Twisted Obsession

by Iris Ann Hunter

  “Baby, breathe,” he says calmly, taking another step towards me.

  I scoot to the side, away from him, shaking my head. “Don’t,” I gasp. “Don’t—just…don’t.” My chin drops to my chest and I close my eyes, tears gushing through my lashes. Suddenly he’s there, arms wrapping around me. I’m too weak to struggle, too weak to do anything but let him hold me while I try to find my bearings, try to make sense of the world that has just been tossed upside down. Strong hands run along my hair, trying to soothe, trying to calm. I don’t want to let him affect me, but he does. My breathing slows, my lungs settle. Then the anger returns and I yank myself out of his grip, putting some distance between us but still using the wall of horrors for support.

  “Explain,” I say in a low, quiet voice that sounds stronger than I feel. “Explain…everything . Explain to me why you never wrote me. Explain to me why you lied about who you are.”

  He takes in a deep breath, and slowly lets it out. “I did write to you, Amelia, in my own way. With the exception of my first book, which I wrote for myself, all the rest of my books were written for you. You said it yourself—the dedication. For Her .”

  I shake my head, disbelieving. The tears fall freely as he continues.

  “And I never lied about who I was, I just never offered that information. My first name really is Daniel. What I said about not wanting to compete with the fantasy, I meant. I wanted you to know me, the real me, not the one your imagination had conjured up. I was afraid it was something I could never live up to.”

  He steps towards me, a seriousness washing over his face. “You say you were obsessed with me, but you have no idea, Amelia.” He reaches out and wipes a newborn tear away. “I’ve been…watching you…for years.”

  A small gasp leaves my mouth. I shake my head, disbelieving, but the photos that surround me prove his words. A corner of his mouth lifts in sympathy, just as his hand falls away.

  “After my first book came out, you were right—I almost quit writing. But then I got your first letter. I must’ve read it a hundred times that night. Then another letter came, and another, until every day I could do nothing but wait for the mail. At the time, I knew I had to relocate because the hounds were closing in, but I didn’t know where, until I glanced over at your envelope and saw your return address.” He pauses. “I found you. Watched you sometimes, followed you others. It was a way for me to be close to you. And just knowing you were near, I was able to write again.”

  “But…” I mutter, “I’ve lived in like five different cities since I started writing you.”

  “Yeah,” he sighs. “And I’ve moved with you every time.” He offers a soft smile. “I learned not to get too settled in. But…” He pauses and reaches out to stroke my cheek. “I’m hoping we can stay here for a while. I kind of like this place.”

  I stare at him, blinking in a daze, still trying to process everything. I’m too blindsided to move away, too stunned to do anything other than gape at him, at the man who has just yanked the rug out from under my life.

  “But, why?” I sob. “Why did you wait so long to—to—”

  “I needed time,” he says gently. “I’m not good with people, crowds, public places, that sort of thing. That’s part of the reason why I began writing. That’s why I live very, very privately. I guess some would call me a recluse. It’s only because of you that I eventually forced myself out into the world.” His face softens. “I kept waiting for you to meet someone else and move on from me…but, you never did.” His eyes close for a moment, then reopen and settle heavily on mine. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the deception. But it was the only way.”

  “But—but your photos. The landscapes. I thought—I thought…” My voice falters, but then it dawns on me. “That was a lie,” I say flatly.

  “No. It wasn’t a lie. I’m okay, out in the open, out away from society. Or at least, I’ve learned to be.”

  I’m suddenly reminded of our times together. The dinners at quiet restaurants, the walks in empty parks, the sunset by the lake, surrounded by nature, not people. My head spins, all this new information circling my mind like a cloud in a windstorm.

  A question forms, but I have to swipe my tongue across my lips in order to speak. “So…bumping into you on the street wasn’t random?”

  “Yes, and no.” He glances away with a grimace. “I was following you,” he starts, turning back to me. “But I had fallen too far behind. I was running to catch up with you, but you must’ve turned back at some point, because when I rounded the corner, there you were.” It’s a moment before he adds, “I figured it was either then, or never.”

