Obsessed- The Complete Addiction Duet

by Vivian Wood

  She thought she heard disappointment in his voice. “No,” she said. “Just … slow.”

  He eased in another half inch and she cried out. She felt his hand move from one hip back to her clit. As he started to flick, she felt her juices return. With every inch, he increased the pressure or speed on her clit. The juxtaposition, the pain married to the pleasure, put her in another element.

  Sean held himself, still, deep inside her. “This is enough this time,” he said. He began to skillfully flick her clit. “Come for me,” he said. “Like this, I’m telling you to come for me.”

  She felt full, too full, but the pain mixed with pleasure put her in a state where she couldn’t think about anything but pleasing him. Doing exactly as he said.

  When Harper came, she heard droplets hit the floor. She looked down to see a puddle between her legs. “You squirted,” he said, and bent down to kiss her shoulder. “Just your second time. It seems you like it rough.”

  “Yes,” she said, and caught her breath as he eased himself out of her.

  She looked forward to the pampering that always followed. To the pets and caresses, the sight of the black robe.

  As Sean ran a brush through her hair, she watched him in the propped-up full-length mirror. I should tell him, she thought. But no matter how she tried to formulate the words, they just didn’t seem to come together right.

  Why bother? she wondered. What could he do? What if the only decent job I can get takes me out of the city?

  It wasn’t just that. What if his face falls when I tell him I’m not a model anymore? The weight of the unknown pressed down on her. Modeling wasn’t just a job, it was her whole life. She’d never known anything else.

  Not being a model meant she’d get fat. She knew it, and he probably knew it. And if she was fat, there’s no way he’d be attracted to her anymore. The thought of him dumping her, on top of everything else …

  No. Just stay quiet for now.

  28

  Sean

  “Hey!” Connor said. “What’s up?”

  Sean could hear the surprise in his brother’s voice, but ignored it. “I’ve been thinking, and I’m going to take you up on that offer. To join your company.”

  “That’s … great, man,” Connor said. “I mean, I’m really excited about it. What convinced you? It was that girl, wasn’t it? Harper.”

  Sean stiffened. “No,” he said. “Actually, her and I haven’t talked about it at all since we had dinner.”

  “Oh, well regardless it’s good to have you on board. I actually met with some investors earlier this week and things are moving right along. I could use you right now.”

  “I have to give notice at the shop,” Sean said. “But … I’ll do it this week. Give me ‘til the end of the month. Does that work?”

  “Sure,” Connor said. “Can you just shoot me over a bio when you get a chance? I need to add it to the business plans, website, all that.”

  “Yeah, I’ll send it over,” Sean said.

  He was filled with uncertainty when he hung up, but there was an edge of excitement, too. Sean looked around the tiny apartment. He’d never fully unpacked, and as much as he tried to lie to himself, this place had never felt like home. Maybe he should move. Hell, there was no way Connor would set up shop in L.A. proper. He’d probably scouted out some place in the suburbs. I could do the suburbs. Maybe, Sean thought.

  Sean could almost feel the wheels of change turning, and in the middle of it all was Harper. No matter what happened, where he worked or where he lived, he knew he wanted her with him. Change can be good, right?

  Soon enough, she’d surely ask about their relationship. He couldn’t blame her. Organically, he’d been sexually exclusive with her since the start. It was partly just circumstance—he just happened to not have a regular sex partner at the time. But Sean had to admit that it was mostly by choice. It was about time to put the official “monogamous” title on what they were. He’d known that for awhile, but all of these transitions sealed it.

  “Dinner tonight?” he texted her.

  “Sure.”

  “Go all out,” he said. “I’m taking you somewhere nice.”

  When Harper opened the door, he almost couldn’t speak. She was poured into a perfectly tailored red dress with a sweetheart neckline and gladiator gold heeled sandals.

  “Sweetheart neckline for my sweetheart,” he said. “I approve.”

  She blushed and took his arm.

