Page 75 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Seventy-Five

Just a Glimmer

She didn’t touch the tray.

She waited until the hallway was quiet, then dragged herself toward the bathroom. Her body trembled. Her legs barely worked. She had to stop twice to catch her breath.

She made it to the toilet, clutching the bowl in both hands. Then she poured the soup down—slowly, silently.

It splashed once. Loud enough to make her freeze.

But no one came.

She flushed. Watched it swirl away.

If she kept eating their poison, she’d vanish exactly the way they wanted.

Kai told the world she faked her pregnancy and ran off to Europe.

No one would come looking. To them, Noah didn’t even exist.

But if she stopped eating—if she starved herself—maybe she’d survive long enough to fight back.

They think I’m still eating. Good. Let them.

---

The next day, she dumped the soup .

And the tea. And anything else they brought.

She drank water from the bathroom sink—just enough to stay alive.

She did the same the next day. And the next.

Each time, she staggered back to bed like a ghost.

She let her skin stay pale and her lips dry. She let them believe she was dying.

---

By the fourth day, hunger clawed at her.

Her stomach burned. Her hands trembled worse than before.

But she noticed something else.

The dizziness was gone.

Her mind was clearer. Her muscles still weak, but less poisoned.

Her body still ached—but it was hers now, not something they were unraveling piece by piece.

She lay in bed, eyes half-lidded, pretending to be too weak to lift her head.

That afternoon, someone new came to change the linens.

Not Tessa.

Bernarda.

She entered with a stiff expression, carrying a fresh set of sheets.

No eye contact. No words.

Bernarda set the stack down, then moved to the edge of the bed.

“Up,” she said flatly.

Lyric didn’t move.

She blinked slowly, kept her limbs heavy, her fingers trembling just enough.

Bernarda let out a sharp breath through her nose.

Without another word, she hooked her arms under Lyric’s and lifted her upright.

Her grip was firm, strong, practiced .

She guided Lyric into the nearby chair, easing her down like setting down a bag of flour.

Lyric slumped into the chair, breathing slow and uneven, her body loose but alert beneath the act. She let Bernarda do all the work.

Let them think I can’t stand .

Bernarda stripped the bed quickly. Tucked in the clean sheet. Smoothed the blanket.

But as she finished, she paused.

Without looking at Lyric, she said:

“I knew your mother… Eden.”

Lyric’s heart stuttered.

She fought the urge to look up too fast. Fought to stay limp. Small.

Bernarda crossed the room, picked up her bundle of soiled linens—and almost casually reached into her pocket.

She set the items on the nightstand:

A sealed protein bar.

A small bag of crackers.

And a yogurt. All sealed.

“They’re in the packages. Can’t be tampered with.”

No smile. No kindness.

Just a cold warning hidden inside a gesture of mercy.

Bernarda lifted Lyric again—slightly gentler this time—and settled her back onto the bed.

Before leaving, she paused.

“Hide the wrappers in your pillowcase. I’ll take them tomorrow and replace them with whatever I can.”

A pause. Her voice low but firm.

“Don’t give up. Your mother didn’t.”

The door clicked softly behind her.

Lyric sat there for a long time, staring at the food.

Her hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

Not from exhaustion.

From something dangerously close to hope.

Bernarda?

Why her? Why now ?

Should I trust her? Did she really know Eden?

Did she help her too?

Her stomach growled—savage and real.

Her fingers moved without permission, tearing open the protein bar’s plastic wrapper.

The sweetness hit her tongue.

Her whole body shivered.

Hope clawed its way back—bruised and shaking.

It was just a glimmer.

But enough to keep her alive.