Page 68 of Twisted Obsession

“My mind starts to fracture,” he stated in a low tone. “And it feels like I’m losing control of myself. There are always thoughts that I want gone. Ideas and images I don’t want in my head. It’s like I’m drowning in a sea of pain, choking on anguish, coughing up torment, gagging on agony. The worse part about the feeling is the sensation that I’m being dragged down by my own hands. If I stay that way for too long, my body starts to react to what my mind is demanding. It’s like there is a demon inside me scratching and clawing his way out, dragging me under so that he can take over. If I let it drag me under, I believe I’d lose complete control. Killing quiets that beast, keeps it in the cage.”

“So, you just go out and kill people? How often do you do this?” I inquired, sounding more like a journalist interviewing a killer than a woman that should be concerned for her life.

“It’s not just anybody I’m killing. I don’t go out and kill random people. My FBI connection gives me the names of murderers, rapist, child molesters, cases they can’t make stick, people they know that are out there doing heinous shit. And yes, if my MC needs someone dead, I don’t hesitate to take on the job. I don’t believe I’ve killed anyone that didn’t deserve it or didn’t have it coming.”

A sliver of relief ran through me, knowing that he wasn’t out there killing innocent people. However, my fear remained on high.

“There has to be a part of you that knows this is wrong. That you can’t keep killing people.”

“Of course, I know its wrong. But, as far as I’m concerned, I’m doing the world a favor. The man I killed a few hours ago was one of a group tasked to kidnap you. The one I killed before him had raped and killed three women. Because the authorities fucked up the evidence, he got away with it.”

Okay, so maybe I was crazier than Ansel, but he made sense. He had a serious Dexter vibe going, and I wasn’t all that sure it was something that could be fixed. The idea of attempting to understand this part of him terrified me. The idea of me agreeing with parts of how he handled it had me lost in my own head.

How mentally gone was I? Did I belong in a hospital working among sane people and on patients? Should I be allowed to practice medicine as a doctor with this amount of turmoil in my brain? Maybe my family had accomplished their mission of transforming me into a monster like them. Was it the Dominquez blood in me that allowed me to accept the warped reality that most people ran like hell from?

There were secrets within me that I’d go to my grave not telling a soul. I believe Ansel had shared one of his with me. He’d struggled with this. To open up and allow someone to see the messiness inside was one of the most difficult tasks anyone could face.

Staring straight ahead, Ansel sat quiet and unmoving. It was the first time he hadn’t watched me like a hawk.

“It’s like when August killed Sorio,” I started, attempting to bring more understanding into my brain. “When he killed my cousin, Sorio, he saved the world from a man that would continue to wreak havoc, raping women, and torturing people. Sorio killed people no matter if they were bad or good. When August took Megan and me out to your garage and revealed what was left of him, I didn’t regret his death. When you and August and your crews carried out Operation Take Six and killed the heads of my family, I didn’t feel guilt for any of their deaths either.”

“What are you saying, Regina?” He questioned.

“I’m not saying that I understand you, the why or what you go through, but I understand your choice in choosing to kill the predators in this world.”

“Regina, I just revealed to you that I use killing as a form of medicine,” he pointed out.

My body slid closer, glancing into his face. I’d never seen Ansel confused, but my actions had him stumped. I sat my hand over the back of his, but he didn’t respond to my touch.

“I know what you revealed to me, Ansel. I listened to what you’ve divulged. I’ve somewhat digested what you’ve disclosed. I’m not going to pretend I understand it all. I’m not going to pretend I understand you. But, I get it, Ansel. I get it in a way that may not even be healthy, but I get it. Trust, Ansel. You just gave me a big piece of your trust.”

A flash of a smile surfaced but never met his lips. I do believe I’d stunned the one person that thought himself too arrogant to be shocked or awed. He’d been raised by a racist motorcycle club that killed on a whim. There was no telling what he’d encountered throughout his life. I’d only spent three years with my family and look what it had done to me.

“Will you tell me what made you like this?” I inquired, curious for him to share more of himself with me.

“One day,” he answered. His far-off gaze hinted that it wasn’t a story for the faint at heart. I wanted to know the story, but I was willing to wait for as long as it took for him to tell it.

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