Obsession

Blaine knew all sorts of tricks. He slid a finger inside me and began gently thrusting it in and out; after a moment, he added another. Another finger pushed insistently into my ass, and I'd never felt so full before. I clutched at his hair, my thighs pressing against his ears, gasping for breath as he ate my pussy eagerly.

It felt good. All of it felt good. But it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough until the combination of my drunken state, the darkness of the room, and the fact that his hair was about as thick as I imagined Axel's to be allowed me to put someone else's head between my legs. Blaine's head was a dark shadow, but my mind filled the rest of the picture in with ginger hair and a chiselled face. I watched, entranced, as that imaginary man looked up at me, as blue eyes stared into my own, as Axel ate my pussy like he was starving, like he was mine, finally mine.

I nearly wailed as I came, fingers twisting through his hair as I shoved his face hard against my pussy. My back arched and I writhed, my vision bouncing from darkness to white light to icy blue and fiery red and him. As I finished and released his head, my legs relaxing open, my breath coming in frantic puffs, Blaine laughed and the spell was broken.

"Damn, I could listen to you come like that all night," he murmured.

"Mmm," I responded.

He laughed again and pressed his lips to mine, still slick and tangy from my juices, and then he was rubbing his erection against my mound, sliding his cock along my slit and grinding it against my sopping pussy.

"Lemme fuck you," he growled.

"Yes," I breathed, and he pushed himself inside me without another word.

I didn't picture Axel again, couldn't face the guilt of picturing him when he was my friend's husband, when he wasn't the man fucking me, when it wasn't fair to Blaine that I imagine someone else's cock inside me. I didn't come again, either, but moaned theatrically when Blaine pushed his fingers against my clit and demanded I come on his cock. I tensed my muscles as an afterthought, a commitment to my deceit, and Blaine groaned.

He pulled out, stroking his cock as he blew a second load all over my stomach, a hot, sticky mess of cum that splashed between my belly button and ribs. Still panting, Blaine reached over and turned the bedside lamp on, found a towel, and helped me clean up before lying back on my bed.

"Can I stay the night?" he murmured.

"Yes," I said.

He stayed that night, and the next night, and on the night after that, he complained that my basement was too hot and maybe I could come to his place the next time. I did, and from then on we spent every few nights together at his apartment.

He wasn't Axel. No one else was Axel, but I couldn't have Axel. Instead, I settled for Blaine, settled for comfort and acceptable sex and an easy mindless relationship. He was good to me, mostly, and I tried to be good to him.

We started seeing more of Minah and Axel. Minah invited us over regularly for dinner, or we would go to the movies together. Blaine and Axel got along well enough, though Axel was so quiet it was hard to tell if he really liked Blaine.

Whenever we went out together, I made sure to hold Blaine's hand and kiss him as often as I could without being obnoxious. It didn't prove anything to anyone except myself, and as it didn't really prove anything to me, I wasn't sure why I was doing it. I just needed to show myself I was with Blaine, only Blaine, and that Axel was never an option.

It wasn't a cure for my sickness, but at least I could manage the symptoms. I still pictured Axel almost every time Blaine and I made love, but the pain started to numb, then fade, then become just a quiet tingle in the back of my mind whenever I saw him.

**

Six months went by. Minah and Axel bought a house together and moved out of the apartment we'd shared. Minah's studio opened and was a resounding success. Axel was Axel. He didn't say much to anyone and nothing to me, really. I still worked at the art store. I dated Blaine because he was convenient. Because he was convenient, I became comfortable. Because I was comfortable, I didn't notice the subtle shifts.

He wanted to fuck all the time. Every time I saw him, he wanted to fuck. It didn't matter if I was tired or if I hadn't showered or if I was on my period or anything, Blaine wanted my body. It was easier just to let him have it, so I would spread my legs or open my mouth and think of Axel while Blaine rutted against me. Sometimes I came, sometimes I didn't, sometimes Blaine cared, often he didn't.

I didn't notice the way he sighed miserably when he finished, the way he stopped handing me the towel when he came all over my stomach or back or face, the way his touch became harder and firmer, pinching my flesh between his fingers and biting my shoulder, trying to make me react, trying to break me out of a place of numb complacency.

