Page 79 of Obsession

I go to insert the disk, motioning him to watch so he can learn a new way to pass time at night. I show him how to operate the VCR and turn on the television, explaining a few buttons and menu selections, and, soon enough, the movie is ready to be played. By now, my food has cooled and we’ve returned to the couch, with Aris buzzing with excitement next to me.

I can’t help but smile, remarking, “You used to like movies.”

He glances at me, pleasantly surprised. “I thought that you didn’t know me well.”

The opening credits roll, a camera panning over a city with skyscrapers and cars speeding across a bridge. It’s raining, with a soft instrumental in the back; the combination makes me slightly emotional.

“I knew you some,” I say.

Chapter eighteen

Days pass into a week, where I spend every moment waiting for Aris to jolt back to reality and tear me to shreds. As he watches me curiously, I watch him cautiously.

We watch films. We play games.

And we talk.

Oh, we talk.

The questions are endless. Like a hydra, each one answered spawns three more. Some are harmless and easy to answer; others are more complicated. He wants to know about himself. And me. How do we know one another? Why were we in that castle?

Why did he have servants? Why was I not safe?

I’m not imaginative enough to create an intricate new reality, nor am I smart enough to remember each lie. Aris, on the other hand, has perfect recall, and it would be incredibly easy for him to catch something and unravel my story.

So, when he asks these questions, I give him the truth, but as crumbs—to his frustration. Admittedly, a nasty part of me enjoys his frowns and the way his brows scrunch together every time I deny him. It’s sadistic, and I’m taking it out on the wrong version of Aris, but it’s the only revenge I have.

I was under the shadow of his thumb for years. Now, it’s his turn to suffer half answers. It’s time for him to feel dizzy assembling the pieces in his head.

Luckily, he abides by the rule of not using his abilities—if he even knows how to summon them. When he gets annoyed, his first inclination is not to strike out, but to pout. If I didn’t know for a fact that this was Aris I was dealing with, I would never believe it—the taming of the Devourer.

And I do think he’s been tamed. Indeed, he is content only when I am happy and our interactions are good. He reminds me of ducklings imprinting on humans. Maybe that’s what happened—I was the first thing he saw when he lost his memory, and now he thinks of me as his mother.

But… that’s not right.

Whatever his attachment is to me, his affection is not like a son with his mother.

This morning, I awoke in his arms. Not entirely surprising, considering he’s been sneaking into my bed more and more often. In the most innocent sense of the word, he likes sleeping with me. He can’t sleep himself, but he likes to lay there and listen to me breathe, so he says. I hadn’t scolded him before because it wasn’t hurting anyone, and it seemed to entertain him.

Until today.

This morning, once I realized what was happening, I went tense. In response, a strong arm wound across my chest and pulled me snugly against a familiar body.

I let out a long, frustrated breath, and he copied me, taking a long, contented sigh instead.

“Aris,” I said stiffly.

For a moment, he pretended not to hear me, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Yes?” he said innocently.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m holding you.”

I shut my eyes. I wasn’t angry that it was happening, I wasn’t upset because it felt bad or because I didn’t want it; I was enraged because I did. His cool breath on the back of my neck, the way his legs curled over my own, his hair tickling my cheek, these were welcome sensations. He held me lovingly, in the way I’d always craved to be touched: desired, wanted.

But this was wrong. He didn’t even know what he was doing.

“Let go,” I said tightly.

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