Chapter 37

The steam from the bowl curled into the air, a fragrant dance of herbs and warmth. Monica sat rigidly, her posture a disciplined arc over the table where the colors of the kitchen—pale blues and sunlight—played upon the surfaces.

"Come on, Victoria," she said, her voice soft but firm, "you need to eat."

Victoria, draped in the shadows of her wheelchair, seemed so small, her presence diminished to the space she occupied beside the table. Monica dipped the spoon into the soup, cradling a careful amount, and lifted it toward Victoria"s lips.

"For strength," Monica coaxed, "just a little."

The spoon hovered with an unspoken promise, trembling slightly as if it bore not just sustenance but hope.

Victoria"s lips parted, and the spoon's tepid offering brushed against her tongue. "Ugh," she sputtered, recoiling as though the taste had physical form. "It"s awful."

"Shhh…." Monica"s brow furrowed in concern. She set the spoon down, reaching across to pat Victoria"s hand.

"You know I"m not much of a cook," she said with a half-hearted chuckle. "But it"s nutritious. Your body needs this."

"Why does it have to taste so bad?" Victoria muttered, turning her head away.

"I'm doing my best here. Your father," Monica began, the tone of her voice shifting, now edged with a solemn duty, "he asked me to look after you should anything ever happen to him." She locked eyes with Victoria, ensuring the gravity of her words settled between them. "I promised him."

"My mom would"ve made it taste better," Victoria whispered almost to herself, a tear betraying her stoicism.

"Sarah," Monica scoffed quietly, her hands tightening around the bowl. "She didn"t have your best interests at heart. I do, Victoria. I always have." The spoon clinked against the china as Monica gathered another mouthful. "Let"s try again, for strength, for your father."

"I don't want to."

"But you have to. Open up," Monica said, her voice soft but firm as the spoon approached Victoria"s lips once more.

"I can"t," Victoria murmured, a hand weakly pushing Monica"s away. "It makes me feel sick."

"Victoria, you need to eat." The spoon was insistent, edging closer.

"Please, no more." Her voice was a thin whisper, eyes glistening with the effort of defiance.

Monica paused, her expression hardening. "If you don"t eat, we"ll have to use the tube."

At the mention of the feeding tube, a shudder coursed through Victoria"s frail frame. She looked at Monica, the plea in her eyes raw and unguarded—a tear shaped in the corner of her eye.

"Please, I"ll try. Just… not the tube."

"Then, eat," Monica insisted, her tone leaving no room for further protest.

"Okay," Victoria relented, tears spilling over as she opened her mouth to accept another spoonful.

With a spoon poised like a sculptor over marble, Monica waited for the moment of surrender.

"Good girl," Monica praised as if speaking to a young child rather than a teenager confined to the bindings of a wheelchair. With practiced care, she slid the spoon past Victoria"s reluctant lips, the warmth of the broth preceding the taste.

Victoria"s face contorted, a dance of muscles weaving expressions of disgust and defeat. Her tongue betrayed her, recoiling against the flavor that invaded her mouth.

"Swallow," Monica commanded gently, yet her eyes sparkled with a sense of triumph that belied the softness in her voice.

The soup made its reluctant journey down Victoria"s throat, each spoonful an unspoken battle. Her face remained pinched in distaste, a silent testament to her inner loathing for the meal and, perhaps, for the hands that fed it to her.

"Every spoonful is a step toward recovery," Monica said, offering Victoria the brimming utensil. "Strength comes with nourishment."

Victoria"s mouth opened mechanically, a trace of resolve flickering in her eyes as she accepted the tepid liquid once again. She swallowed, wincing subtly.

"See? You"re doing well," Monica coaxed, her words clipped with urgency.

"Feels like swallowing needles," Victoria muttered after another spoonful, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Your body needs it," Monica replied, dismissing the complaint with a wave of her hand. She scooped up more soup, watching as Victoria steeled herself for the next bite.

"Can"t we try something else?" Victoria asked, her plea soft but firm.

"Soup"s what the doctor ordered." Monica's response was automatic, her focus unyielding. "Finish it."

Victoria nodded, the corners of her mouth downturned. She took another spoonful, determination etched into the lines of her face, a silent acknowledgment of the ordeal. Monica"s gaze never wavered, capturing each moment of Victoria"s reluctant compliance.

"Good girl," Monica murmured, the pride in her voice failing to mask its commanding edge. The spoon clinked against the bowl as she scooped another portion of the murky broth.

Victoria"s lips parted, accepting yet another mouthful. Her face twisted, a silent scream etched into the lines around her mouth. She gagged slightly but managed to swallow, her body convulsing with distaste.

"Nearly there," Monica said, peering into the bowl. Only a few spoonfuls remained in the watery grave of vegetables. "See, you can do this."

"Can I stop now?" Victoria"s voice quivered, each word laced with the hope of reprieve.

"Almost done," Monica assured, the finality in her tone brooking no argument. She watched, almost clinically, as Victoria forced down the last of the soup, the grimace clinging stubbornly to her features like ivy to ancient brickwork.

"Every bit," Monica instructed, her voice a firm whisper. She held the spoon just inches from Victoria"s mouth.

Victoria"s eyes locked onto the quivering surface, her throat working to muster saliva for the task.

"I can"t?—"

"Shh." Monica cut her off, tender yet unyielding. "It"s for your own good. Strength comes with nourishment."

The spoon hovered, waiting. Victoria willed her lips to part, her body yielding to the command more than the plea within her. The warmth of the liquid did nothing to comfort the chills that danced up her spine.

"Swallow," Monica coaxed, her eye tracking the painful journey of the broth down Victoria"s throat.

Gulping down the bitterness, Victoria"s face contorted once more, a battle of revulsion and obedience. The empty bowl clattered lightly as Monica set it down, a hollow victory on the wooden table.

"See?" Monica"s voice softened fractionally. "All done."

Victoria nodded, her eyes glistening not with gratitude but with the effort it took to keep everything down. The promise of no more forced her into submission; the taste lingered like a threat.