Page 92 of The Art of Obsession
Chapter Playlist:
“The Perfect Drug” – Nine Inch Nails
EVERLEIGH
My kneesnearly buckle when we emerge from the underground.
It’s a small castle…just as he’d said.
The scalpel in the pocket of my long-sleeved vintage dress with its embroidered lace is burning a hole in the pocket. When Cal brought me back to the exhibit to change, I put my college acting skills to good use and pretended to be clumsy and knocked over the table, managing to swipe the sharp instrument. Somehow, I hid my shock that he didn’t double-check the number.
I don’t know what I expect to do with it. I won’t escape him. Sometimes, I’m not sure I want to. I try to dismiss it as Stockholm Syndrome, but my inner slutty psycho knows better.
And she chronically reminds me.
Stockholm Syndrome? Nah, this feels more like a full-blown psychosexual crisis.Cherry twirls her hair with one finger and fiddles with her horns with the other.Are you planning revenge or foreplay? The line is really blurry right now.
Trying to block her out, I focus on the surroundings instead.
Cal’s firm grip on my arm guides me through the dimly lit hallways of his sprawling manor, the faint scent of aged wood and incense trailing in his wake. I catch fleeting glimpses of the rooms we pass—ornate parlors with carved mahogany furniture, a library bursting with ancient tomes, a sitting room with a grand marble fireplace. Candlelight flickers in each space, but as much as I want to explore, I have no choice but to follow Cal, keeping pace with him.
When he leads me to double-clear doors, he opens them, and we step onto a balcony.
The world opens up. The cool night air rushes over me, a lover’s caress after weeks of suffocating captivity. My chest tightens, and tears prick my eyes as the wind tangles in my hair.
I tremble from head to toe. My heart can’t take it. The organ ricochets in my chest.
The full harvest moon bathes everything in a flushed rosy glow, its light weaving through the host of stars. The grounds stretch out below in rolling hills, manicured gardens, and shadowed groves—freedom just out of reach. It’s the kind of night poets dream of, beautiful and serene.
It’s a cruel taunt. My heart aches as I clutch the balcony’s edge, desperate to drink in every detail before Cal inevitably drags me back to my gilded cage. I don’t want to go back. I want to run, to explore every inch of this hauntingly beautiful world he’s imprisoned me in. If I have any chance, I need to distract him.
“Who was that guy?”
Cal stiffens, his arms strengthening around me. “Who?”
“The one with the blonde hair, green eyes. I swear I’ve seen him before.”
“Dorian,” he says darkly. “A lesser god. Always chasing my shadow. Never you mind him…or anyone else.”
I nod, vaguely remembering the other performative artist who has opened for Acheron multiple times.
One glimpse at him assures me of his control, how he’s going to take away this taste of freedom at any moment. Emotions twist a storm in me.
Evie, sweetie, you’ve always said you wanted to live in a museum. Well, congratulations—you are the museum now.
I pause, listening to my subconscious psycho. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her on the other side of the balcony, casually leaning against it, her wings catching the air.
Honestly, he looks like he stepped out of a Caravaggio painting. And the exhibit is like a piece of the fucking Louvre. You get to play with this endless supply of artifacts. A treasure trove of everything you love. It’s so romantic… in a very twisted way.She winks at me, her wings buzzing.
I wish my subconscious wasn’t trying to justify it.
But I melt as Cal weaves his arms around my waist from behind. My blood warms, and a deep sigh leaves my throat.
I’m just saying, he could have kept you in some dingy basement. Instead, he’s made you the star of an art installation that people will probably write studies about.
Shutupshutupshutup!But I can’t block her out, the annoying pixie of my mind. I can’t be normalizing this. Cal has stalked me, kidnapped me…he put a tracker in me, ra—fucked me before those disgusting men while carving my very skin, tampered withmy birth control, painted me with my own period blood, and turned me into his human pincushion before fucking my ass.
Don’t forget torturing the real asshole who hurt you, Evie. He might be a sadistic control freak, but Cal is YOURsadistic control freak, and he’s turning you into the centerpiece of the most breathtaking exhibit ever created.