I got lost in my head. Hours upon hours were spent thinking of Axel. It didn't hurt anymore, really. It was almost a comfort. It was like pouring milk in coffee before adding sugar; it was the thing I'd always done. It never crossed my mind to add the sugar before the milk, just like it never crossed my mind to stop thinking of Axel. Even seeing him in person wasn't difficult anymore. His brightness faded, the fire of his hair dulling and the ice of his eyes melting until he really only seemed grey to me. Everyone seemed grey to me. Grey and bland and uninspiring.

"What is this?" Blaine asked one night, picking up the composition book lying on his coffee table.

"Poems," I said.

"Yours?"

I shrugged. "I was trying to write."

He flipped the book open, thumbing page after page, raising his eyebrows as he read my words.

"Hmm. Are they any good?"

I shrugged again.

They were terrible, but Blaine didn't know enough about poetry or prose or language, in general, to even have the slightest concept of what qualified as a good poem.

"Gonna publish any of them?"

"Probably not."

"Maybe you should think about, you know, a career or something."

I didn't respond and Blaine grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"You ready?" he asked a little while later.

I hadn't moved off the couch.

"Yeah."

Again, he raised his eyebrow at me.

"Cecily, I'd like it if you could make a fucking effort when we go out in public, you know."

The words should have stung. Instead, they fell flat. I shrugged again, went into his bathroom and cleaned up a bit, then joined him in the kitchen.

"Acceptable?" I asked.

"What's wrong with you lately? You pissed at me or something?"

I shook my head.

He sighed. "Yeah, whatever. Come on."

He drove to the restaurant we were meeting Minah and Axel at. After he parked, he reached across the seat and grabbed my wrist before I could open the door.

"Listen." His voice was stern, almost angry, and his fingers squeezed the delicate bones in my wrist hard enough that I winced. "I dunno what's going on in that head of yours, but smarten the fuck up. Stop acting like fucking Eeyore and don't embarrass me in front of Minah and Axel, got it?"

I stared at him for a moment, a long moment, a moment where I tried to drum up some kind of feeling. Rage or fear or humiliation or confusion. Anything.

A flicker of anger sparked, nearly caught, but hissed into numbness as I looked into Blaine's eyes.

"Got it," I mumbled.

He let go of my wrist and I opened the car door.

Minah and Axel were already seated at a table. Blaine's demeanour changed as soon as we saw them.

"How's my favourite yoga teacher?" he said brightly as Minah got up to hug him.

"Great, thanks! How's my favourite personal trainer?"

He mumbled something and she laughed before releasing him from the hug.

"Cecily! How are you?"

"Good."

She hugged me, then looked me up and down, eyes clouded with concern.

"Good?" she repeated.

"I'm good," I said.

Axel surprised us all by greeting us warmly, grinning as he stood to shake Blaine's hand. Then, without warning, he hugged me.

The numbness faded, colours filled the world, and my heart started racing as his body touched mine. Six months of pain, of love, of desire, of obsession came roaring back, sudden and heavy, rushing over me and around me and through me like a waterfall.

oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh

A high-pitched laugh bubbled up from my chest and burst out of my throat. Thinly veiled disgust stretched across Blaine's face as he watched, and Axel let go of me.

"Sorry," I babbled. "That was just unexpected! Hi, Axel. It's good to see you. Sorry. You just surprised me, that's all, nothing... nothing else. Sorry."

Minah giggled. "What are you apologizing for?"

"The... the weird laugh. Thing." I felt my cheeks turning red and plopped into the empty chair next to Blaine.

Axel didn't seem to notice my awkwardness, or if he did, he ignored it and took his seat again. The air around him seemed to bounce and vibrate, buzzing with swarming potential, and he looked at Minah longingly.

She caught his eye and her face scrunched before she giggled again.

"Oh, just tell them."

"We have some news," Axel said immediately.

Minah touched his hand and he jumped slightly. After a moment he relaxed, turning his palm up to clasp her hand.

"News?" I repeated.

Minah pressed her lips together, a glowing secret behind her golden-brown eyes, and she glanced at Axel.

"We're having a baby," he said.

A baby.

It might have just been in my mind, but it felt like there was a moment where the world froze. A beat, a heartbeat, a long beat of processing, processing, processing, turning the words over and over in my mind.

baby baby baby baby baby baby they're having a baby

Blaine was staring at Minah. I only knew that because I got past the moment first and let out another deranged laugh as I grabbed his forearm.

"A baby! I can't believe it!" My voice was shrill, shaking, shocked.

