Chapter 37 - come on

Chapter 37: 37 - come on 37 ~Lisa’s POV I watched them leave, the sound of their footsteps fading down the hall like a cruel reminder of how alone I was. Matilda’s words echoed in my ears like a hammer, "You have six minutes to get to the kitchen and start working." Six minutes. I didn’t even know if I could stand. But I had no choice. Every second that ticked by felt like a punishment in itself, tightening around my chest like a rope. My arms felt like lead, but I gritted my teeth and forced them to move, reaching out to grip the edge of the bed. The moment I pushed myself up, my body screamed in protest. A sharp, white-hot pain shot through my back and down my thighs, the punishment from yesterday still fresh, still raw. I gasped, clutching the sheet beneath me with trembling fingers, sweat instantly beading on my forehead. The wounds from the flogging throbbed like open fire beneath my skin, and the fever only made it worse. The room spun. The walls seemed to lean in around me, the air thick and heavy, like I was trapped beneath something invisible. The pounding in my head was unbearable, each heartbeat felt like a drum behind my eyes. My skin burned, and at the same time, I was shivering. Still, I moved. One shaky leg slid off the bed, then the other. When I stood, I bit down hard on my bottom lip to keep from crying out. I swayed slightly, reaching for the wall to keep myself steady. You can do this, I told myself. You have to. I limped toward the washbasin, dragging one foot after the other. Even the soft rug beneath my feet felt like nails digging into bruises. My breath came out in short, shallow gasps, the room blurring at the edges every time I blinked. I stripped off the torn nightdress with shaking hands and stepped into the bathroom. The water was cold, icy, almost shocking, but it helped numb the pain across my back and buttocks. I flinched as the water ran down the lash marks, each sting a fresh reminder of what I had endured. My reflection in the mirror made me pause. My eyes were swollen and red, my skin pale and sickly. I didn’t look like me. I looked like a ghost. A hollow, broken version of the girl I once was. "He’s gone," I whispered to myself, voice barely audible. "Milo’s gone." My throat tightened, but I didn’t have time to cry again. I had six minutes. After drying off slowly and wrapping myself in one of the thinner dresses they’d left behind, I dragged my feet through the halls toward the kitchen. Every step was agony. I used the wall for balance more than once, steadying myself every time the fever made my head spin or the pain in my thighs became too much. When I finally got to the kitchen, I paused in the doorway. It was empty. Utterly silent. No bubbling pots, no clanging pans, no maids rushing to and fro. Just rows of ingredients, trays, stacks of dishes waiting to be cleaned, and massive stoves sitting cold. My stomach dropped. I was really going to do this alone. I’m supposed to cook for the whole palace... by myself? I stood there for a moment, too stunned to move. This wasn’t punishment. This was torture. I didn’t even know where to begin. The triplets, Belinda, the staff, dozens of mouths waited for their meals every day, and now I was expected to make it all happen on my own, with bruised limbs and a burning fever? The room spun again. I gripped the edge of the counter to keep from falling. Milo’s face flashed in my mind, his soft eyes, that gentle smile, the way he told me to look at him so I wouldn’t be afraid. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them away. You can’t fall apart. Not yet. With a shaky breath, I moved toward the pantry, dragging my body through the motions. I didn’t know how I was going to do this. But I knew I had to try. Because no one was coming to save me. I started with the dishes. The sink was full, bowls and trays stacked high, stained with oils and leftovers from last night’s feast. It was always the worst part of the morning, and today, it was mine alone. I filled the basin with water, ignoring how cold it felt against my raw skin. My fingers trembled as I reached for the first plate. I could barely hold it steady. The motion of scrubbing sent jolts of pain up my arms and across my back, where the lashes had not yet scabbed. Still, I kept going. One plate. Then another. Then another. The silence was suffocating. There were no voices, no chatter from the other maids. Just the sound of water splashing and the occasional clang of a dish too heavy for my weakening arms. My head throbbed. My legs wobbled beneath me. The fever was rising again, I could feel it behind my eyes, in the pounding of my pulse, in the heat burning my skin from the inside out. I leaned against the counter, breathing hard. My vision blurred for a second, and I blinked rapidly, trying to bring the room back into focus. Come on, Lisa. Just keep going. I reached for the next plate, but it slipped through my fingers, clattering loudly into the sink. I winced, grabbing at it with shaky hands, but the dizziness hit harder this time. My knees buckled slightly, and I gripped the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles went white. I swallowed thickly. Everything felt far away, like I was watching myself from somewhere else. It was a miracle I was still standing. After the floggings... after Milo... The tears came again, unbidden. But they were hot and silent this time, slipping down my cheeks as I stood there, swaying, holding onto the counter like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. "I can’t do this..." I whispered, though no one was there to hear me. The dizziness returned, stronger, sharper, like a wave crashing over me. And then, everything tilted. The sink. The floor. The walls. I lost my grip. My legs gave out.