Page 10 of Obsession

The rest of the day passes slowly. I spend my time showering, pacing, and reading the book of runes until my vision blurs. When I get hungry, I order more food, and when it’s night, I listen to the city until I fall asleep.

The next day, I do the same.

And the next.

By the fourth day, I’m sick of it. I’ve studied every painting in the suite as if I could ever replicate the work and have ordered almost everything on the service menu. There is nothing to do here but watch television and read.

I feel like a toy set aside and forgotten about. Henry would tell me to wait and be patient. Aris would tell me to burn the place to the ground. My eyes squeeze shut at the thought of them. Despite everything, my thoughts often turn to the pair.

Jaegen said that other magic-users might find me if I go outside. Would Henry come for me?

Over the last four days, I have obsessed over what I might say to him. I’ve written and rewritten monologues, until crumpled pieces of paper littered the ground like the floor of a tortured artist. I’ve tried, again and again, to explain how I feel, but I can’t match words to the extent of my heartbreak. Maybe it’s a limitation of English and another language would explain it better. Maybe this pain is something that defies lexicon and I need to take up art and draw pictures to express my grief, but what would that look like?

Black, angry blots of ink staining paper. Shattered glass. A girl marionetted, strings controlled by a dark, unseen figure.

I want to go outside, but I couldn’t bear it if I encountered Henry. And what if I don’t see him? What if he hasn’t been looking for me?

All of my actions are influenced by the choices of others. Such has become my life; I resign myself to my circumstances, and I have been this person for so long that I don’t know how to change, or if change is even possible.

I wonder if I’ve always been this way and have just blamed Aris for my faults. But now that Aris is gone, now that the Following and the mages don’t hang over my head and I entered into a bargain with Jaegen on my own volition, I realize that I haven’t taken responsibility for anything.

After four days of this back and forth, I finally say screw it and leave.

I rush out of the fancy hotel lobby, ignoring inquisitive looks from doormen as I bask in the breeze. To be clear, the air quality in London is nothing special, but it feels fantastic after being stuffed up. I want to pause and take it in, but the hotel is located somewhere central, so I’ve stepped into what is almost a stampede. To avoid being trampled, I have to shuffle along until I spot a curve and step out.

No one pays me a passing glance, so it seems my rune isn’t even necessary. Still, I stay vigilant.

Once I get my bearings, I resume walking, scurrying to a less crowded side of the street, and it’s then that I realize that I don’t have a key to my room, nor do I know my room number. My footsteps falter, and someone crashes into me and shoves me along, calling me a bloody something or the other. I’m too busy cursing myself to catch his curse.

I’m a foolish what and what? Yes, I’m aware. I was so antsy to get out that I didn’t think it through.

Damn. What do I do? Go to the front desk, and say… what? I’ve no idea what name the room is even under.

The crowd is suddenly stifling, and I feel boxed in. I hurry into a tourist shop, keeping my head low as I try to calm down. It’s starting to get dark—where will I sleep tonight? Should I summon Jaegen? But I left the book of runes in the room, not thinking I’d need it. I’ve no idea how to call for him. I have no money either, and I’ll be getting hungry soon.

God, was I really complaining about the free room service earlier? Four days of luxury and I’d forgotten the hunger pains from the forest.

My eyes scan a wall of magnets with differently-sized symbols of London: the monarchy, phone booths, royal guards. Some are less creative, with just the name of the city pasted in a bold font. The unrealness of the situation hits me then, the fact that I’m actually in London.

Anxiety ebbs, wonder and curiosity taking its place.

I lift my gaze and look around the rest of the shop—at T-shirts and figurines, postcards and mugs, stuffed animals and packaged candies. I do a quick walk around, struck by the merchandise. In my hotel room, it didn't feel real that I was in London, even when I spotted the double-decker buses out the window.

It’s real now. When the one guy cursed at me before, he said it in a British accent. Because he’s English, and I’m in England. It’s incredible.

For all it might cost me, I’m glad that I left the hotel and am able to experience the city. I’d never hoped to experience travel. Just a few months ago, I was living in a wizard’s basement! I’d resigned myself to that, as I’d resigned myself to all of it.

Now, the possibilities nip at me, bits of skin tugged in every direction. I can do whatever I want. I could walk for miles, or sit, or find a bar and flirt with a guy. Isn’t that what girls my age do when they’re broken up with?

As I pass a mirror, I spot a smile on my face, and stop, struck by the sight. I compare it to how I looked in the supermarket bathroom, eyes lightless. Now, there is purpose in my gaze.

I look around again. Couples are chatting, holding up shirts to gauge sizes, a man chews on snacks he paid for, a boy clutches an overpriced stuffed animal, begging his mother to buy it for him. It’s all so normal. And…

And I want to live.

That thought is less of a nip and more of a bite, a chunk taken out of me. Because I won’t; I won’t live. And not in the way that everyone dies in eighty or ninety years, the inevitability of a body shutting down. It's not something I have no choice in; I am actively picking this. Returning to Aris and acting against him will probably result in my death.

My smile now gone, I notice a girl looking at me out of the corner of her eyes. Her brows are furrowed, and I quickly turn and leave before she realizes that she knows me.

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