Page 38 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

“So much for him helping,” I mutter, bending down to pick up the ball from where it’s fallen.

“Maybe he’s feeling neglected,” Ezra says. “That was good progress for today, anyway.” He glances up from his notebook, and concern etches lines on his forehead. “Your nose is bleeding again.”

“Oh.” I wipe at it and see that he’s right. “That happens.”

“I hope we didn’t push you too hard.”

I wave a hand, unconcerned. “It’s just a nosebleed. I feel fine.”

“You had them when we explored your memories too. It could be a symptom of mental strain. Or your abilities working against you when you’re stressed…”

I give him an exasperated look. “Or it’s just a nosebleed. They’ve been happening all the time lately. Probably the dry air.”

“Hmm.” Ezra, looking unconvinced, scribbles again before shutting his notebook. “Well, regardless, it’s a good place to call it a day. We made some progress.”

“I guess.” Levitating a ball hardly seems like a win, but it’s better than nothing.

Ezra, at least, seems encouraged. “We’ll try again tomorrow. Let me grab a tissue, and we can talk about next steps.”

I nod and thank him, and the moment he’s out of the room, I stand and walk to the viewing window. I stare into the next room, which appears empty once more, though I know Dorian is lurking somewhere.

“Why are you trying to sabotage me?” I whisper. “I’m trying to help us both.”

I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or to myself. But either way, no answer comes.

Chapter Eighteen

Over the next couple of weeks, I slowly gain control of my abilities during my sessions with Ezra. It becomes easier to call upon them, until all it takes is a flicker of intent for me to lift an object above my hand.

I’m still not able to control anything larger than a few wooden blocks on command, even though IknowI’m capable of lifting the entire table. Ezra is patient, but I’m irritated with myself.

More reassuring, however, is the fact that Dorian seems stronger as well. The more I use my powers, the more solid, more real, he seems to become. When we’re practicing in the observation room, he spends more time visible than not, wandering restlessly in his cell while we do our tests. Sometimes he picks up the objects in his room in imitation of me, juggling wooden blocks when I lift them up, bouncing his ball against the glass while I levitate mine. I sense him watching through the window.

But whenever I try to speak with him, he disappears again.

It’s becoming clear that Dorian is intentionally avoiding me, and it’s driving me mad. It should be easy to get the truth about what happened from him. I wouldn’t begrudge him if he managed to spin a convincing lie for Ezra and the MRF, but he doesn’t do either of those things. It’s like he doesn’twantto be free.

Every morning, I arrive at the MRF with the hope that I’ll have a breakthrough—with controlling my powers, remembering the truth, proving Dorian’s innocence. But every evening, I leave disappointed and return to my empty house.

I find solace in the fact that progress continues there, too. Every evening, I continue practicing my powers until I’m too mentally exhausted to continue. And my memories are continuing to trickle in, as well. Just small things, moments and flashes of feelings around the house, but it’s encouraging.

I’m leaning over the kitchen counter, reaching for a mug, when a memory hits me like a truck. A flash of me bending over the counter with Dorian behind me. His hard body pressed against my back, four hands gripping my hips, his mouth hot against my neck. I gasp at the vivid recollection, heat rushing to my face as I fumble with the mug. It slips from my hands—but with a flick of my wrist, Icatchit mentally so it hovers a foot above the floor.

I bend down to pick it up and set it on the counter. I suck in a shaky breath and lean against the edge, trying to recall the sensation of that memory again. Even now, it leaves a lingering heat in my body. An ache between my thighs that I haven’t felt in a long time.

I raise my fingers to my lips, remembering kissing Dorian in his cell. The sense that it had happened before. Clearly, much more than that happened between us.

Romance has never particularly interested me. Especially since I was always too scared to let anyone close. But maybe subconsciously I knew that it would be a betrayal to Dorian. Because he was more than just a friend back then, wasn’t he? He was my lover, too. He’s the only one who has ever touched me like that. I didn’t even realize how much I missed it.

I bite my lip and shut my eyes, reaching for that memory, or others like it. I want to remember what it felt like to be held and caressed. I recall the sensation of invisible fingers sliding through my hair, tugging lightly at the roots, and my head tilts back almost like I can really feel it now. A leg nudging my knees apart. More hands ghosting over my shoulders, down over my hips. Four hands, all for me…

“Made for you,” Dorian’s staticky voice whispers in my memory, before he licks a hot stripe up the side of my neck.

I grip the edge of the countertop with both hands as my legs wobble beneath me. A soft moan escapes me as I imagine a hand sliding under my nightdress from behind, pushing my panties to the side. I can almost feel it…

Suddenly, I’m bent over the counter, hips jerked back, and Idofeel it. The sensation of my hands sliding over my skin even as they grip the counter. Fingers pushing inside of me, making me gasp and arch my back under an invisible weight. It feels too good for me to question what’s happening. I’m helpless to do anything but whimper and grind my hips back, seeking it harder, deeper,more. I can only imagine what a desperate little thing I look like, bent over and rutting against nothing in my kitchen, but somehow the thought only stokes the flames inside of me. I’m already so wet and sensitive that all it takes is a few seconds for me to cry out, shaking and clutching at the counter as pleasure crests over me.

Then, just as quickly, it’s gone. I’m left panting and weak, holding on to the kitchen counter to stay upright.

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