Page 27 of Unwell
‘Robert—’
‘Keep it up,’ he hissed, eyes glittering with something much like madness, ‘and I’ll teach you a lesson. I’ve been sweet on you for too long Nancy, not all husbands are so kind.’
His threat was clear.
‘What are you going to do? Punch me in front of your boss?’
Robert gave a humourless bark of a laugh.
‘No. I’ll bend you over right there in the staff room and fuck you while they watch. Let them see exactly what kind of whore you truly are. They’ll lose the minuscule amount of respect they have for you in a heartbeat.’
He ground his hips into me hard enough that the wall scraped my spine through my uniform. His face was inches from mine, anger giving way to hunger in the dark pools of his eyes. What had gotten into him?
And in that moment, I saw the same look I’d seen in Marney and the other monstrous doctors who prowled the asylum halls.
Fear itched beneath my skin.
‘Robert, please,’ I said, my voice trembling. ‘I’m not trying to make you mad. I just…I want to help Ginny. She’s scared. She’s?—‘
‘Help her? No, Nancy. You pretend it’s about helping the girl, but I know you. It’s because you want to sweep in and take her baby, isn’t it?’ Cruelty nipped at his words.
‘No! God, no. I would never.’
His hand slid from my arm to my throat, pressing just enough to cut my words off.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ His accusation made my stomach turn.
Shame and fury collided in my chest. For one awful second, I couldn’t breathe. Not from the hand on my neck, but from the kernel of truth in his words.
Because I’d pictured holding Ginny’s sweet babe in my arms, wriggling and squealing and rescuing it from those horrid walls.
No.
Robert was putting his thoughts into my head. I was trying to help the girl. Not hurt her.
SIXTEEN
NANCY
Days had passed since Robert cornered me in the stairwell, but the memory still haunted every interaction between us. His words, his grip, the look in his eyes. I tried to bury them, told myself to forget the whole business with Ginny and keep my head down. To stop stepping out of line.
But Wellard had other plans.
I found Ginny in a crumpled heap near the woods behind the asylum. Great tears split her white dress, her pallid skin streaked with blood and dirt. For one horrible second I feared she’d lost her baby. I dropped to my knees beside her, searching her skin frantically with quick hands.
The blood came from cuts. Angry slashes across herhands, calves and arms where the brambles must have snatched at her.
Not from her belly.
Thank God, not fromthere.
Ginny’s eyes were open, but vacant. Staring past me to the grey skies beyond.
Catatonic.
‘Ginny,’ I whispered, tenderly brushing damp hair from her face.
No response. Little red gashes cracked her dry lips.
