Page 90 of Obsession

Aris takes me in his arms, rocking me while I cry.

Sometimes it astounds me—almost shames me—to think of how much comfort he brings. I know what he is, what he’s done; I’ve never forgotten. But he is a completely different person now.

He is everything I’ve ever needed.

Some nights, the energy that crackles between us is as tangible as the furniture that smashes, the shelves toppled and knocked over, as we push and pull at each other. Some nights, the seriousness in his eyes surprises me. I’m so used to his dubious questions and uncertainty, but, when he straddles me, he looks every bit the dominant king he has forgotten he is.

“Lay down,” he states.

Inarguable. An order.

I comply, yearning, ready for him, laughing and gasping as we move together, stretching and expanding.

It is bliss.

And we watch films.

And play games.

And talk.

And talk. And touch. And talk.

Bliss turns to boredom.

And boredom turns to resentment. Not toward each other—never at each another. But we’ve been counting, and it’s been months. The seasons are changing. How long must we stay?

The four corners of the cabin grow smaller each day. The rooms feel compressed each time we leave and enter again—stifling us, trapping us. Even when we go outside, just on the grass and far from the dark forest, there is still the feeling that we’re in a fish bowl. And a tiny one, at that.

We don’t want to stay. It’s starting to feel like we can’t stay, even; sometimes my head aches and spins when the front door shuts behind me. I become immobile, feet covered in cement, and I sink further into it, like quicksand.

It’s becoming harder and harder to pull myself out of those moments.

At length, we’ve discussed our options: summoning Jaegen, trying to leave on our own, practicing his abilities.

For every way forward, there are consequences to set us back. If Jaegen comes, he could strike out, act against us; he is so volatile. Even requesting new films or reading materials might set him off (“You want more?” he’d sneered once, when I asked for magic). If we tried to leave, we’d have no idea where we’re going. The woods might go on forever, and there’s no telling what lurks in its depths. If Aris summons his chaotic, world-ending power, what if he can’t control it? Worse yet, what if it triggers his memory and he reverts to who he was?

So, we continue on in limbo.

We discover that the TV has cable, suggesting that we’re still on Earth. There’s access to a variety of channels, and we often watch the news—which is essentially just hours devoted to bashing Aris and praising Jaegen.

With Aris’ disappearance, Jaegen has replaced him, the peaceful foil to his brother’s terror, the deus ex machina of mankind. On the surface, it’s a good thing. Jaegen is giving people hope; he’s fixing Aris’ chaos. But resentment stirs and grows the more that we watch Jaegen and his efforts. People are going back to normal; lives are slowly but surely resuming. Why can’t we be out there, too? Why do we have to stay locked away when we aren’t even a threat?

We aren’t the only ones unhappy with Jaegen.

“Here is someone who is above our ways, who will not bend to our laws, and yet you are keen to worship him. What happens when he decides, just as Aris decided, that we are beneath him?”

The reporter nods, then turns to her other guest, who is something like a priest of Jaegen’s. He’s wearing a vomit yellow robe with a collar that glitters orange from citrines woven into the fabric.

The man is vehemently shaking his head. “So we do not offend his ways. It’s that simple.”

“And how are we to—?”

The screen goes black, and I glance at Aris beside me. He’s sneering, nostrils flared, lips curled.

I sit up straighter.

“I cannot listen to this,” says Aris, setting the remote on the coffee table. While doing this, I see that his hands are shaking.

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