Blaine recovered as I glanced at him, tearing his eyes away from Minah and grinning broadly.

"Fuck, dude, congratulations!" He bounded out of his seat and clapped Axel on the back, then leaned down and kissed Minah on the cheek. "Congrats, mama."

She teared up and dabbed the corner of her eye with a napkin.

"It's still early," she said quietly. "Really early. So just... don't tell anyone yet, okay? Just in case, you know, things... happen."

"Nothing's gonna happen." Axel's voice was a low rumble and he squeezed Minah's hand.

There was just the slightest bit of stiffness between them, the tiniest hint that something was wrong. Then again, the dam that had been holding my emotions back had burst open, flooding me with feelings, bringing back all the sadness and infatuation and suspicion and adding a few new things in, like jealousy and despondent sorrow and yearning, so much yearning. There was a good chance I was just imagining the sudden tension, praying there was a rift there, then falling to the guilt I felt from hoping for such a thing.

I spent the rest of the evening consumed with thoughts of babies. Babies, babies, babies. I couldn't imagine what Minah and Axel's baby would look like. Would it have Axel's hair? Probably not. The red would be lost under Minah's genes, the same with his blue eyes. His fire and ice would be lost, drowned in the encompassing waters that made up Minah. Maybe it would have Axel's face, but I couldn't marry the strong lines of Axel's bones with Minah's earthy colouring.

If Axel and I had babies together, they'd be beautiful. His red hair with my green eyes, or my black hair with his blue eyes... we'd have babies that looked like fairytale characters, babies that had unblemished, pale skin and beautiful faces and little turned-up noses. People would stare at our children, surreal little creatures that possessed unearthly beauty, and they would be jealous and astounded and awed that one little being could be so perfectly formed.

If Blaine and I had babies together, they would be... cute, I supposed. Cute in the way that all mothers think their children are cute.

The evening passed in a blink, and when I finally shook the image of tiny faerie-like children with red hair and green eyes from my mind, Blaine was pulling into the parking lot of his apartment.

"You staying?" he asked.

I nodded and followed him inside.

"So that's exciting," I said casually as we shook off our coats.

Blaine grunted in response.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

He shrugged.

"What do you think it'll look like? Probably like Minah, I think, but maybe it'll—"

"Would you just shut up about the fucking baby, Cecily?"

I recoiled, my mouth half-open with unspoken words hanging from my lips. Blaine glared at me, eyes cold and angry, before laughing awkwardly.

"Can't get you to talk all damn night and now you just wanna talk about the baby."

"I just—"

"Shh."

He grabbed me roughly, kissing me so hard I thought my lips might bruise or split or bleed. I struggled back, pressing on his chest.

"Blaine, wait—"

"Don't fucking tell me to wait."

I'd been so self-absorbed over the course of the evening that I hadn't noticed the shift in Blaine. I hadn't noticed the tension slinking through his muscles, the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel, the hard line of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. It wasn't until those tense muscles were trapping me in his arms, those white knuckles were bearing down on my breasts as he gripped them, and his teeth were closing so painfully on my bottom lip that I really, really noticed.

"Stop," I gasped.

He didn't.

"Please don't," I whimpered.

The hand on my breast tightened and he shoved his pelvis against me, cock hard and throbbing and angry beneath his jeans.

"Blaine, stop!" I shouted, and I pushed him as hard as I could.

He stumbled back, regained his footing, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor with pain shooting through my jaw. Blaine stood over me, hand hanging in the air like a hawk soars, almost graceful, almost sickeningly elegant as he stared down at me.

I looked up, shocked, and touched my cheek.

"You know, I could be with a thousand other chicks, ones that aren't fucking crazy-ass cunts who live in fucking la-la-land," he growled.

Suddenly, he was tugging on my arm, pulling me to my feet, fingers digging into my flesh as I protested. "Instead I have Cecily fucking Larch, useless goddamn poet who doesn't know when to talk and when to shut the fuck up."

"Stop," I gasped again.

He grabbed my chin, forcing my face to look up at him.

"I don't want to talk about the fucking baby."

Each word he spoke was enunciated perfectly clearly, harsh and domineering and frightening.

"Let go of me," I whispered.

He hit me again, something in my mind broke, and the next thing I knew I was screaming as I clawed at Blaine's face.

