Page 41 of Imprisoned Obsession

What fireworks?

A shrill scream travels through the air, following an explosion of vibrant colors in front of me.

The car dulls the noise, but it resonates in my heart. Another wiggling light shoots into the sky and bursts into picturesque shades of purple. More popping sounds come with three scenic clusters of celebratory colors.

It’s Independence’s Day. I forgot, or rather, I have never cared about any holidays.

“Come, darling.” Elio hauls me out of his sleek black car, and I embrace the unwanted breeze.

The rich aroma of smoked barbecue hits me, but my mouth doesn’t salivate. Dread dominates my senses before the booming fireworks start again.

Elio strokes my knuckles gently and compassionately as he laces our fingers together. It’s an act of protectiveness.

The fireworks are flying into the sky rapidly. Neighbors have come out on their porches and lawns to watch the display, yet none of them register our presence.

Elio stands out for many reasons. His tailored suit, his towering height, or his mere intimidating presence. Not a single pair of eyes have cast a fleeting glance at us; they’re too enamored by the spectacle.

The fireworks are only the beginning of Elio’s surprise, an appetizer for the main course. He pulls me up the stairs of the dreadful house, confident and bold when he opens the door. Surprisingly, the door isn’t locked and gives way at his push.

“Neighbors,” I manage to blurt out. “Aren’t you breaking into someone’s house?”

Children are living here. It’s treated like a semi-orphanage, but the homeowners have had professional training to take on troubled children. It’s how they were able to fool many people with their façade and trick everyone into believing we were the ones at fault.

We were the bad children, and they were the saints coming to save us.

“We are like the gorillas in the selective attention test,” Elio reckons. “They won’t see us when they have fireworks to watch instead.”

I appreciate that he is minimizing the repercussions of illegal trespassing, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

“You never have to worry,” he says as the door closes softly behind us.

He smiles at my confusion. “You’re the apple of my eye.”

Elio stares at me like a predator stalking his prey, following me like a shadow, and dominating me like a boa constrictor. When I’m not melting in his arms and purring at his velvety voice, my heart is genuinely petrified by him.

“It’s time to face your fears,” he warns quietly.

My fears?

I look at what he’s scrutinizing.

My lungs rattle, air catching in my throat as I stagger back. Elio slings an arm around my waist, securing my clumsy steps and locking me to his side. He’s holding me too tightly as I heave anxiously.

The same homeowners I grew up with are chained together across the room, and something smells like rotten eggs. Several adolescents struggle in chains when they see me.

Small children are not kept here because they need so much supervision. The homeowners used to talk about small children bringing in more government money. But they found it was exhausting and too much trouble to care for them.

They stopped taking in small children and settled for teenagers. They’re disgusting and deserve to sit in rancid cells for the rest of their lives.

“W-Willa?” the man sputters in shock.

His wife whips her hair away from her face and gasps in relief. “Willa! Untie us!”

Her voice sounds the same, like nails on a chalkboard and snorting pigs. She had a distinctive laugh, making me hate it even more.

“You’re with him?” reproaching me sharply. “I’ll call the police, you insolent child! I raised you, and this is how you treat your mother?”

She’s not my mother; she’s not my anything. She is, however, the monster that deformed my heart and poisoned my soul.

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