Page 108 of Obsession

Surely, someone is watching. Someone hears. I don’t see any cameras, but that doesn’t mean anything; I’m dealing with gods and magic.

I’m not used to being ignored. I’ve just spent the better half of a year alone with Aris. We were everything to each other and needed nothing more. We were always speaking, and I was attended to constantly. He would have died for me; he tried to kill himself so I might live. He never would have let me sleep alone, especially after my nightmares.

So he really isn’t the same Aris anymore.

The realization is a gut punch. The person I spent all that time with, the one I grew to care for and who cared for me, is gone. His memory is back; he is back. I knew this would be the case. I knew what I was doing before I burned away the rune, but the consequences of my actions are fully setting in now.

It wasn’t like I had a lot of time to consider what I was doing by restoring Aris’ memory; Jaegen was eating him, and all I knew was that I couldn’t lose Aris. I’d had it in me to hope that everything we’d done together would mean something, that it might bleed over when he returned to himself.

But now…

I took a gamble, and it didn’t pay off. In hindsight, I want to punch myself for even considering it. What did I think, that I could fix him? Did I really fall for that age-old trick?

I go back to the look in his eyes when we were in the castle and he touched the rune and realized my scheme. He was so utterly, fully finished with me. Is that what this is—have I been disposed of?

The thought powers another knock on the door, this one angry. Sure, I expected him to be upset, but shouldn’t he also be grateful? I saved his life; I stopped him from relinquishing himself. I could have let Jaegen win.

God knows Aris deserved to die after all he did. But I chose him. Does that mean nothing?

I glance at the medical supplies, working my jaw. Then again, maybe he’s already repaid that debt by treating me. The burns were substantial and might have killed me without medicine.

Spurned by my thoughts, pain rushes through my back, making me unsteady on my feet. I stumble back to the bed, sitting down ungracefully, just as a short, polite rap on the door sounds.

Before I can stand again, two men are striding inside. Silva, and someone in a white doctor’s coat who I don’t recognize. Silva shuts the door behind them as the doctor approaches me, his demeanor apprehensive.

“You’re awake,” he says, then looks at Silva. For direction.

Silva studies me. “Will you behave, or should I have him sedate you?”

I blink, surprised by the threat. Does he think that I have fight left in me?

After a moment, I dip my head, sliding further onto the bed. Though the doctor is the one coming closer, it’s Silva I watch like a hawk. I don’t taste blood anymore, the wound on my lip already closed, but it reopens when I bite down fiercely. My body’s repulsion to him is instinctive, and he clearly feels the same. The way that he looks at me is how I would expect Aris to if he were here. He stares like I’m less than what he excretes.

I nervously reach for my hair, then start when I find a bald spot. Jaegen, I think resentfully. He ripped it out.

My eyes flit to the doctor, jolting as he reaches for me. “Hey, what are you doing?” I demand.

“I need to check your bandages.” He glances at Silva again, then back at me. “And you won’t be able to remove your shirt on your own… May I?”

I nod cautiously, tense as he slides a loose T-shirt off of me. It wasn’t what I had on at the beach, and I don’t know who put it on. The thought of Silva touching my naked and unconscious body sends a wave of nausea through me.

Cool hands gently pull away the gauze on my back, the doctor working silently and efficiently. I have questions—how bad is it? Can I see the burns? But Silva is glaring, and I don’t feel comfortable asking.

“I need to put on topical antibiotics,” he warns. “It will sting.”

I nod my consent, though I don’t know if it matters.

Seconds later, a strained breath escapes my nostrils at the feel of cool gel on my skin. Sting is a bit of an understatement, but I don’t complain as he keeps going, reserving my energy toward trying not to cry.

Finally, the doctor pulls back to pile on new gauze, then helps me with my shirt. It’s frustrating trying to work my arms through the sleeves, and I hate looking weak in front of Silva, so I give up, putting one arm in and leave the other out, tucked to my side.

The doctor walks away from me, his posture growing more assured as more space grows between us. “I’ll have to see her again in a few hours,” he says, nodding jerkily at the table. “She can have one tablet in thirty minutes, but I’d like to start weaning her off of the Vicodin.”

I’m on painkillers? My eyes narrow at the knowledge. I don’t feel totally out of it, beyond general weariness, but my back is also hurting—my wrist throbbing, too. I guess I really am due for my next dose.

Silva nods, then follows the doctor to the door. He knocks once, and someone opens it from the outside. At first, I think Silva is going to follow the doctor out, but he stays put, watching the man leave.

When the door shuts, he turns back to me.

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