Page 9 of Imprisoned Obsession

She sneezes suddenly. “You opened the door.”

“Oh,” I utter, “Apologies, darling.”

I close the door, effectively removing her escape route. She realizes her mistake immediately, and regret clouds her eyes. She nibbles on her plump lip while thinking the situation over.

“H-how’d you know my name?” she asks as she shuffles backward.

I know a lot more than her name. I have her life printed out and memorized for my convenience. And I had no trouble getting her Social Security number.

“My name is Elio,” I introduce myself as the lock snaps back into place.

Her eyes refuse to leave the lock, and her longing to escape excites me to a degree far beyond my expectations. I take a deliberate step forward, jolting her out of the petrified trance and forcing her attention back to me.

“I didn’t ask for your name,” she mumbles defiantly in a daring burst of courage that promptly deflates.

She stammers, panicked, “Stop. Don’t come closer!”

Her words bring me to a halt and nail my shoes to the polished marble flooring. She’s going to break into pieces I won’t approve of if this continues. I want to shatter her spirit into strategically planned fragments and then put them back together to form my masterpiece.

She will always be the most beautiful woman in my eyes, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for improvement.

“If you wish to leave, I will not stop you.” I gesture to the door, and her eyes follow the motion.

I sidestep away to ensure she knows that I won’t force her to stay. It will be more entertaining to let her fight against her compulsions. I’m well-aware of the outcome; she’s going to stay.

Her fear of me exceeds her survival instinct.

“You’re going to kill me,” she whispers.

Last night’s threat did stay in her mind. I weigh the benefits of correcting her, but none of them are useful to me.

I’ll let her figure out on her own whether her life is, or ever will be, in danger. She’ll learn that I only bruise her skin to curb my obsession with her, but it’s going to take time.

We have time.

“Are you?” she asks more cautiously. “It’s why you have me here, right? To torture me?”

I merely smile. A shiver shakes her body as her breathing falters. Willa mutters under her breath, incoherent words muddled together as she whimpers.

I close the distance, and she tries to scurry to the side. Her effort to dodge me ends as I clasp my firm hands around her fidgeting arms. She freezes with painfully rigid muscles, and her wide eyes don’t blink.

She murmurs anxiously, “Why are you doing this?”

“Why did you hurt Janice?” Willa stares in disbelief.

That woman meant nothing to me. I simply hate loose ends, an occupational hazard I take very seriously. The people I interact with have ties to the world of crime and access to power.

“Why did you burn my home down?” she asks, her voice fill with indignance.

That apartment complex was not her home. It was a place that bled her of money in exchange for a small space shared by two people. It was never her home, and it’s distasteful to call it that now that she has me.

I’m her home.

It’s irrational, and frankly, it’s a dangerous slope. I will ultimately end up being the worst kind of man. I want her and have tried to stop myself from picturing the moment when she smiles freely at me.

I haven’t tried hard enough because we wouldn’t be here if I had successfully blocked my desire to dominate her.

“I didn’t do anything to you!” she argues miserably. “I don’t even know you. I’ve never met you before!”

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