Page 8 of The Dark Obsession

All I can do is stare, rooted in place as he opens drawer after drawer, tossing the contents of my dresser into the open bag. Glancing over his shoulder, he jerks his chin towards the closet.

A wordless order for me to start packing.

Taking care not to get too close to him, I do as I’m told. Never fully turning my back to the man.

Suddenly, before I have the chance to balk, he’s right behind me. The heat radiating off his body setting my senses on high alert, making goose bumps erupt all over my flesh.

It’s not only fear that causes this reaction.

Something else, something dark and forbidden coils in the pits of my stomach.

Somethingis seriously wrong with me.

Clearly my brain and my body aren’t on the same wavelength when it comes to this man.

It takes everything in me to suppress whatever base instinct I just felt, forcing myself to act unaffected.

Only for all that hopeless effort to shatter when he reaches into the closet, our fingers brushing against each other as he takes a stack of shirts from me.

He’s wearing leather gloves.Why am I not surprised in the slightest?

“I got this, go get your personal things.”

A full body shiver goes through me as his warm breath brushed the shell of my ear, making me internally curse myself for letting him do that to me.

I may not have much experience with men, none really, but reacting this way to someone who broke into my home in the middle of the night and might kill me at a moment’s notice seems all kinds of messed up.

Shaking myself off, I hurry over to my desk, obediently stuffing my sketchpad into a backpack I rarely use.

Seems like this is turning out to be one of the rare occasions I get to leave the house.

That’s not depressing at all.

Unable to concentrate on the task at hand, I throw in everything I can get my hands on. Which is not much since I only keep things that mean something to me, or I actually like.

I’m particular like that.

It may not look like it at first glance when one enters my room, but I hate having clutter in my space. It makes the chaos, the anxiety in my head worse.

That’s why I need to have everything organized and decorated in my own way. And the brute who’s currently conquering my closet is destroying my carefully crafted patterns.

All that accomplishes is to make me more agitated than before. If that’s even possible.

From the corner of my eye, I catch the gleam of small nail scissors resting on top of my desk. I was using them earlier to finish a floral collage and never put them back.

Without thinking twice, I snatch them up.

Whirling around only to find that for once the man isn’t watching me like a hawk. So, I do the first thing that comes to mind.

I’m definitely acting on impulse here, but the moment of surprise ends up working in my favor as I rush him.

It feels like I can see him turning in slow motion towards the sound of my approaching footsteps when I jump at his large back, ramming the tip of the scissors into his neck. Right into the small crevice between his mask and hoodie.

One moment I think I got him and the next, I’m being wrenched away like a ragdoll. Strong arm wrapping around my waist, firmly tucking me against his front.

His other hand imprisoning both of my wrists against the hard plains of his chest, leaving me completely paralyzed.

No matter how hard I try fighting his iron grip on me, it’s of no use. My efforts futile against his raw strength.

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