  The white-shirted waitstaff whipped out her chair. “How did you get a table at Repubique?” she asked. “And on a Friday?”

  Sean shrugged. “You let me worry about that, sweetheart.”

  She smiled at him. When the waiter asked about drinks, she looked at him, brow raised.

  “You can have one,” he said. The waiter didn’t even blink.

  “Gin martini, very dry with a twist,” she said.

  “Very good. And you, sir?”

  “A bottle of sparkling water,” Sean said.

  As Harper pored over the menu, he tried to guess at what she’d order. The oysters, the grilled octopus salad—or maybe the diver scallops. “What sounds good?” he asked.

  “You want to share oysters?” she asked.

  “Maybe. What about entrees?”

  “Uhm … I think the scallops. No grapes, though.”

  He knew it. Her face looked thinner than usual, almost gaunt. When she smiled, there were more lines in her cheeks. Not enough fat to plump them.

  “I’ll be ordering for both of us tonight,” he said.

  She swallowed. “What … what do you have in mind?”

  “For you, potato and leek beignet to start. Steak and fries for dinner.” He took a gamble on the steak. It was low-carb and all protein, but also high calorie. If she was doing what he suspected, it being paired with fries would put her over the edge.

  He watched her eyes flutter, full of calculations and misgivings. “Okay,” she finally said.

  Don’t push it too far, he thought to himself. One issue at a time.

  “So,” he said as the beignets arrived. He’d ordered the oysters for himself. He watched as she stared at the oysters and picked at her beignets. Harper began to spread the starter around her plate. “Eat it, don’t play with it,” he said.

  She took the smallest piece possible and slid it between her lips.

  As she swallowed, he said, “I accepted the job with Connor today.”

  “Really?” she said. Her eyes lit up and she speared another portion of beignet.

  “Yeah. I figured it would be good. Besides, if it doesn’t work out, it’s not like it’s that tough to get another job in a shop.”

  “Well. Good for you,” she said. The light in her eyes had faded. Why isn’t she more excited? She’d been the one to initially push after dinner.

  Harper put down the fork. “You need to eat more than that,” he said. “You barely touched it.”

  “I’m full,” she said sharply. “I don’t normally eat carbs.”

  He was taken aback by the sharpness in her voice. “Okay, calm down,” he said.

  She widened her eyes but didn’t say anything. Instead, she sipped on the martini with tiny slivers of ice that floated at the top.

  The waiter arrived and whisked away the appetizers before Sean could protest. When their steaks arrived, pulled out the black box that had been tucked inside his jacket and held it on his lap. “Harper, I didn’t bring you here just because,” he said. “There’s a reason.”

  “I knew it,” she said. She’d just scraped the butter from the steak and pushed it to the far side of the plate.

  “You know?” he asked. Maybe they were more on the same page than he thought.

  “You … you want to stop, right?” she asked. Harper rolled her eyes. “Break up, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “What? No,” he said.

  “No?” He saw the real Harper, the one that had been vacant from dinner simmer below the surface.
/>   “No, I … I think we need to talk about where this is going, though. You’re beautiful, and intelligent—”

  “This sounds like a breakup talk,” she said.

  “Don’t interrupt me,” he said.

  “Sorry, sir,” she said. Harper put down the knife.

  “What I’m trying to say is … well, I think this says it better,” he said.

  Sean put the box on the table and moved it towards her. Harper glanced from the box to his eyes, suspicious.

  The thick black ribbon fell off with a single pull. He watched her mouth open as she lifted the delicate rose gold choker. “It’s … it’s beautiful,” she said. “But I don’t understand …”

  “For you, I didn’t think a regular sub collar would be right.”

  “A sub collar?”

  “You know. Like the couple at Miss Mary’s, or at the rooftop viewing.”

  “You mean, like with a leash?”

  Sean laughed. “Traditionally, yes, a lot of people use a leash. It’s not really my thing, at least not in public.”

