Page 23 of The Dark Obsession

Tyson has left my bags untouched near the doorway when he brought me up here in the early morning hours, so I decide to take a look at what he packed after knocking me out in my bathroom.

To my utter dismay, almost all my clothes and art supplies are here. They’re all jumbled together though, but I guess he was in a hurry since kidnapping someone might not be exactly tolerated by the justice system.

It’s strangely touching that he thought to bring all of it, that he was considerate enough to think about my needs before uprooting my life.

I am definitely someone who needs their familiar, comfort items around them at all times to ease my anxiety. Wear clothes that fit me just right and cosmetics that are gentle enough for my sensitive skin.

By the way, byall of itI mean even my underwear.

The picture of him fisting the lacy scraps of fabric making my legs clench involuntarily.

Assuming I am going to be stuck here for a while, I spend the next hour or so sorting through my clothes, stacking them neatly into the dresser because I might as well settle in for the time being.

When I feel a bit more put together, which given the circumstances isn’t a lot, I throw on a pair of black leggings, knit socks and a baggy sweatshirt.

Although it’s spring, the weather is still not warm enough for short sleeves. Even more so in the woods.

With a quick glance towards the floor length mirror in the corner, I slowly open the door, careful not to make a sound in case Tyson is somewhere nearby.

I’m not ready for that confrontation quite yet, but the need to brush my teeth finally forces me to get over myself and slip into the bathroom across the hallway.

A gasp falling from my lips as I enter, marveling at the brownish-grey tiles, black faucets, and a full-size tub sitting in the midst of it all.

It’s not your overly modern, all white bathroom which to me seems just impersonal and cold.

This has its own character, going perfectly with the rest of the interior. And it’s fully stocked with beauty products, most of which I recognize from my own bathroom but they’re all new.

Is there something this man hasn’t thought of beforehand?

For a guy, he’s awfully perceptive.

I knew something was off when he reached for that first aid kit last night, I was right about him having been there before.

The man is a full-on stalker.

I mean I had a hunch from the unhinged remarks he dropped yesterday but this ultimately confirms it.

And yet it doesn’t really change anything.

I know it’s pathetic to admit, but I’m grateful that he’s treating me decently because any other man most definitely wouldn’t have bothered. Especially one with a personal vendetta.

They’d view me as an extension of my father, making me pay for whatever he did without a second thought about whether I’m innocent or not.

I’m not that sheltered to take his kindness for granted, because for a moment last night, I was almost certain that I would spend the rest of my probably very short life chained up in a moldy basement.

After brushing my teeth and throwing my hair up in a messy bun, I decide to scope out the rest of the cabin.

I don’t want to face Tyson quite yet, but at the same time, I’m becoming more and more restless. I haven’t heard a sign that he’s up here since waking up and he hasn’t come to check on me either.

A similar wooden pattern to my bedframe adorns the staircase railing, making me believe all of this has been hand crafted by the man himself.

I can’t resist brushing my fingertips along the smooth surface as I descend.

The whole downstairs area is drenched in daylight, looking much more inviting than it did last night.

Completed with shiplap walls, exposed beams and floor to ceiling windows opening up to a sort of backyard on the opposite side from the porch. There’s no fence in sight but I assume that the tree line serves to mark the property border.

I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

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