Bleeding In Silence Novel by Elara. J _ Novel




Bleeding In Silence Chapter 01

My husband, Zachariah Gilliatt, was set on making me pay.
Everything I did was met with cold silence.
At night, I'd make all kinds of noise—coughing violently for hours or getting up for water every few minutes—but he remained unresponsive.
The master bedroom door stayed shut tight.
He must have thought I was doing it on purpose to get his attention.
But that wasn't it.
I was just in pain. After all, I was terminally ill.
But he never would've believed me.
To him, I was a born liar—incurably manipulative.
Eventually, the doctors told me I had only one month left and that it was time to start planning my funeral.
That day, Zachariah was leaning against the headboard, smoking, when I handed him the divorce papers.
He scoffed. "You've tried every trick in the book, and now you're pulling the divorce card to get my attention?"
He refused to sign—he was still intent on tormenting me.
He and I hadn't married out of love.
Back then, on the day the love of his life went abroad, he came to see me.
"Since you're so desperate to marry me, I'll give you what you want," he said. "But mark my words: marrying me will be the greatest regret of your life."
He was right—I did regret it.
But it was too late.
I handed him the diagnosis.
"Let's get a divorce. You wouldn't want to be labeled a widower, would you?"
He took the paper—the one that said I had one month left—and his hands began to shake.
He jumped to his feet.
"Arianna Norcutt, you damn woman! Is this how you get back at me?"
Panicking, he forcibly dragged me downstairs and shoved me into the car.
"Heal her! I said, heal her!" he barked at the doctors.
Was his heart actually breaking for me?
But it was all far too late.
***
That night, I ate dinner alone before heading to the bathroom.
I stayed there for over an hour before coming out, wrapped in a bathrobe.
I'd fallen asleep in the tub.
Standing in front of the mirror, I tightened the robe's tie and ran a finger over my sharp, gaunt chin.
Any thinner, and I'd be nothing but skin and bones.
Just then, the front door swung open.
Zachariah came back, and he'd brought a girl with him.
Our eyes met.
The room went completely still.
I clenched my hands inside my bathrobe sleeves.
He leaned against the liquor cabinet, his lips curling into a sneer. "Look at you. What a turn-off."
In that moment, my heart clenched so tight I could barely breathe.
I finally retreated to my bedroom and shut the door.
Inside, I put on my headphones.
But in the dark, the pain that had seeped into every cell of my body flared up again.
I curled into a tight ball.
Soon, the coppery taste of blood filled my throat.
My lips parted, and blood gushed out, bright red in the lamplight.
Drenched in cold sweat, I scrambled to my feet and staggered toward the bathroom.
I lost track of how long I clenched my teeth against the searing pain that night.
Only when it began to ease did I manage to haul myself up and wipe the blood I had coughed onto the floor.
Just then, the bathroom door shifted as someone pushed against it.
I'd just turned on the faucet to wash my hands.
"Is... someone in there?" the girl asked.
I didn't answer. I switched on the bathroom light instead.
"Oh, so there is someone," she muttered, sounding disappointed.
A moment later, a figure leaned in the doorway.
Two sharp knocks followed.
"Are you done yet?" Zachariah asked.
I ducked my head, scrubbing the blood from my hands faster.
Then I pulled the door open and stepped out, brushing past him as he still leaned against the frame.
The girl slipped into the bathroom behind me.
Only then did I turn to look at him.
Why?
Why did he have to humiliate me like this?
He just stared back.
Was that a glint of triumph, satisfaction, or disdain in his eyes?
I looked away.
I poured a glass of hot water and set it on the coffee table.
Then I bent to open the drawer and take out several medicine bottles.
One by one, I shook the pills into my palm.
He stayed where he was, watching me with a sneer.
I set the medicines down and gave him a quiet look.
What was that in his eyes?
He must have thought I was faking again—pretending to be seriously ill just to get his attention.
His expression said it all: "Arianna, go ahead with your little show. I'm not buying it."
I smiled.
Gathering the pills, I lifted the glass and swallowed them.
Then I tidied the table and walked past him back to my room.
When I was first diagnosed with leukemia, the doctor told me to bring a family member to the hospital.
I called Zachariah, but he declined the call.
I brought the medicine home and deliberately left it in the living room drawer instead of my bedroom.
I thought he might one day open the drawer and find me dying.
But half a year had passed, and he never noticed.
Even though I had taken the pills right in front of him just now, he still assumed I was faking it.
I shut the door behind me and almost laughed.
I wondered if he would feel a flicker of regret on the day I die.
His wife had taken her anti-leukemia medication right before his eyes, yet to him, it was nothing more than a brilliant performance he was too clever to fall for.

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