  “Oh. So does this mean—”

  “It’s my way of asking you to be my sub, exclusively. Monogamously.”

  “Just I would be monogamous?” she asked. Harper ran a finger along the thin gold. “I mean, I am, already. But …”

  “Both of us,” he said. “And, just for the record? I am, too. I have been since we met.”

  She looked down at the collar, her brow furrowed.

  “So, do you accept?”

  “I … I don’t—I have to go.” She stood up suddenly, the largely untouched plate before her.

  “Harper, what the hell? Where are you—”

  “I have to go,” she repeated, and started briskly towards the door, collar in hand.

  “Harper!” Sean started to get up, but instantly three waiters surrounded him.

  “I’m sorry sir, but you can’t leave. Not until the check is paid.”

  “Fuck off—”

  “Are we going to have a problem?” One of the waiters was massive, at least six-foot-five. He looked more like a wrestler than a waiter

  Sean sized them up and could see Harper had already exited out the front. There was no way he could take them all on. Rage boiled inside him, but there was a logical overlay that kept him in check. The last thing you need is to get arrested. Not now, not with everything else. Not with the new D.A. on the case …

  “No,” Sean said coolly. “Just take the goddamned card.” He shoved a credit card into the waiter’s chest.

  “Do you want me to box this to go—”

  “Fucking run the card!” Sean said.

  He paced back and forth while the fellow diners either stared agape at him or snuck glances between hushed conversations. Harper would be long gone by now, swept away in a taxi. If he knew her, and he thought he did, she wouldn’t go straight home either. She knew he’d follow her.

  That’s the problem. I thought I knew her.

  Sean looked towards the exit as the waiter slowly approached with the receipt in hand.

  How in the hell had that conversation gone so off-course? He thought she would have been pleased.

  He shook his head. Maybe I don’t know her after all.

  “Sir, your box?” the waiter asked.

  “I said I didn’t want—”

  But when he turned around, the waiter held out the black box to him. The collar. If she was so upset about his proposal, why did she take the collar?

  What the hell was she up to?

  29

  Harper

  She’d driven around downtown, then made her way to the Pacific Highway until the gas light flickered. By the time Harper pulled up to the house, all the lights were out.

  She kicked her shoes off on the front porch and tip toed to her bedroom.

  On her bed was a stack of brochures and a Post-It note with Helena’s elegant handwriting. “I’ve been there,” Helena had written.

  The brochures showed smiling, happy women behind bold fonts. ANOREXIA: THE SILENT KILLER. BULIMIA, NOT JUST PURGING. THE FACTS ON ORTHOREXIA. Each brochure carried a stamp at the bottom for in-patient and out-patient rehabilitation facilities in the area.

  No way, Harper thought. There’s no way I’m going there. I’d definitely be the fattest one.

  Still, something about it being the witching hour made her open them up, one by one. She’d expected them to be stuffed with stodgy information, shock material that had nothing to do with her. Instead, in each brochure, it was as if it was written just for her.

  “Do you avoid social situations because food and drink are often involved?” Doesn’t everyone?

  “Do thoughts about food or your size consume your thoughts to the point it interferes with relationships?” Well …

  “Have you used excessive exercise as a means of burning calories? Although ‘bulimia’ is often synonymous with purging (forced vomiting), purging is only one way bulimia may present itself. Many people are surprised to learn that bulimia is any method of ‘erasing’ calories by extreme measures. However, a lot of people who practice one method of bulimi (such as purging) also utilize other methods such as excessive exercising. A lot of people with bulimia also exhibit symptoms of anorexia, orthorexia, binge eating disorder (BED)—”

  Fuck.

