Page 20 of Obsession

I push him away, rebuking the intensity of my attraction to this man. “I wasn’t suggesting anything, Mr. Middleton. I just want my sketch back.”

“You mean my sketch?”

He doesn’t look at all fazed by this exchange between us on the surface, but his eyes are damn near communicating that he plans to devour me. This isn’t some college boy who’ll beg me to suck him off. No, this is a man who’ll have me down on my knees with a single word.

I don’t fuck my employees.

His words echo back in my head, and I snap out of my sudden shell-shocked state. Falling under this dangerous man’s spell and into his bed is probably the worst thing I could do. This job is simply a means to an end. I work to eat and pay for school, and that’s it. That’s all it could ever be.

“I wasn’t hitting on you!” My words are furious. He’s making assumptions about me without any valid reasons. “And that sketch is for my art class. I demand that you give it back.”

“Why would you draw me of all people?”

“I – There’s no particular reason.” I stumble over my words. “I don’t know. I mean, I had to draw somebody, and so I just drew you. Give it back.”

“I don’t think so,” his words slither out of his mouth like a snake. “I just told you. I don’t like my picture–“

Panic begins setting in.

“But I’ll fail the course if I don’t hand this in today. Look, I’m sorry, I’ll never draw you again. I swear. I just - I need to use this one. I don’t have to name it anything. No one will ever know it’s you. Please.”

I hate begging.

I detest being forced into a position where I have to toss away my pride and beg so desperately, but people love putting me in that position for some reason. They love tearing away at my self-respect until I’m groveling at their feet. Everyone in my life has done that to me so far except a scant few.

Why did I expect this man to be any different?

Mr. Middleton frowns as he looks at me, and there’s a strange emotion in his eyes. “You don’t have to get that upset. Here.”

My hands shake as I snatch back the drawing and hold it against my chest. I feel cold all over, and suddenly, I want to leave, but he’s holding me by my shoulders and guiding me to the couch, ordering me to “Breathe.”

I shake off his touch. “I’m fine. I’m okay. Like I said, I need this for my class.”

“I get it.” He lowers his voice as if he’s attempting to calm down a frightened child. “It’s fine.”

“I won’t draw you again.”

My heartbeat is slowing down as I glance at him. How can I explain to somebody like him what it’s like to live in my shoes? He would never understand why something so slight in his eyes could have me so panicked. I can’t afford to make one misstep in school...hell, in my life. Every decision I make matters.

“It’s a good drawing. Do you mind if I look at it again?” He holds out his hand as he simultaneously asks the question. I suppose it isn’t really a request but more of a demand, so I reluctantly hand over the sketch again. “Why is it so important?”

I suppose his question is straightforward and may be warranted based on my overreaction, but I feel like I’ve explained myself enough. Of course, I realize that a man like him won’t take no for an answer, so I purse my lips and reply, “It’s for a mid-semester project. The top five students can present some of their work in an art exhibition next month. I need to win it.”

We all have to hand in five pieces each and this is my last. Usually, the charcoal sketch isn’t looked at as carefully as the earlier submissions, which is partly why I drew it so hastily, but I still have to hand it in with the rest of my work. An incomplete would disqualify me.

“Which exhibition?”

“Do you even know anything about art?”

“Which exhibition?” He repeats with less patience.

“There’s one at The Box Gallery next month,” I huff.

“I see.”

He hands me back the file, and I hold it tightly, watching him warily as he shrugs into his shirt and buttons it up.

“You can put it back in your bag.”

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