The Poison Morality by Stacey Kathleen Page A

realized she was asleep, he sat back in the chair and drifted off to sleep as well.  Soft snoring woke Sophie momentarily in the partial darkness; only the light filtering in from the other room rendered just enough for her to see Oliver’s outline slumped in a chair. 
    He sacrificed his comfort for her, helped her, a genuine good deed but he wanted something, answers to his accusations and…what was it again?  Half asleep, her memory was hazy.  Oh yes, a date, eating at the same table, and conversation.  She started to rollover until the sharpness reminded her, she cried out and Oliver stirred, awakened by the slightest sounds.
    In the dimness he couldn’t tell if she was awake or not but felt her cheek with the back of his fingers, not caressing but just enough to make sure she wasn’t feverish and left the room, closing the door behind him.  She was cool now so he slept on the sofa not wanting her to be surprised to see him at her bedside in the morning.
    ***
    The sun in her eyes indicated late morning but she stayed in bed listening to the muffled sounds of breakfast being made behind the door.  The sizzling of bacon, the toaster popping up, the kettle clicking, the clanking of mugs and once the smell drifted under the door into the room she found that she was famished.  Confused, she had forgotten where she was and then remembered but before panicking, she realized, if he was going to hurt her, he would have done so.
    The events of yesterday lingered over her like a dark cloud.  Sitting up, she paused, the numbing agent had worn off and her side stung and throbbed.  Quiet as she could, after she had gotten used to the pain, she turned the door knob and daylight filtered in, now she could hear music underneath the sounds of Oliver’s cooking noises.
    On tip toes, she went to the bath to freshen up.  The mirror revealed a version of her that she had never seen before, she was horrified.  Darkness circled her eyes, she was paler than usual, even her lips lost colour and her hair looked like the snakes on Medusa’s head.  She ran her hands through it to try to tame it back down.  Not trying to impress but mortified that he or anyone would see her in this way was a little too embarrassing.  But sneaking out the front door was probably not an option and the smell of the food was too tempting.  He sees sick people all the time, he was used to it, she reasoned.  One thing’s for sure, he wouldn’t bring up dates again and with that thought, she tousled her hair a little again, that should turn him off, but decided against it and attempted to smooth it back down again.
    The floor was cold under her bare feet.  He noticed her, fry pan in hand and smiled, “Good morning, I hope you’re hungry.”  He too was barefoot and wearing jeans and a tee shirt, she noticed he was thin and agile and then she looked away quickly.
    “What’s the music,” she asked, to keep from talking about anything he might be thinking.  She sat at the small table on the edge of the kitchen and watched him move.  He was stealthy in everything apparently.  He didn’t see her cringe when she sat down.
    “Opera.”
    She sighed loudly, “Yes, I know that much, but what is it?”
    “It’s from Mozart’s The Magic Flute; it’s the aria,” he was waiving around the spatula, thinking, “Queen of the Night or something like that.  Do you like it,” he scraped scramble eggs on top of toast, the table already set with utensils and mugs of tea.
    “I do.  I’ve never heard anyone’s voice do that before, it’s,” not sure the word to use, “wonderful,” he set the plate before her and she breathed deeply, cringing again.
    “Would you like to go to an opera or the theatre sometime?”
    Obviously looking like hell was ineffective at deflecting any mention of dating.  She nervously pulled on the curls that dangled past her shoulders.  “I’m not sure,” was the best answer she could give.  Yes, was the truth, no,