  Daniel stands quiet before me, watching. “Say something,” he says, his voice choked. “Please .”

  For some reason, I happen to glance over to his writing table and suddenly, there it is: my last letter, resting next to his laptop. The one where I said goodbye.

  Too much. It’s all too much.

  I stagger past him, moving towards the door. I can’t think in here, in this room, with my heart and soul plastered all over the walls, feeling like somehow I’ve been betrayed. I shake my head. “I—I have to—I can’t—”

  Only when I get to the door…My arms. My hands. I can’t—can’t open it. I pull and tug at my bonds. “Let me go!”

  He’s right behind me, wrapping me in a bear hug. I scream against him, thrash and kick, but he doesn’t let go, won’t let go.

  “I’m sorry,” he chokes into my ear. “But I can’t let you go. I can’t ever let you go.”

  Something tugs at my heart, but the shock and the pain is too overwhelming and I can do nothing but continue to fight him. I feel crazed, unhinged, eight years of longing and suffering and aching coming together to form this cataclysmic event that I have no control over. My body fights and struggles, but he holds me. Just holds me.

  Then for a moment, I soften, I give, his arms relaxing around me. That’s when I move, when I break free and run to the other side of the room. I’m panting, frothing, feeling trapped in a corner like a feral animal. My eyes dart from here to there, from words to images, from thoughts to random moments in time I can’t remember. Then my eyes latch on to the man walking towards me, slowly, inevitably, a resigned but determined shadow embedded into the contours of his face.

  He stops by the desk, a few feet away from me, just as my eyes drop to the open laptop. I blink, seeing four camera feed screens with images of an apartment. My apartment. My bedroom. My living room. My kitchen. My eyes fill with tears and I turn to him, gaping. He looks pained, and perhaps a little ashamed.

  I feel the give in my knees only a fraction before my legs begin to crumble beneath me. I’m falling, spiraling head over heels until strong arms catch me and gather me up. I hear the faint creak of a chair as he sits at the desk, holding me, cradling me against his warm chest as devastating sobs leave my body. I hear a whimper, but it doesn’t sound like me. It’s him.

  His scent drifts around me, merging with my tears and the sharp ache in my heart. I simply exist, in the moment, me in my little white dress, arms bound behind me, curled up on the lap of the man who has consumed my life for eight long years. I don’t want to find comfort in him, but I do. I don’t want to let him hold me, but I do.

  I cry for what feels like hours, days, years. Eventually my sobs lessen to what sounds like the gentle weeping of a distraught child. His hand runs along my hair, pushing some of the long, wet strands out of my swollen eyes and off my fevered cheeks. The new line of sight brings his laptop screen back into view. There it is: my apartment. My breath leaves me for a moment, then returns, only it’s shallow, sounding almost broken. Suddenly, his deep, tortured voice drifts around me.

  “I thought about keeping that from you.” As soon as he says it, I know he’s talking about the cameras. “I thought about just revealing who I was and the letters, but I didn’t want to cover up what I had done. I wanted to be honest with you. I wanted you to see how far I was willing to go to be close to y
ou. I’m sorry for it, and I’m not sorry for it. Every stolen moment I had with you was worth it. I’d do it again if I had to. Only next time, I wouldn’t wait so long.”

  There’s no mistaking the honesty behind the words, no mistaking the rough, grating revelations he’s shared with me. It’s disturbing, and troubling, and so damn beautiful at the same time.

  I guess I’m not the only one obsessed.

  It’s only then that I’m able to start putting together the pieces, able to see the puzzle coming together through the stupefied haze that feels like it’s slowly beginning to recede. He wrote those books. He wrote those words. Those dark, demented, damaging words…words, that when strung together, built stories of horror, mystery and the painfully erotic. I always wondered how someone could seek out such tortures, could let himself be bathed in such darkness. He knew it intimately, knew the way a soul could spiral into nothing, knew how unchecked desires could weave a destructive web and drag a life down into the embers of hell. But somehow, in the end, he always left the reader feeling as though there was hope, feeling as though there was always a slim chance that the light could edge out the dark. Maybe because that’s what he wanted to believe, or perhaps needed to believe. My gaze drifts to my white dress, then to his black clothes, and I realize what he’s wearing isn’t random. Just like what I’m wearing isn’t random.

