Page 96 of Obsession

There is a chill in the air, abated by the jackets we packed, but the wind pierces the cotton. It isn’t cold enough to shiver, just mildly uncomfortable. The issue is that the temperature will drop throughout the night.

“We could sleep in the silo?”

He gives me a look that tells me exactly what he thinks of that. “I’m a god, and we’ve no choice but to sleep on the ground? Can’t I make us a bed, or take us somewhere?”

“You used to be able to teleport, but you can’t make things.”

Aris’ jaw works. Even now, decidedly less interested in his abilities, he doesn’t like hearing of his limitations. “We spent the entire day walking, and you’re telling me I can teleport?” says Aris.

“Well, you don’t know how to do it now, do you?”

He says, petulantly, “I could learn.”

“Before nightfall?”

Aris doesn’t respond, and we continue walking, passing the silo. And then: “So I’m supposed to have you sleep on the ground?” he demands.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, and he scoffs.

“And tomorrow, and the day after?” Aris asks. “We need a place where we can be safe and have a life together. I must relearn my power. Not because of avarice or because I am becoming who I used to be, but to provide for you.”

“The rules we made are there for a reason,” I say meaningfully.

He lets out a quiet scoff. I know he thinks I’m being ridiculous; he believes he could never revert, but I didn’t invent the wonder in his expression when he mowed down those trees. Death and decay will draw him, always; they are what he is, the concept he was created to exhibit.

Now, he values art and animals. But what happens once he actually sees a zebra and the allure is gone? What will draw his attention next?

“What do you propose we do?” he says.

“What?”

“You have shot down all of my ideas.”

“Because they’re bad,” I tell him, my scorn half-hearted. Truth is, I don’t have an alternative. I think he knows that.

“What about your family?”

I stiffen and pull my hand out of his to rub at my arms. I haven’t told him about my parents—my mother, more specifically. It wasn’t like I was trying to hide things, but it isn’t something I advertise, either.

“I’m disowned,” I say simply.

A pause. “Because of me,” he states.

Not a question, so I don’t answer it.

“Do you blame me?” asks Aris.

“We’re getting off topic.”

“I see, so now you want to talk about our homelessness.”

I shoot him a look as we continue trodding along. We’re at the edge of what might have once been a crop field. Now, the soil is like brown sand, the nutrients completely drained.

“It isn’t really your fault,” I say once I realize that he won’t let up. “My mom always hated me.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“No, actually. She wrote a book about it. Called me a monster. So… no family. No friends. No one.” I cross my arms over my chest, thinking of Simon, and then Henry. I wouldn’t know the first thing about contacting them, and neither would be willing to associate with Aris after what he did. “What’s with you? You’re being quiet.”

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