Tea Time

She reeled in disgust as the offending aroma penetrated her nostrils the moment she removed the cap.

There was no chance in hell this was ever going to work. She began inwardly cursing out the apothecary who sold her this smelly junk - calling him every name she could possibly think of.

Well, name calling wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She thought to herself several moments later.

There really wasn’t anything left to do but keep moving forward with the plan now.

She measured out the amount the apothecary told her to use in his drink, grateful to finally replace the cap before she carefully hid the small jar at the back of the cupboard shelf behind the tarragon, cloves, and mint.

There was no chance in you know what he would ever find it back there if this turns out to be unsuccessful.

She stirred the drink before bringing it to her nose for inspection.

No smell.

But she couldn’t be certain that the whiff she had taken earlier hadn’t impaired her nostrils so severely that she was now immune to its pungent aura.

You cannot stop now, Bridget. If not now, then when? She said to herself.

She shrugged her shoulders knowing that if she failed it would be a long time before she would find an opportunity to try again.

And that simply COULD. NOT. HAPPEN.

She stood staring at the clock. Waiting.

Breath in. Breath out. She closed her eyes. Breath in. Breath out.

Finally the clock chimed midnight jerking her out of her hypnotic calm.

It was time.

Drink in hand, she turned and roboticly exited the kitchen, ascended the stairs, down the hall, and into his room.

She didn’t even notice she had been holding her breath until she rounded the doorway to find him missing from his reading chair as he always is every other night.

Her eyes frantically scan the room. He’s gone! He must know! He’s going to kill her! She swallowed hard, willing her leaden feet to awaken from their frozen shock and run! For god’s sake… RUN!!!

She hears the toilet flush from his en-suite and she closes her eyes in sweet relief. As she listens to the sink running she berates herself for being so paranoid.

How would he know? There’s no way he could know. Keep your head straight Bridget! Your life depends upon it!

He finally emerged from the bathroom looking pale and sickly.

“Thank you for tea, Bridget, but I seem to have a stomach bug.” He slowly crawls back under the covers of his bed before he finally looks over at her.

“Geez, Bridget. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She smiles meekly but says nothing. Only speak when told to speak.

“Tell you what, you’ve been so good to me lately, why don’t you enjoy the tea yourself?” Budget can only stammer. A rare gesture of kindness from him. Why, oh why now, of all the times?

He scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion before encouraging her. “Go on.”

She stands frozen like a deer on headlights. If she drinks it, she’ll be dead. But, if she doesn’t, she’ll also be dead. Eventually.

Bridget found herself stuck on that thought: eventually. And how long would that be, exactly? How long had she already been here? She lost count a long long time ago.

She was too tired to think and too tired to do “eventually” any longer. This was not exactly how she had planned to free herself of this man, but indeed, she held freedom of another sort within her hands.

And freedom was the one and only thing she had left to wish for in this life.

“Thank you for your kindness, Sir.” She gave him a small but sincere smile before she brought the cup to her lips.

Author's Personal Note

AUTHORS NOTE:
The Writer's Cramp Contest Entry - July 5, 2024 - Write a story or poem inspired by this prompt: Use the following words in your entry: Shelf - Apothecary- Midnight