  I want to speak, but my throat is so raw and tight I have to lick my lips before I can get a word out. When I do finally speak, my voice is weak and raspy. “What happened, Daniel? What happened to make you this way? What happened for you to write the way you write, to live the way you live?”

  His chest swells against me, his lungs filling with a deep breath of air before he answers. “When I was six, I witnessed a mass shooting at my school, in my classroom. I was the only survivor.”

  A squeak leaves my lips and I look up at him, bile lining my throat. I can see the pain shredding his face, filling every groove and crevice. He meets my gaze, then gently tucks a lock of my hair aside, his eyes following the movement. “I lost all my friends that day. And in many ways, I lost myself too.”

  “Oh, Daniel. I’m—I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks, along with my heart.

  His lids fall for a moment, dark crescents resting along his skin. “I was scared for many years. So scared I couldn’t leave the house growing up. My parents had to have me home-schooled. Then as I got older, I got angry, and confused. I spent so much time trying to figure out what would drive a living soul to do such a thing. It led me to dark places, thinking dark things, until I more or less lived it, wrote it, breathed it. That is…until you.” His eyes return to me. “You changed the world for me. You said you had trouble seeing the sun. Well, Princess, you are my sun. Before you, there was no light, only dark.”

  “Daniel,” I whisper, my throat too tight with emotion, my heart too full of love.

  He swivels the chair around until I find myself gazing up at Starry Night . His voice whispers in my ear. “Do you know how many hours I’ve sat here, staring at this print while you did the same, all the while wondering what it meant it to you?” He nuzzles into my neck, squeezing me tight. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me about what happened? You shared everything else, but not that? Why?”

  “I—I…” The words stick in my mouth. “I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to think of me as some sad, sick, crazy girl. After I read your first book, I felt more whole than I had in years. That’s the person I wanted to share with you. That’s the person I wanted you to know me for.” I feel a new surge of tears spill. “I was so alone before…before you.” The words come out in a fragile sob.

  He presses me into him, then leans down and lays his lips along my cheek, kissing away my tears. “I’ve been with you, baby. I’ve been with you every day since I found you. There’s been no one else for me, not for the last eight years. It’s just been you and me. I’ve been sad when you were sad. I’ve been happy when you were happy.” His face brushes against mine, his voice dropping low and seductive. “I got off when you got off.” He pauses for a moment, his heated words blazing a blistering path right through me. “You were never alone, Amelia. And you’ll never be alone again.”

  How do you explain a moment like this…a moment that feels like the earth is shifting, and the seas are rising? His words sift into my blood, gushing along my insides until it feels like I’m spinning through time, drifting back to all those moments he was there, thinking of me while I thought of him, loving me while I loved him.

  “Daniel,” I whimper.

  He tilts his head, then leans in, his lips brushing against mine. So soft. So intimate. My eyes hood, watching his face, watching the light and dark merge into something almost peaceful, but at the same time pained.

  A dark lock of hair falls across his forehead as he slants his mouth against mine and slips his tongue inside me. It’s gentle, tender, swirling along mine before he groans, then retreats, his eyes drifting down from my mouth to my breasts.

  He stares at them, then lifts his hand and begins tracing the outline of my right nipple with his fingertip. I gasp, watching my flesh pebble beneath his touch, beneath the fabric, feeling utterly helpless on his lap. Then he pinches my flesh, hard, and I gasp. When his eyes shift back to mine, they’re dilated, almost black now.

  A low throaty grumble oozes out of his throat and he shifts in the chair, pressing his hips upward. I moan when I feel the hardness beneath me.

  “Please,” I whimper, the need so acute it hurts.

  “I know, baby,” he soothes, brushing his lips against my temple. “I know.”

