Don't let them know you can see

8

Pulling back the curtain, I was met with a sight that drained the color from my face. The bathtub was filled with bloodwater. The air was thick with the smell of cleaning agents, masking something far more sinister. I couldn't bring myself to look too closely, just enough to know something was terribly wrong.

"I've got your paper," Ethan announced, appearing suddenly, catching me off guard while I was still reeling from the shock. My hands trembled uncontrollably, barely able to hold the facade of normalcy. "Here's the toilet paper you asked for," he said, his voice unnervingly calm, his presence sending shivers down my spine.

Struggling to maintain my composure, I reached out shakily for the paper, fearing any sign of distress might betray my awareness of the grim reality just behind the curtain. "Why are your hands shaking?" Ethan asked, a hint of concern in his voice that didn't quite reach his cold eyes as he handed me the roll.

In a desperate attempt to deflect his attention, I lashed out, "You must be tired of dealing with me! Taking this long just to hand me a roll of paper, if you're so fed up, just say it!" My voice was sharp, more from fear than anger.

Ethan watched me closely, but seeing my apparent frustration seemed to reassure him. He crouched down, gently massaging my legs, his voice filled with an apologetic tone, "I'm sorry, honey. Please, don't be upset, okay?"

Relieved that he believed my act, I allowed myself a moment of respite from the terror that gripped me, though the fear of what lay behind the curtain lingered, a silent witness to the horror within our home.