Page 43 of Imprisoned Obsession

People like being bad. Decades of philosophy mean nothing when it comes to resentment.

I don’t want to open my eyes one day and realize it’s too late to turn around, too late for redemption, too late to forgive myself for being weak.

“Darling,” Elio voices through a deep chuckle. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“I am.” I trace the sharp patterns of the engraving on the lighter.

Suddenly, ethics are fickle ideas, and being good is exhausting. I don’t want to be a good human at this moment when I am staring at those monsters.

I want to be the Willa discovered by Elio, the one with the potential to be better than a lifeless puppet.

Don’t do it, the kind voice in my ear whispers.

My fingers snap the lighter closed, stopping the dancing fire. Elio’s hand twitches aggressively on my hip, fingers pinching my dress and cruelly admonishing the skin underneath it.

“It’s not right,” I breathe timidly.

More fireworks wash away the sound of their screams. The teenagers fight the chains as the two adults try to move their legs, but everyone is tied together by their wrists and ankles.

“What is not right about it?” Elio asks without the expected anger at my hesitation.

“Killing children?” he inquires while humming. “They will be better off leaving this life.”

“I can’t do that to them!” I protest heatedly as I spin to him.

I’m aware he’s capable of saying heartless things like this, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Elio’s amber eyes stare humorlessly, and the glacial shift thrusts a dagger into my heart.

“They don’t need to go through what you experienced,” he mutters grimly. “You had the unfortunate luck to meet me. A curse, if you will.”

Fury churns in my stomach, cursing the tightness of the corset when I grasp his arm tightly. His suit crinkles as I frantically pull myself closer to his snarling chest.

“I’m lucky I met you!” I correct with a frown. “You helped me see my fears and overcome them!”

He regards me as a loud boom outside breaches the dark living room.

“You haven’t,” he notes. “You will always be that terrified little girl, helpless against their control and useless—”

“Not useless,” I snap bitterly, “I’m not useless, I can—”

“Can what?” he taunts with a cruel smile. “You’re shaking, darling. How pitiful. You still can’t stand up to her.”

The crisp clicking of the metal lighter sparks with crackling ribbons of fire. It dances sensually, burns bitterly, and mocks my fear.

With a flick of my wrist, the lighter sails smoothly through the air. Their screams of panic and pleading for mercy explode into terrified cries of agony and gut-wrenching torture.

It’s okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.

“I’m a good girl.”

“Good girls are innocent,” Elio surmises. “Were you ever innocent, darling?”

No, I never was.

The fire doesn’t spread beyond the group of writhing bodies. They look like logs on a bonfire with limited usefulness to be tossed aside.

I’m not one of them. I have Elio. He’ll take me wherever he goes, I’m not alone in this world.

“That’s enough.”

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