Page 86 of Unapologetic Obsession
I so badly wanted to say yes. There had been many times Professor Maxwell had gone to great lengths to protect my bubble—except this time. He had shattered it in the worst way imaginable.
Deep down, I knew this wasn’t his fault. A string of misunderstandings had spiraled out of control, and I had no idea how to fix things.
At some point, he pulled me to his chest. The irony of him comforting me with a warm embrace wasn’t lost on me. Theworst thing? It was working. We had developed a friendship over the semester, and the bond provided me with a natural security. With his massive body cocooning me, the monstrous nature of what he had done didn’t cross my mind. I felt safe in his arms even though he was the biggest threat to me.
Burying my face against his chest, I wept, overwhelmed. No matter how many times he asked, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what was truly wrong.
Finally, he offered to take me home.
When I seemed alarmed by the idea, he gestured at the back entrance of his office. “That door opens to the parking lot behind campus.”
I hadn’t noticed that exit before. It made sense to use it, given that I was in no condition to walk out through the front door. He also deduced I was in no condition to see other human beings.
“I’ll grab the car keys from Raoul and bring my car around. I’ll drive you home.”
He paused for a moment, his body angled toward the door. He returned to me and brushed his lips against my forehead. My heart stopped.
What wasthat?
“Be right back,” he said softly.
The moment he stepped out of the office through the front entrance, I sprang to my feet and bolted through the back door. There might have been a few tears as I ran back to my dorm, clutching my ripped blouse and praying no one recognized me.
My hands were stiff as I opened the door and stepped into my dormitory apartment. I flicked on the lights and saw that Amelie wasn’t home yet.
We shared a modest apartment that we had made into our own. The narrow hallway opened into a cozy living room, where a kitchenette lined one wall with a mini fridge and a two-burner stove tucked beside the sink. A small table served as both our dining area and a study spot. Two bedrooms flanked the living room, with a tiny bathroom and shower stall squeezed in between.
It wasn’t anything special, but we were grateful for it. Having your room was a privilege for on-campus living, and Amelie was the perfect roommate—though I was relieved she wasn’t here right now.
I needed a minute to recover. Professor Maxwell was probably pissed that I ran out on him again. It dawned on me that he probably texted or called me, but his message wouldn’t come through as I had blocked all the unregistered numbers from this weekend.
I removed my sandals and stripped my torn clothes before stepping into the shower. I had the urge to scrub my skin until I bled.
I didn’t know how long I stayed under the stream, but the water had turned cold by the time I cleaned every inch of skin he had touched. No matter how much I washed, I couldn’t erase the lingering trace of his amber scent clinging to me. It stirred unwelcome images—his rough hands, his breath hot against my neck, the way he dominated every moment and refused to let me get away. My skin flushed at the memory of his touch—demanding, possessive, laced with a tinge of obsession.
When did he even develop a sexual attraction for me?
Could this be a part of some deranged obsession with my scars? His fascination had been unsettlingly evident from themoment he had laid eyes on them, leading to the change in my diet and everyday life.
Or maybe he liked the thrill of being with someone inexperienced? I recalled his intrigue when I mentioned my intact hymen on the boat. There was a shift in his eyes, an almost primal draw to what he perceived as untouched and unmarred.
He was a scientist to the core and saw these physical attributes as keys to a deeper mystery within me, one he was determined to unravel regardless of my comfort or consent. His peculiar interest in my scars and my virginity formed a disturbing pattern. It painted a picture of a man whose desires were fueled by a chilling blend of possessiveness and fascination with things he couldn’t dissect.
I wrapped myself in a white fluffy robe and stared at the mirror. My fingers hovered over the damage he had inflicted—the marks on my neck where he choked me, my bruised arms from when he gripped me, the rug burns on my knees.
I thought I would be entirely numb, but the apathy my body language usually projected was absent. My raw eyes were strangely animated, my skin was flushed, and my cheeks sported a lively red color.
I never let anyone get close to me. I lived inside a fortress of my creation, but someone had breached the walls. Why hadn’t I retreated into myself like usual? It was my go-to defense mechanism. Instead, I looked alive.
I shook my head.
There was something wrong with me. Calling my therapist was the next logical move, yet I hesitated, fearing she would report our conversation to the authorities. She was bound by law to report a crime.
But had a crime even occurred? On the boat, we were consenting adults and it wasn’t illegal to have sex. The line ofconsent was murky during our second encounter, stemming from a place of profound misunderstanding rather than malicious intent.
Perhaps things could still be rectified, and I shouldn’t risk going public.
Although my father cut me off, he would go to war with the Maxwells if he found out what had happened. It would escalate their already deteriorating relationship and drag me into the epicenter of the year’s biggest scandal. I couldn’t deal with the spotlight. Damon would think I seduced his brother after shamelessly pursuing him for years. Worst of all, Professor Maxwell would lose his lab and his credibility.
