Gaslight: Who can you trust when you can't trust yourself? by J.E. Rowney

Author:J.E. Rowney [Rowney, J.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: suspense, domestic suspense, thriller, domestic thriller, gaslightling, gaslight, domestic mystery, domestic
Publisher: Little Fox Publishing
Published: 2023-01-26T13:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

When the migraine was still there the following morning, I gave up hope of recovery. I decided to hibernate, hide myself away in the darkness that didn’t help my condition, but didn’t exacerbate it, either. Even drawing back the curtains, letting the creep of the day into the room caused shard-like stabbing pain that layered upon the already throbbing agony that filled my head.

Just flu, I told myself, as I rubbed my hand along the aching muscles of my legs, taking every ounce of my effort to try to soothe the stiff cramping discomfort. Just flu, and not worth suffering the trek back down to Doctor Wilson’s surgery for.

In truth, there was another reason that I didn’t want to go back there. Wilson knew everything about me, and he knew everything about my family. He knew what had happened to Mum, and I didn’t want him to think that I was going spinning down that same downward spiral she had. Hearing noises, finding notes, and the insane paranoia of suspecting Dan. They all added up to one thing.

I was starting to doubt myself; I didn’t need medical confirmation that moving back to Bittersweet had knocked me off balance.

I decided to ride it out. Flu sorted itself out over a few days. I needed to keep hydrated, in a warm, dark place.

Dan wasn’t having any of it. He was home from work, like clockwork, at half-past five, and, after clattering in the kitchen for what felt like hours, but was actually only a matter of loud minutes, he came up to our room.

Day one, he had been sympathetic and caring. By day two, it was starting to fade. I was becoming a problem. He stood over me with a look of impatient disappointment.

“You can’t lie in bed all day, Ella. Come on. Please.”

“I can’t get up. My head…”

“Open the window then. Get some fresh air. Or, please, come out for a walk with me.”

I pulled the duvet up over my head, cocooning myself away from his whining. Of course, he leaned over and yanked it back down.

“I’ve got the flu,” I moaned. “I need to rest.”

Unceremoniously, he reached out and placed his palm against my forehead. I was about to pull back and complain, but the coolness of his touch was as soothing as his callousness was irritating. I let it be.

“You don’t have a fever,” he said. “Last night you were warm, but today…” He withdrew his hand and shrugged, without finishing his diagnosis.

I didn’t trust his medical opinion, but his was the only one I had. I felt hot, but I allowed for the fact that it was down to spending the day in bed under our feather down duvet.

“I ache,” I said, as quietly as I could manage. “My head. My arms… legs.” I moved my limbs pathetically, like a tiny bird, fallen from the nest trying to prove that there was still some life left in them.

Dan watched me, unsmiling, and said, “I’ll run you a bath then.

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