Sick Girl (A Psychological Thriller) by Rachel Hargrove

Author:Rachel Hargrove [Hargrove, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

17

Melissa

Tom was out late last night. Again.

This time it was an after-work cocktail hour he couldn’t get away from. His boss wanted to celebrate the launch of a new product, and as an engineer who worked on the project, he was required to go. Facebook seems to corroborate his story. Tom’s coworkers posted selfies with festive backdrops and tagged my husband, whose cheesy grin I don’t recognize. He looks like he belongs in a frat with that goofy smile and the red plastic cup in his hand. A young woman with a Roman nose clings to his arm.

Is that her?

The whiskey pours like water. It burns my lips and unsettles my stomach. I keep drinking anyway, as though I’ll find the answer to my marital crisis written on the glass. At seven o’clock, I rifled through the pantry and found an old brand of Canadian booze tucked in the corner with a Christmas card still attached to the neck. It’s not bad mixed with coffee, but it scorches a path down my throat.

In the bedroom, Tom gets ready for work. I listen to his passive-aggressive sighs and the gurgle of the iron as he attempts to make himself presentable. Every so often he shoots me an impatient look as he stands there, shirtless. The sight of him used flutter the butterflies in my stomach. I’d smooth my hands over the corded muscles rippling through his arms and trace the trail of dark hair leading straight down.

I study him and wonder where the bitch has touched him.

Tom stabs a button on the iron, shooting water onto the carpet. “Damn.”

I smile at him over my phone’s screen like the empty-headed wife I’m pretending to be. “Keep trying; you’ll get it.”

His eyes cut at me. Oops, did that sound too dry?

“Honey, I was wondering if you had any ideas for Stacy’s birthday.”

Shrugging, I drop the phone aside and cross my arms. “We’ll have a cake and invite everyone for tacos.”

He hesitates. “What kind?”

“Pulled pork and ground beef, I guess.”

He winces. “I just—I don’t know. Aren’t tacos a bit pedestrian?”

I stare at him. “It’s a party for a six-year-old.”

“Right, but people who come to our parties are used to a little extra flair. We should attempt to be more exciting.”

Where the hell are his priorities? “Our friends will find some way to enjoy themselves without a wait staff and an open bar.”

“Melissa, hold on a second. I am not talking about hiring a bunch of help. I meant that we should make the event more upscale—Alaskan black cod and lobster instead of cheap meat.”

He wants to maintain our illusion of wealth even though our friends have already noticed that I’m wearing last season’s couture and we decline their invitations to go out because we can’t afford one-star Michelin restaurants anymore. My fingernails are chipped. Our lawn is dying.

I’m not keeping up this charade.

“And who will pay for the lobster? You?” I laugh at the idea of children cramming fifteen-dollar tacos down their throats.

A crease forms on Tom’s forehead.

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