Silent Killers

The morning sun streamed through the small window, lighting up the bruises on my arm. My whole body ached.

I lay still, staring at the ceiling. My head throbbed. My lip was swollen. My ribs hurt when I breathed.

I survived. Again.

Vijay had already left for work. Good.

I forced myself to sit up, wincing as pain shot through my body. My hands trembled as I pulled the blanket off. My dress from last night was still on me, wrinkled and stained.

I had to move. If I stayed too long in bed, his mother would have something to say.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I avoided the mirror. I didn't need to see my face. I already knew what I looked like.

When I came out, his mother was in the kitchen. She barely glanced at me as she placed a pot on the stove.

"Cook lunch for the family," she ordered. "And wash the clothes outside. You're not here to sit around."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Yes, ma."

My body screamed in protest, but I didn't argue. I just started cutting vegetables, my hands slow, my fingers sore.

An hour later, I carried the basket of dirty clothes to the backyard. Vijay's mother prefered I wash with hands than the washing machine in the kitchen. The sun was hot, making my bruises throb. I knelt by the washing basin, dipping the clothes in soapy water, scrubbing as best as I could.

Footsteps.

I looked up, heart pounding.

No one.

I turned back to my washing, but then…a shadow moved behind the tree.

My breath caught.

A hand stretched out from behind the trunk, holding a small tube.

Ointment.

I stared at it, then at the tree.

Raymond.

He didn't speak. Didn't show his face.

Just stretched his hand further.

I hesitated, then quickly reached out and took the ointment, tucking it under my clothes.

Before I could whisper a thank you, he was gone.

I exhaled slowly, gripping the tube in my hand.

For the first time in a long time… someone cared.

But caring wouldn't save me.

Not yet.

By the time I finished washing and hanging the clothes, the sun had started to set. My body felt drained, my fingers sore from scrubbing. I picked up the empty basket and made my way inside, my stomach twisting with hunger.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, my heart sank.

The pot was empty.

Only Vijay 's meal sat covered on the table.

His mother and sister sat in the living room, sipping juice, chatting like nothing had happened.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. I should have known.

Shoving down my disappointment, I walked past them toward the bathroom. At least I could get clean.

The cold water hit my skin, soothing some of the pain from my bruises. I took my time, washing away the sweat and dirt. For a few minutes, I used the ointment Raymond gave me. I could pretend everything was okay.

When I stepped out, I wrapped my towel around me and walked to the small wardrobe in the bedroom. I pulled it open, and froze.

Empty.

I pushed the hangers back and forth. Where were my clothes?

The few decent dresses I had from my working days were gone. Only old, faded clothes remained, the ones Vijay's mother had once called "appropriate" for a wife.

I turned, my chest tightening.

Vijay's sister stood by the door, smiling. She held up one of my dresses, a simple but elegant one I had worn before I met Vijay.

"This looks better on me," she said casually, running her fingers over the fabric.

I clenched my fists. "That's mine."

She raised an eyebrow. "Was yours." Then she smiled. "You don't need these fancy things anymore. You're a wife now."

Anger burned in my chest, but I knew better than to argue. I had nothing. No power. No say.

She tossed the empty hanger onto the floor and walked away, laughing.

I stood there, staring at the bare wardrobe, my hands trembling.

They had stripped me of everything.

But deep down, I knew, they hadn't broken me yet.

Not yet.

By evening, my body felt strange. My skin burned, yet I shivered. My head throbbed, and my legs felt weak.

I curled up on the small couch in the corner of the bedroom, pulling the thin wrapper over me. My stomach growled, but the hunger was nothing compared to the heat rising inside me.

I was sick.

The sound of the front door slamming made me flinch.

Vijay was home.

I heard his mother greeting him, his sister laughing about something. Their voices felt distant, like I was underwater.

Heavy footsteps approached the room. Then the door swung open. 

Vijay stood there, his eyes scanning the room before settling on me. His brows pulled together.

"What's wrong with you?"

I tried to sit up. "I… I don't feel well."

He scoffed. "You're always looking for excuses."

I swallowed, feeling too weak to argue.

He walked to the table and lifted the lid off his food. His face darkened.

"It's cold."

I blinked, my body swaying as I stood.

"Warm it," he said, his voice sharp.

I opened my mouth to protest, but his gaze turned dangerous.

Without a word, I dragged myself to the kitchen. My legs felt like they were made of stone. My hands trembled as I lit the stove and placed the pot on it.

Behind me, his mother and sister whispered. Not once did they ask if I was okay.

The heat from the fire only made my fever worse. My head spun, and I gripped the counter to steady myself.

Vijay leaned against the doorframe, watching. "Hurry up."

I bit my lip, forcing myself to move.

Minutes later, I placed the warm food in front of him

.

He didn't thank me. Didn't look at me. Just sat and ate while I stood there, barely able to keep my eyes open.

My body swayed.

Then….darkness.