I don't know how I ended up on top of him. Blaine was twice my size and infinitely stronger, but somehow, he ended up on the floor in the kitchen. I had him pinned, there was skin under my fingernails that used to belong on his face, and patchy bruises were blossoming on his cheeks and forehead.

He grabbed my wrists, struggling as I screeched words that weren't words at him.

"Get off me!" he roared.

I slapped him.

"Never. Fucking. Hit. Me. Again," I hissed.

He stared up at me, eyes bloodshot, cheeks turning red, and I realized I was digging my fingers into his neck.

"Okay," he choked. "Let me go."

"Don't you ever fucking hit me."

"I won't."

His voice was hoarse, delicate and fragile and breathless. My heart raced, eager and invigorated, an emotion I couldn't name pounding through my veins with each hammering thud.

"Don't you ever fucking hit anyone, you piece of shit."

"Please," he gasped. "Cecily, p-please, I can't b-breathe."

For a long moment, I hesitated. I paused, I waited, I felt sickly encouraged, resistant to moving my hand from his throat. I stared down at him with shameful pride and numb horror. Then I let go of his neck, got off him, and bolted away before he had even finished taking in a rasping breath.

The door slammed behind me and I ran, I ran, I sprinted down the hallway and down the stairs and out the door and past people on the sidewalk. My shoes hit the pavement, clapping a rhythm of fear and anger, my thoughts humming in the background in a twisted a capella.

he hit me i hit him he hit me i hit him he hit

The words rolled and rose, bubbling and boiling and spilling from my eyes. When I finally had to stop running, keeling over and gasping for breath as my lungs burned and my body screamed, they became one clear thought:

axel wouldn't have done this to me

**

I hid in my basement for a week.

My boss fired me after I failed to show up three days in a row. He left a message on my voicemail since I refused to answer the phone.

Minah called a few times. I didn't answer for her, either. The first message she left was sympathetic.

"Hey Cecily, it's Minah. Sorry I missed you. Blaine says you two broke up and I just wanted to check in, see how you're doing. I'm so sorry to hear it didn't work out; you seemed so happy together the other night! But you have to do what's best for you. Call me back when you have a sec and let me know you're okay. Love ya."

The next one came two days later.

"Hi Cecily, it's Minah. Just checking in. Blaine seems really upset about the whole breakup and says he can't get a hold of you either. I'm gonna stop by your place later, okay? I'm worried about you."

That night, an impatient and annoyed message:

"Cecily, it's Minah. I know you're home, I can see you through the window. Can you please answer the door?"

The next day:

"Hi, it's Minah. Look, I don't know... I don't know what happened between you and Blaine. Clearly there's more to it than Blaine let on. I saw him today, Cecily. He had... scars. On his face. Bad ones. I'm not... Cecily, I'm so worried about you. Please. Please answer. Please call me back."

After deleting the last message, I wondered numbly when Minah had started talking to Blaine so much. Maybe Blaine was trying to do damage control.

I didn't answer the door when Minah visited because the entire left side of my face was still swollen and purple. By the time the swelling subsided enough that I could cover the discoloration with makeup, it was almost a week after the night Blaine had hit me.

I spent the first few days huddled in my bedroom, not sleeping, not eating, terrified that Blaine would show up and break my door down. I sat in the corner and clutched my cell phone to my chest, staring tensely at the door and jumping at every whisper of a noise, whether real or imagined.

I nodded off to sleep sometime on the third day, after I got fired but before Minah's second call. When I woke up, I crawled into bed and slept fitfully on and off for two more days. I got out of bed when I heard someone knocking at the door, but when I caught sight of myself in the mirror near the front hallway, turned and crawled back into the comforting darkness of my room.

When the guilt of making Minah worry finally overtook the shame and fear and anger, I got out of bed, showered, and slathered on a layer of makeup that didn't quite cover the bruise but was better than nothing. I dressed, brushed my hair, and warily poked my head out the door to survey the yard before scurrying to my car and driving to Minah's.

I rehearsed what I was going to say in the car. I didn't know what Blaine told her, but it was obvious he hadn't admitted to hitting me. Minah was my friend, though, and one of the most understanding people in the world. She'd believe me, I thought. And she'd forgive me. I had been so wrapped up in my own world that I almost felt like she was a stranger. The moment of tension between her and Axel at dinner the previous week drifted through my mind, twisted like a bag in the wind, and faded.