Page 32 of Obsession

And yet, this is familiar territory—parry, thrust. There is almost a sense of relief in arguing.

Confronting him has awakened something I hadn’t realized I muted. The anger. Now, it’s here, and I’m forced to consider the indecency of it all. He lied to my face, told me he was leaving me, and then he did—he left me! He let me think that I could lead my own life, that I was safe, and then he watched—allowed, perpetrated—my heartbreak.

“Perhaps I could have handled things better,” Aris says, finally, surprising me.

It’s as close as I’ll get to an apology, but it isn’t enough. It just isn’t.

Suddenly, my anger leaves me in a rush, and I’m tired. And sad.

Aris made a room for me, tailoring it to my preferences. How does he remember a book series I mentioned once over a period of three years, yet fail in this regard? Why can he just not say sorry?

We spent so much time together in captivity. Years. Sometimes I could feel where he would go in my body before he decided to move himself. I could anticipate his dark jokes. And he knew me just as well. He knew that I often forgot to brush my teeth and reminded me to do it every night. He knew that I felt awkward under the attention of others and distracted me when the guards watched us.

And there’s the truth. This is why it hurts. It isn’t that he did it. It isn’t that he killed and betrayed and lied, but it’s that he did it to me.

“I don’t know who you are,” I start, tears rushing to my eyes—and, with it, cheeks heating from shame. It shouldn’t still hurt me; I shouldn’t still care. I know that, but I can’t stop the fire from burning. “When you were in me, we worked… Maybe not together, but there wasn’t this power imbalance that exists now.”

There’s a moment where I work out how to continue, and he watches all the while. Cat and the canary.

“I won’t forgive you for what you did to me. And I won’t forgive you for what you’re doing now,” I finish.

“I don’t need forgiveness.”

“Then what do you need?”

Tell me. Tell me, Aris, so I can take it from you.

So I can hurt you.

He doesn’t respond immediately. There’s an unidentifiable look on his face, his cavalier attitude wiped away, and he suddenly appears in front of me, eyes narrowed as he leans down.

Could my question have unsettled him?

“What do you want?” I push, trying to do it again.

His lips part, then press together again. “What is it you want? You know I will not be swayed, and yet you returned to me.”

“Because maybe I can sway you.” My heart beats furiously as his face tightens. I don’t know his expressions well enough—is he angry? If he were inside of me, I’d know, but we are entirely separate now.

“Explain,” he says.

“My motives for coming here aren’t entirely innocent.” I pause, and his brows push together, head tilting. The movement reminds me of when I was a child, trying to figure out a magician’s trick.

He is searching, but he won’t find a trick; there is none. I’m not an actress, and he is too clever; I have to go with the truth. Then again, maybe that is a trick itself—to make the truth into what I need it to be.

Maybe I’ve learned something from him, after all.

“I hear what you’re saying, and you’re… right,” I say.

“I’m right,” he repeats with disbelief, then smiles a little patronizingly, stroking my temper.

“You’re right,” I grit out and take a breath to calm myself. I was planning on telling him this anyway. Let him think he’s clawed it out of me, that he still has the advantage. “I know I can’t stop you, but maybe I could be some kind of… advocate for my people.”

“That’s why you returned?”

“Yes.” Sort of? It’s close enough to the truth. I do need to stay around him. “Maybe I can make some good from all of this. Maybe I could advise you.”

“Advise me? To do what?”

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