Page 10 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

My mother screams back profanities and insults, a fight I’ve heard too many times before Then I hear the door slam, followed by the sharp click of her heels. My fists clench at my sides, my breath catching, my stomach tightening in anticipation. My heart pounds as her steps grow closer. A rhythm I know too well.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to be still, to breathe like I’m sleeping. Mother didn’t like it when I heard their fights. She preferred me quiet, unaware.

But then, she would come to me. Every time.

Mother is lonely. Mother is sad.

And I make it better.

When she drinks her special drink.

But it’s early. Too early. She never drinksthis early. Not when he’s home.

Her footsteps stop right in front of the door. A hesitation.

I turn softly onto my side. She prefers it that way.

She doesn’t have to look at my face.

Just feel my warmth.

The door opens. Softly. Too softly.

Then it closes.

The bed shifts with her weight. A familiar sinking, a familiar silence.

I hope she believes I’m asleep. I hope she leaves.

But I know she won’t.

She never does.

A tickle from the sweat on my neck brings me out of the trance. The bathroom is full of steam from the hot water, heat suffocating the air as I step inside. My body continues its learned behavior, my muscles tightening on instinct, my mind slipping into that familiar state. In a way, still ready… still waiting. Waiting for help that would never come, for hands that will never touch me again, because I ended it.

But loneliness is the condition. A side effect of survival. Is this what it is? Is this the price of my freedom?Am I lonely? I never cared for people. I never needed them. I never really cared for human interaction, but in the outside world, beyond my head, I thrived. I controlled everything—the game, the rules, the players. But having it all taken away has essentially stripped me of the persona I created. Ren Sato was a construct, a mask I wore for the world. Without that world—without my control—who the fuck am I?

Am I even Ren Sato?

Who am I?

So many questions flood my mind as I wash my body, sitting under the water, letting it burn, letting it strip me down further. I welcomed it. The pain. The heat. The sting. This feeling was familiar. Something solid. Something I could hold onto. Everything else inside me feels foreign, like a sickness I can’t purge.

So fucking strange.

Maybe this is my fall. The moment my empire crumbles. Like the Roman Empire, the prodigal child has finally fallen.

It’s not like I can live my life in the open here, not with my face all over the news. Despite all my fucking money, I can’t buy what I truly want… what I need. I could leave, start over, wipe my name from existence, but I refuse to leave him behind.

I won’t.

But I also know that I need him willing. Not just obedient. Not just compliant. Willing. Loyal. Devoted. Dependent. Everything must be willing.

This is why our lessons are important. Because control isn’t enough.

I took a note from my mother’s handbook. Love isn’t something that blossoms—you have to strip it down, mold it, condition it. Make it necessary. Make it the only thing that exists.

And I will.

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