Page 41 of Obsession

I couldn’t stop myself. I reached down, fingers shaking, numb and black from frostbite as I stroked my misshapen face. This was why I needed to come up here. To see this, and learn: I was already dead.

As soon as I realized it, my body reanimated and grabbed me. The other corpses shot to life in a delayed jolt, their movement forcing me into their pile, screaming as I sank lower and lower until I suffocated on rotten flesh.

I shot awake in bed, panting and clutching my throat. I turned on the light and ran to the nearest mirror, desperate to confirm that I hadn’t succumbed to rot. Naturally, I hadn’t, but it still took hours to calm down.

It’s not the first nightmare I’ve had, nor the worst. I wonder if it’s my own mind torturing me, or if Aris has found a way inside.

Can’t sleep, can’t stay awake. No escape.

I read. Try to, at least, but I’m not engaged. The words are just words on a page—no story or emotion behind them—and, between the lines, I see blood splatters.

My mind drifts to the past: Henry, Simon, the Institute. What are they doing? Is Simon well? Where is Henry? Do they think of me? And what would my life be like if Aris had never attacked the mages?

But thinking these things is just another form of torture.

I pace. Try to read again. Pick at my food, so nervous I can’t eat at all.

Jaegen kept me waiting in London, and maybe Aris is doing the same. I should feel relieved for the reprieve, to have a moment to catch my breath, but I don’t know when he’ll return, or what he’ll do to me when he does.

Beyond that, I’m resentful to be tossed aside again.

It is night and I am in the throes of a nightmare when I’m shaken awake. I register a presence next to me and immediately swing at it. The presence catches my fist, encircling my hand.

“Well, then,” says Aris, amused as he gently squeezes.

I tug my hand back, and Aris waves his own. The room is quickly illuminated by candlelight, revealing the monster beside my bed.

He watches me closely. “You were having a bad dream.”

“Obviously,” I murmur and stand to put some distance between us. Aris watches me move toward the sofa without a word, and I notice a meal on the side table. “What’s this?”

“I won’t let you weaken yourself.”

I scoff. He really is that controlling; he’d take a break from ending the world to make me eat some chicken. “I’m not that fragile,” I mutter.

He gives me a look like I’m ridiculous, lasting so long that I’m unprepared when he appears before me. Without warning, he grabs me by the arm and shoves me against the wall, pulling back before I feel the sting of impact. Still, I’m trembling from the movement, and his grip on me is bruising.

He leans down, breath on my cheek. “You don’t have the slightest idea how fragile you are.”

Before I can respond, he shifts again, throwing us to the ground. We roll, once, twice, and by the time we stop, my body is covered with his own. His hands cage my wrists, grip like iron.

“Get off of me!”

“Escape.” He clinches my hands a little tighter, making me lightheaded.

Tears sting my eyes. “I can’t!”

“What was that?”

I know what he’s doing, and I’m still playing into it; there is no other way. “I can’t,” I grit out, humiliated and furious.

His grip lessens, smirking. “I just wanted to make sure that you knew.”

I turn away. “Does it make you feel strong, picking on me like that?” I mutter.

“I was only making a point.”

He releases me after a final push on my arms. Another show of his superior strength. But he doesn’t let me up; he’s still straddling me. If I try to stand, there’s a risk he’ll push me back down to berate me further. But staying like this is just as embarrassing.

---