Page 117 of Obsession

“The truth.” Aris starts to circle me, a playful lilt entering his tone. “The questions that eat at you: why you are drawn to me, and I to you, why I went into, why I followed you instinctively when I didn't know my own name.”

He pauses, giving me an expectant look, but I’m not in the mood for whatever game he wants to play. “What are you talking about?” I demand.

He pauses, perhaps for dramatic effect, and then reveals a final, terrible truth: “You were created for me."

The words register slowly, but they don’t compute. I understand them on their own, but I’ve no idea what they mean put together.

Created… for him?

My head shakes on its own accord. "What?”

“How else can I put it?” He stops circling, resting in front of me. “You were molded, made. Crafted.”

“You’re just saying synonyms.”

“What else should I do to help you understand?”

“Understand that I’m…” I drift off and again shake my head, this time more forcefully. Made for him? “You're messing with me.”

His lips purse at the crack in my voice. “Am I?”

“Yes,” I say with less certainty. “You’re mad because of what I did, and I’m off-balance because I just saw my mother, so you’re trying to use that to hurt me even more.”

“Am I, Mary?” The look in his eyes cuts me. It’s the way he used to look at me—days ago, when I was all that he knew, all that he wanted to know. The look is honest and raw—a bit smug, yes, because this is Aris I’m talking to, but also earnest. “Think about it.”

I pause, then consider his words beyond the knee-jerk reaction to dismiss them. Created for him. The sentiment is offensive, and it doesn’t even make sense. “Assuming it’s even true—”

“It is.”

“Assuming,” I say more firmly, and Aris sighs. “Who are you saying ‘made’ me?”

“Who else? Sem.”

“Isn’t she dead?”

“Relinquished.”

“Same difference.”

He tilts his head as if to say, I’ll give you that. “She relinquished herself around the time that you were born,” Aris expounds. “Creating you was one of her last acts.”

My head pounds. He’s lying, I tell myself. He knows that you’re vulnerable and he’s making this up. It’s a terribly crafted lie, and I’ll catch him in it.

“Why would she do that?” I ask.

“For me. She made you for me.”

“No, okay, you lost me. Sem has been gone for years, and I’m not… some product. I’m a person. I was made the way that people are.” I point at one of the identical doors in the hall. “My mother’s in one of those.”

“Didn’t you read her book?” says Aris patiently. “She described you as something unnatural.”

“Because she’s cruel.”

“She was wrong, in some ways, but maybe she sensed something different in you.” His lips quirk. “Come, Mary. Work through the possibility.”

I give him an exasperated look that he returns with a raised brow. “Fine,” I grit out. He wants to play; let’s play. “Let’s say your sister made me, how was I made ‘for you?’ I'm nothing like you."

"Aren't you?"

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