Page 36 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

But maybe he can make me feel better...

And I him. Like I did with my mother.

I slip into bed beside him. His warmth envelops me like a blanket. Like a child, I angle myself so he’s holding me. Then, placing his arm over me, and throwing my leg over his lower half, I lay my head on his chest.

I used to listen to her heartbeat like this too until I realized it beat for no one but herself.

But he’s not her. He’s not the monster in this story.

I am.

Chapter Nineteen

Byron

“Byron, what did he do to you?” Gabriela’s voice is soft and shaky, but she’s trying to keep it together for me. I look at my sister’s face—the terror, guilt, and shame written on her skin.

“Nothing that wasn’t done before,” I say, chuckling a little, trying to humor her with my response. But it’s not going to change anything. I know my sister well enough to know this will eat her up alive if I let it. But I also couldn’t tell her the things that happened in that studio—what Ren, her boyfriend, did to me... and worse, what I did.

Shame hits me, and I look away, unable to meet her eyes. I focus on the IV, and even that brings me back to him.

“By—“she begins, swallowing back a small sob as her hand moves over her mouth.

And my heart can’t take it. Despite the pain, I embrace my sister.

“I’m—“

“Shh, it’s okay,” I say as I rub circles on her back. “Shh... it’s okay. I got you,” I whisper into her hair as her body begins to shift beneath my touch.

Her vanilla and cinnamon scent is gone, replaced by the scent of him.

I open my eyes, and I’m no longer in the hospital. And it’s not my sister that I’m holding.

It’s Ren. Naked. In my arms.

I feel the guilt wrapping around my throat tighter than the chain he placed on me. My hand burns from the contact, and how it rests on his back as if it was always meant to be there. His scent overpowers anything else in the room, and I feel the blood rushing to my cock where his leg rest. I should push him away... but I remain here.

Tethered to him... smelling the faint remnants of his shampoo. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply,trying not to see those dead, dull eyes that have haunted me—Johnathan’s, Theresita’s, Gabby’s, mine. I feel a tear leave the corner of my eye. I should be fighting... screaming. But instead, I breathe him in like I’ve never wanted anything more. My arm involuntarily tightens around him, bringing him closer to me while I clench my teeth. The movement itself is physically painful, emotionally scarring—but still, I do it.

“Did he?” she asks, pulling away, wiping the tears and hair from her face. “Did he ra—“ she can’t even finish her words. Gabriela found us both naked—it wasn’t hard to connect the dots–and she has always known about my sickness, even though I tried to hide it. Her soft hand cups my face, begging me to look at her, but I couldn’t because I knew she was falling for him. As for everything that happened before she arrived... was it rape?

Or did I want it?

Did I welcome my sister’s boyfriend’s cock inside me, not caring what he was doing—because of how I was feeling?

I don’t look up as her hand falls from my face and she collapses on my bed, crying into the sheets.My hands shake as I move to console her, but I freeze... the shame keeping me in place. I wasn’t the victim here... she is, as is Theresita—not me. I wanted him from the moment I had met him as my lawyer...

My biggest secret was what I felt when I walked into that room. His presence suffocated me, and unnerved me so much I couldn’t wait to leave. That night, I watched him fuck her, but she was background noise, and all I saw was him.

I was no victim...

I’ve always been a willing participant.

Removing my hand from around Ren, I remove the IV, careful not to startle him or make myself bleed too much. Once I get it out, I get up to use the bathroom in his room. The smell of Ren is everywhere, and once I’m done with my morning business, I stare at myself in the mirror, not recognizing who I see. I look thinner, sunken, and dull-eyed. Slowly, I’m sinking into the darkness where her light can’t reach me, but his can.

I try to swallow my anger, but I can’t—my fist connects with the mirror, over and over, until the mirrorgives in to my hand. Shards of glass embed in my knuckles but I don’t care. I welcome the pain because it means it’s real.

This is real.

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