  I feel a rush of heat and adrenaline fill my body and flood my heart. A moment later he stands, places me gently on my feet, then guides me to the other side of the desk. He turns me around and begins undoing my wrists from behind my back. It’s only then that I notice what’s attached to each of the two pillars.

  “What are the chains for?” I ask, a little breathless.

  I feel his lips press against the back of my head. “They’re for you. But then…you knew that already.”

  My arms now free I let them hang by my side. “I suppose I did.” There’s a tremor in my voice. A tremor I didn’t mean for him to hear.

  “Oh, baby,” he soothes. “You know me. You know what I write. Just like I know you, and all your fantasies. They’re plastered all over these walls. You had to know it would be like this.”

  I close my eyes, his words tumbling around my insides. Slowly, I nod. I know what I’ve written to him, revealed to him. It’s not romantic, it’s not innocent. It’s dark, it’s disturbing. Just like his books. Just like…him . Tears seep from between my lids and drift down my cheeks.

  He raises his hand to my cheek in a feathering caress. “Such a brave girl,” he whispers.

  Without a word he begins removing my dress, with such care it makes me feel like a priceless china doll. He pulls it up over my head, then tosses it over on the desk without taking his eyes off me. His gaze tightens, pulsing over me, while his lids rise and fall in slow, meaningful waves. “You’re…breathtaking.”

  When his eyes return to mine, they’re filled with awe and wonder. His hands brush down along my arms then gather around my waist. Gently, he moves me so I’m positioned between the pillars facing him and the desk, and the starry night. Without another word, he takes my right arm, lifts it and attaches my binding to the chain, then does the same with the other one, so I’m effectively a Y between the pillars. He adjusts the chains so my arms are pulled out and up until I’m almost on my tip-toes.

  So many things swirl inside me: desire, excitement, fear, longing. I feel like a sacrifice to the gods above, only my God is standing before me.

  His eyes drop down to me, a slightly awkward look on his face. “You should know that I’ve been with other women, but it was before you, before your first letter…and…” He turns away for a moment. “They were all paid for.”

  Jealousy swells inside me, stabbing and clawing at my
heart, but I force the monster down. In his own way, he’s been faithful to me. Then a question forms. A question I can’t let go. “Did…you hurt them too?”

  He turns back, watching me carefully. “Yes. I had to. That’s why I only hired certain types of women.”

  “Submissives?”

  He nods. “It’s with them that I learned how to…channel my needs…transfer my pain. I didn’t want sex any other way. I couldn’t, no matter how much I tried.” He steps closer and cradles my head, deep hazel eyes boring into me. “But it was always you, Amelia. Only you. You’re the only one who has ever held my heart, and the only one who ever will.”

  More tears prick as his thumbs stroke a flame along my jaw, then his lips find me once again. He breathes new life into me, with every stroke of his tongue, feeding me with fire, with lust. It’s as though the world has been righted, as though the heavens have aligned to forge this moment…a moment so intimate I feel taken already.

  When he pulls away, his expression has darkened, his jaw appears tight. “I know you’re on birth control. I’m taking you, with nothing between us.”

  He’s not asking, so I don’t answer. I don’t need to.

  Then he’s gone, behind me somewhere. I hear the clink of what sounds like metal then the slow, methodical, swoosh of clothes. Then he’s back, breathing fire along my neck like a dragon who’s come to claim his virgin. He moves around me, lurking over his prey, until he’s once again in front of me.

  My breath leaves me, my eyes trained on his naked flesh, so perfect, so sculpted. His body shines under the soft lighting, peaks and swells of smooth, hard muscle luring my eyes to wander, to take in every glorious inch of him, down to the semi-swollen cock leaning towards me. It’s thick and massive, just like I knew it would be.

  Then I see it in his right hand. A black belt, folded in half.

  He cocks his head, as though studying me, studying every panting breath, every nervous flick of my gaze. “Do you know what a safeword is?”

  “Yes, but…” I stare at him for a moment, debating my answer. “But, I don’t want one.”