Page 121 of Obsession

And yet, you took it. Aris’ voice cuts into my head so violently that my skull vibrates from the pressure. It feels like it might cave in or explode outward or both somehow.

You said that you couldn’t blame me! I’m crying so hard that I can’t speak; if I tried, there would only be hiccuping sobs. Because Sem made me like this, for you.

You don’t believe that.

But you do! You said she made me to be tricky and to play with you. How is it my fault that I did what I did?

He sighs. It’s a quiet noise, but in the large, silent room, it rushes through the crowd. No one moves; everyone watches us. For once, I don’t feel anxious with so much attention on me, and I realize that this is how actors feel on stage when they become another person.

I don’t see the crowd. I don’t care about them. In a jumbled heap on the floor, I am focused on Aris alone.

Blame her, I insist. Or Jaegen. I’m just the pawn. The stupid human.

Look at you trying to worm your way out of this, he remarks. He takes a seat back on his throne, the ends of his lips quirking. For a moment, I think that I might have done something, pleased him, but then, he shakes his head. Unfortunately, it won’t work. This isn’t about the two of them; this is about us. You were played. You have been played all your life. But you have not been played in the way that you played me. And you must be. You must understand.

I do! It was wrong! I understand that it hurt you!

Hurt… Yes.

My hands curl into fists. The pressure on my skull has lightened, and his voice is softer now, almost gentle; it makes me think that I might be able to get through to him.

Aris, it doesn't have to be this way. You could just stop.

I send him pictures of the two of us—moments locked in embrace, how I felt when he handed me shells with a big, goofy grin, the way we watched parrots and the moon and the waves.

I remind him of these things desperately—don’t they matter? Doesn’t he see? We could be happy. It could be like before. Why does it have to end?

He stares at me, his lips tight, strained. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but for a single, seizing moment, I dare hope that he’ll let me go. I hope that I made an impact, that my memories have imprinted, that our fun together changed him.

“Nora,” says Aris aloud. It’s only a name, but in it lays a decision, and my hope collapses in a cold rush.

“No!” I cry as fingers grip the edges of my forehead.

I try to stand, to move and fight but—

My mind stutters. Slows. My vision blurs around the edge, like I’m drunk and in need of an optometrist. My thinking changes, too; the world becomes abstracted, like a dream or a theory.

There are people looking at me. My gaze slides off of their faces like water on glass, unable to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. I pick a single person out and try to force my gaze to remain on him, but the edges of my vision tunnel and warp like I’m looking through an abnormal lens. Soon, it doesn’t seem like he has a face at all. And is he even still standing there?

Things I used to know the name for—wood, table, chair—these words are erased and I understand only the color. Red. Green. I look at these things and see the shapes of them, hardly registering the purpose they hold.

“No,” I say, voice… wrong.

This is wrong. I remember that I used to be smart. I used to know these things. I used to be able to look at these things and know…

What did I know?

And then, as I know that I knew them, I forget that as well. And all that I know are shapes and colors, warm understanding.

The world reforms.

I know the names of things. I understand the expressions on the faces of others. But my brow wrinkles. Why was I thinking about expressions? Why am I looking at these people, and who are they?

I look around for answers and eventually glance up.

There is a man sitting on a big chair, staring down at me with black eyes. His skin is pale, his limbs long. His beauty is sharp.

He smiles at me and holds out a hand.

---