Page 15 of Imprisoned Obsession

“I—” I hiccup frantically, “Please, can—”

“Have you finished, darling?”

I snatch my hand back as if the metal bar had burned the sin of my transgression into the skin. His voice travels closer, and my heart sinks as the fear screams in my ears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I simply couldn’t stand to be away from you for too long.”

Elio pauses with a blank smile. “It makes me restless.”

Bernadette doesn’t mention what transpired moments before and just repeats what she said about emailing the designs to him. That’s when irrational loathing of her uselessness slaps me in the face.

She could help me, but she doesn’t.

I can help myself. I have legs to carry me away, I have a voice to scream, and I have a longing to stay alive.

It’s not her fault. I’m the only one to blame for my demise.

I’m just too terrified of Elio.

Bernadette rolls her luggage out as she departs. Her back disappears around the corner as Elio offers to show her to the front door.

What am I doing?

This isn’t like me at all. I have always looked after myself. I never let anything I don’t like happen to me. I avoid it when I can or just get rid of whatever is bothering me immediately.

I can’t seem to get rid of Elio. He’s akin to an apparition of my darkest demon.

“You’re treading a very thin line, darling,” he chides huskily from behind.

His hand spreads possessively across the small of my back, gently turning me to face his apathetic eyes and displaying his dominance.

“However, you did not disappoint me.” Elio hums contemplatively.

The stiffness of his neck says otherwise. The skin is stretched so tightly that a trace of black ink slithers above the collar of his white button-down shirt.

My voice creaks obnoxiously. “You’re an attorney.”

It’s a statement that my brain doesn’t want to fully grasp. When I do accept it, I’ll lose any shred of hope about beating this.

“I am,” he concurs. “Have you been talking about me with Bernadette?”

I shake my head unsteadily. I asked one question, an innocent one to gauge how close she is to Elio before planning my escape. That thought is once again destroyed.

“You may ask me anything, and I’ll answer to the best of my ability if it doesn’t breach client confidentiality.” His offer sounds more like a command than a kind suggestion.

“No,” I whisper tentatively.

Elio presents me with the same atrocious charming smile. “I insist, darling.”

Chapter Four

Elio

I observe the dark, silent house. The stark comparison with its neighboring homes ricochets back to me.

The abrasive gloves scratch my cool skin, covering the back of my hands with sliver-like bites. I’m not the biggest fan of these gloves, but they do fit my hands better than most. The enclosed stitching prevents trace DNA from adhering to surfaces.

They’re chafing me, but normal gloves don’t provide a foolproof seal around my hands.

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