hot liquid everywhere on the rug.

"Dammit!" Lucille shrieked. You took this opportunity to "accidentally" knock the spoonful over as well, faking shock at the felled bowl.

Smirking, you realized one of the spirits must have done that. Edith, you figured. You thanked her silently.

"What was that?" you faked concern. Lucille fumed at you.

"This house is so drafty," she vaguely explained. "Things are constantly falling off because of the wind."

That was nowhere near a good enough explanation, but you already knew the real answer and did not want Lucille to know you knew.

"Oh well," you sighed, slinking back down under the covers. "Thanks anyway." You couldn't help the smugness in your voice and Lucille glared at you. "I guess I'll just wait till Thomas gets back. He'll take care of me."