Page 43 of Shadows of Obsession

The idiot borrowed money again, and this time he took it from the wrong people.

"You guaranteed that money, Aidan, and Damien is tired of waiting. Fifty thousand isn't money you overlook. But you know, your little girlfriend could make that money quickly in one of the boss's clubs," the man tells him calmly.

I can't hold it back anymore - a strangled sob breaks free. They're going to make me pay off his mess. What did I do to deserve this?

Where am I supposed to find fifty grand? How do I make this stop? He's made me pay his debts before, but I'm cleaned out - financially and emotionally empty...

“One hour to get here with the money, or you won't like what you’ll find.” Igor hangs up.

“Please, I never promised anything for him,” I whisper, hoping he'll understand I'm done with Aidan, that I've been begging him to leave me alone since he started gambling like crazy.

“Save your breath, doll. If your friend's not here in fifty-nine minutes, you'll bleed for every dollar.”

He starts carving a block of wood with the same knife he used to threaten me.

Come on, Luna. Think. But that's the problem - my brain's been desperately searching for options since I let this animal through my door.

There's nothing. If I scream, maybe no one hears me through these thick walls, and my neighbors are probably asleep by now. Even if they heard, I'd be risking their lives along with mine. If I fight back, Igor's two steps away and twice my size. The worst part? Realizing Aidan's my only way out.

It hurts because I know he doesn't have the money. It hurts because at one point this man meant something to me. It hurts because I feel that, after tonight, I'll lose even the last bit of mental health I had left and that I was clinging to to get back to normal after a toxic relationship.

The minutes stretch infinitely and I feel my body absorbing more stress through every pore, and I start to sweat. My body temperature rises with every minute Aidan doesn't knock on the door, and when there are two minutes left of the allotted time, I close my eyes and prepare for the worst.

"He won't come," I tell him, but with my eyes closed, resigned, because I know what kind of person my life has been entrusted to.

"He'll come," his voice resonates in the room, and the certainty with which he speaks makes me open my eyes to see him looking at me.

His gaze measures me from head to toe, and I've never been more grateful for long pajamas that cover my entire body.

When time has officially run out, I see him rise and move toward me. Suddenly, he pulls up my shirt, leaving my back exposed. His calloused fingers explore my skin, and I desperately try to move away, but the restraints only allow me an inch of movement.

"I could carve into your skin all day. You'd become a work of art in the true sense of the word." His words temporarily cut off my breathing from how sick they sound.

I don't have time to think too much because then I feel a stinging pain coming from my back.

"If I were you, I'd stay still. If you ruin my pattern I'll have to start over."

I can't. That's the problem. I can't not cry and not flinch at every line his knife traces in my skin.

I feel warm blood sliding down my back and staining my pants, and when I look down, I already see a small scarlet puddle. I'm sure he cut deep enough to leave a scar, and I try not to move. That's when the last shred of rationality abandons me, and I retreat to a corner of my mind, to a safe place where I'm not at the mercy of a madman satisfying his artistic cravings on my skin.

Eventually my back goes numb and the stabbing pain fades to a dull throb. It's still there, radiating through me, but he's not carving new patterns anymore. I think he's finished his masterpiece.

"If he doesn't come in forty-five minutes, we'll start another pattern. Okay?" he asks and sits down, continuing to carve his wood with the same knife that's now covered in blood. My blood.

I surely have a splinter in one of the scratches. And that's my only thought.

Another knock at the door. I fight to keep my eyes open, exhausted from holding back screams and the searing pain that covers my back.

Igor heads for the door and opens it. I can’t see who it is with my back turned, but I catch that scent - that ocean breeze that now makes me want to throw up.

"Igor, what the—," Aidan's voice stops suddenly.

And I know he's seen my back. I don't have the strength to scream, to insult him, because everything bad that's happened to me in the last months is his fault. Because of his sick obsession with me.

"God, sweetie, are you okay?" Aidan asks while moving in front of me, his hands touching my face.

My hair is stuck to my temples from sweat and I'm sure I look like hell, but I still find the strength in me to headbutt his nose.

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