Page 113 of Obsession

“Do you truly think,” begins Aris, “that I even care about you anymore?”

My eyes sting. The words themselves hurt, not to mention the way he says them, the way he looks at me while speaking them.

And yet.

He got me a doctor. Gauze for my burns.

He brought me here, to see this. To prove something to me.

Obviously, he still cares.

His jaw juts at my thoughts, but he does not contest them. In fact, they embolden him, guiding him to the truth: he is hurt, and I was the one who hurt him. For a moment, I am clinically fascinated that I have that effect on him.

Aris ceases his trembling, rage and sorrow fading from his expression as he regains his composure. He says, "You stole my memory."

“Aris—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he interrupts. Aris takes a few steps away, keeping his black eyes on me all the while. Distrustful.

“Aris,” I repeat, nervous as he continues to move back. “What are you doing?”

“I will give you time to explore.”

“What?”

“To learn, as I said, how good you have had it, and how tolerant I have been.”

“Wait, what?” I say, running toward him—but as fast and hard as I sprint, I gain no ground and he is only moving farther away.

Down the impossible hallway, past shut doors with terrors lurking inside.

I keep running, panic driving the useless motions, until he disappears entirely, swallowed by shadow.

“Aris!”

Suddenly, the impossible hold keeping me in place breaks and I stumble to right myself before face-planting on the floor. Steadying, I look down the hall, turning in a full circle to get a better view.

There’s no sign of him.

Chapter twenty-seven

I look around again, expecting someone to jump out, but the hall is eerily silent. I am alone.

Shuddering, I move to the wall and slide down, purposefully careless in the maneuver. When shockwaves of pain race through me, I nod. This agony translates into a language I understand. But it isn’t enough.

I lace my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands and yanking hard, how Aris did when we laid in the throes of passion. But it doesn't have the same effect.

Slowly, I let go, bringing my good arm around my thighs. The waves of pain fizzle out. They aren’t enough to stop the realizations. The terrible truths.

He left me.

He is really himself again.

What have I done?

Before Aris, I never understood the concept of the ouroboros: a snake fixed in a circle, devouring its own tail. Never biting down, never letting go, it continues. Forever. Why? Such a pointless existence, I thought, but it’s what I’ve become. Not killing Aris, not committing to him. Punisher, the one being punished.

I start to cry—on and on, until the sound of my sobbing becomes amusing somehow and I begin laughing. Everything is so not funny that it’s hilarious: Jaegen sending me nightmares, using me this whole time, Aris placing me here.

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