Girl on a String: A Psychological Thriller by Leah Montgomery

Author:Leah Montgomery [Montgomery, Leah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-07T22:00:00+00:00

My afternoon acupuncture treatment eases my mind and body for a little while, but within fifteen minutes of leaving, I feel the surge of emotion rolling back in like a restless tide washing up over shore. It quickly fills the peaceful footprints the acupuncture made in the sand and sends me back to square one.

An eddy of angerbetrayaldisbelief spins inside me, leaving me feeling panicky and unsettled. The only thing I can think to do is call home. If I can’t go home and get to the bottom of this, at minimum I have to talk to Christopher, confront him, ask him if it’s true and, if it is, why. WHY WHY WHY?

“Hey, babe,” he says by way of answer when he takes my call.

It’s when I hear his voice that I realize that I can’t do it this way. I need to see his face. I have to see his face. I need to see if his left brow twitches up, one quick snap, almost imperceptible if you’re not watching for it, like it does when he’s lying to a casual acquaintance about why he can’t have lunch with them next week or why that appointment time won’t work for him. I have to see if he rubs his nose, a small gesture that buys him just a few seconds to think when he’s put on the spot. He has a few tells when he’s being dishonest, and I know him well enough to spot them all.

Of course, maybe I don’t.

I wrack my brain for any times in the last months when he might’ve lied to me about where he was going or what he was doing, but I realize that oftentimes, we were either speaking on the phone or texting. I wouldn’t have seen his tell.

Sadly, our life had become very distant and businesslike. I wonder if that’s why I’ve wanted so much to regain the intimacy we once shared. Maybe some obscure coil of my brain realized what was happening and urged me to fix it. Maybe, but it didn’t communicate with any other areas, because I feel completely blindsided by this.

“Em? You there?” Christopher prompts, his voice a touch on the breathless side, making me instantly suspicious.

“I’m here. Sorry. I just…I got distracted.” I clear my throat, bitterness and resentment knotting in my stomach like a length of rope in a sailor’s hands. “Is this a bad time? Am I interrupting something?” I do my best to keep the waspishness out of my tone.

“No, I, uh.” A woman’s voice sounds in the distance and my husband pauses. I can all but imagine him waving his arm or putting a finger to his lips to shush her.

“Was that a woman’s voice?” I ask vacuously, as though I’m taking a shot in the dark. I can’t help myself. It’s literally beyond my control not to dig a little. But I feel sure Christopher won’t suspect a thing. My tone is as pleasant and innocent as ever, none of my true emotion leaking into it.

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