  Harper picked up the phamplet on orthorexia. “Orthorexia is a relatively new term in the eating disorder (ED) community, and not technically an eating disorder—yet,” the brochure started. “However, it will likely be added soon. Orthorexia is an obsession with clean eating or healthy living. It’s the eating disorder that can hide in plain sight thanks to societal approval. You might suffer from orthorexia if you use popular diet ‘lifestyles’ or fads such as the Paleo diet, unhealthy trainings to intense degrees (such as running several miles daily to lose weight instead of genuinely training for a marathon)—”

  “Oh, my God,” Harper said aloud.

  Of course she’d known. Deep inside, she’d known since she was a teenager. Reading Wasted, it was like someone had opened up her insides and turned it into a book. But there were all kinds of excuses to be made and lies she could tell herself.

  “Not everyone with an eating disorder ‘looks it’,” warned another brochure. “Many people with an eating disorder might appear ‘normal’ or even overweight. You can’t judge whether or not a person has an eating disorder by their appearance.” Well, that’s just fucking great.

  Harper opened up her laptop and went to her usual thinspiration sites. Hidden in the underbelly of the internet were pro-ana forums and message boards. Here, girls—well, mostly girls—could find a dark solace amongst their peers. There were times these starving girls were Harper’s only allies. On days where she was tempted to eat more than four Atkins bars, low-carb, low-sugar and totaling just 750 calories, she could pour her heart out to them.

  “Don’t do it!” a poster would immediately respond. “You’re stronger than that.”

  The forums were where she’d learned the fastest ways to make herself vomit. And the importance of purging outside when possible, especially in older houses with plumbing that might not be able to handle it. “Remember, proper purging is done when food isn’t anywhere near digested. It can sometimes clog the pipes, and when a plumber is called it’s not just expensive, but a surefire way to expose you to whoever you live with.”

  She scrolled through the posts. Over twenty were posted in the past twelve hours. Girls shared their own thinspiration photos, photoshopped models with waists the size of their calves. Harper knew they were photoshopped, but that didn’t stop the desire inside her to mimic it.

  Other photos clearly weren’t. She could tell when someone was skeletal. I’m not that bad, right? she thought. Some of these girls were seriously fucked up. I don’t want to look like a skeleton. Not totally. Maybe just the shoulder and collarbone area …

  She’d always loved the look of the emaciated collarbone, deep enough you could serve soup from it.
One of the girls in the house had broken her collarbone as a teenager. The result, in addition to being incredibly thing, was a collarbone that looked truly alien. It was beautiful.

  Harper picked up the brochure again. “Sometimes body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) can accompany an eating disorder. Although BDD is a separate mental disorder with its own markers, common signs include being unable to self-identify your own aesthetics. Anoretics in particular, when asked to draw an outline of their body to scale, tend to drastically exaggerate their size.”

  Huh. That might be true. There were days Harper was sure she’d become grossly fat. She could feel that her stomach protruded and the extra weight she carried in her ass. Yet as she double checked her jeans, that fit loosely, they were still a size zero. And numbers don’t lie. Do they?

  Jeans can stretch. They enlarge to fit. And then there’s vanity sizing. That’s why Harper tended to trust her measuring tape over anything else. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror and swore she saw a double chin or rolls of fat, all it took was a few measurements to snap out of it. She’d look again, and suddenly she’d be a little more normal.

  She groaned and fell back on the bed. Helena was right. So were the doctors—not that she’d gathered the courage to see them in months. Every time she went, there was the scale. It wasn’t fair. Even though she always scheduled appointments first thing in the morning, so she could go in without eating or even brushing her teeth for fear of accidentally swallowing water, they only let her take her shoes off. She’d watch the nurse inch the scale upward and want to scream to take off her clothes. Otherwise, the weight wouldn’t be right.

  Then there were the doctors who looked at her chart, confused why she was “so tall and thin with cholesterol that increased with every appointment.”

  “Does high cholesterol run in your family?” one doctor had asked.

  “I … I don’t know.”

  “Huh. Maybe lay off the junk food and we’ll see next time.” Lay off the junk food? Fuck. If a doctor just called her fat, it was official.