Obsession within, p.2
Obsession Within, page 2
So I stand up and she stops talking about how psychotherapy can be helpful—a load of fucking bullshit—as I walk towards her.
“Is the door locked?” I ask her as I pull my watch off and place it on her desk with a thud.
“I—I…yes, why?” she stutters.
“Stop pretending that I’m here for you to miraculously make me a better fucking person when what you actually want is for me to fuck you,” I tell her. “Be honest with me and I will listen to whatever you have to say after that.”
Vivienne can barely speak, probably in shock that I’m so blunt. I walk towards her chair and then I get down on my knees in front of her pushing her pencil skirt up her silky thighs.
“You should be spanked for dressing so provocatively,” I say, watching as she sinks back into her seat when I kiss her inner thighs. I push her legs apart with my hands, exposing her lacy black underwear. I bet she’s already soaking wet. My cocks being aching for the past hour.
“This can’t get out,” Vivienne says. “I’ll lose my job.”
“I know,” I whisper before I pull her underwear aside and see her already wet, pink pussy, waiting for me.
I lean in, pressing my mouth against her clit, watching as a sigh escapes her bee-stung lips. It’s all too fucking easy.
It’s like a learning experience for me. What she likes and what she doesn’t like. I have it all stored in my head for future reference.
When I run my tongue along her clit, she arches her back, moans louder, and grabs my hair, pulling me closer as if she couldn’t possibly get enough of my tongue inside of her. She likes that and she wants more, so I ease my tongue into her again, licking, sucking, nibbling, and torturing her to the best of my abilities.
Without wasting any time and before she can come in my mouth, I stand up and grab her by her slender waist, before taking her over to her desk. My dick is rock hard and throbbing, eager to be inside of her.
I shove the papers off the desk and push Vivienne back against the cool wooden surface, before positioning her thighs on either side of me.
And then I pull out my throbbing cock from my unbuttoned jeans, roll the condom on and proceed to fuck her. Loud moans escape her rosy lips as I thrust hard inside of her in a steady back and forth rhythm and I have to lean over several times to cover her mouth with my palm as I go deeper into her pussy. So deep that my balls are practically slapping against her. She reaches us and grabs my tie while moaning and I can’t help but grin.
My other hand slips inside of her shirt as I search for her tits and then I pinch her nipples as I move harder inside of her.
I can feel her coming beneath me as I watch her eyes roll into the back of her head while her body trembles uncontrollably.
There’s something so powerful about watching them lose control as I take over and continue to fuck. I’m the Alpha fucking male. Vivienne grabs my shirt, knotting her fingers and grabbing me closer.
I come a minute after her, pure ecstasy filling my body as I hover above her, both of us breathing raggedly.
And then I pull my cock out of her and grab a bunch of tissues from the box of her desk, before wiping my hands and mouth and discarding them along with the condom in the bin near the desk.
“Thanks for the session,” I tell her as I button my jeans and put my watch back on. I run a hand through my hair. “We’re done here.”
I need a line of cocaine right now and possibly a hard drink. Maybe whiskey or scotch.
Vivienne looks a little flustered as she adjusts her clothes. “Um, yeah. I was wondering if you’d like to meet this Friday. Can I give you my phone number in case you need to ever talk?”
I smile at her because I know that I have her. “Yeah.”
Vivienne hands me her card with her business and personal number.
I take it and then draw my gaze up at her. “Try and contact me or my family again and I’ll fucking ruin your career. Just because I fucked you, it doesn’t mean I want to see you again.”
Her mouth hangs open as I leave her office. As I said, I never lose. But I am amused at the fact that my mother’s and Matt’s plan has ceased to work. Well at least in the way they thought it would help me.
3
The Internship
PARKER
I sit in the cool leather chair, fidgeting with my pants as Rose Hall talks to someone by the door.
She’s a tall graceful woman, with a glorious mane of shiny, dark brown hair that’s pinned up and flawlessly pale skin. I decide that she’s in her late thirties, although I’m not too sure because she has enviably natural beauty.
Rose ends her conversation, before closing the door and walking back to her chair that’s across from me. A dark wooden table sits in between us but does nothing to ease the tension in my throat. My palms suddenly feel sweaty. That only happens when I’m really nervous.
“Thank you for coming in today, Parker,” Rose says, her face lights up as she smiles. “I took the time to look over your cover letter and I was thoroughly impressed with the potential qualities you could offer at Gulliver Books. However, we do love to establish a personal relationship with all our employees, so tell me, what do you look forward to if you are accepted for our yearly Spring Internship?”
I take a deep breath and smile as confidently as I can because I know I can do this. I spent the last few days preparing myself for this moment. Post break up too, I add. With hundreds of used tissues scattering my bed as I searched for the perfect outfit before I climbed back into my bed to wallow in depression.
“I look forward to working with a team in the different areas of publishing. Every book that is published is the result of hard work and I would very much enjoy going through the entire process.” My voice is steady. I got this.
Rose smiles, looking pleased with my answer. “What kind of a future do you see for yourself, Parker?”
“I see myself working in a publishing house like this, reading thousands of manuscripts a month, reviewing books for blogs,” I say, as I straighten my shoulders.
“Have good posture. You want them to take you seriously, not to look at you as if you’re a fool,” my father’s words enter my mind. Except he wasn’t prepping me for a job back then, just to sit with pretentious assholes all night at dinner parties.
“Books have always been my passion. Writing them and reading them. There’s so much gold in those pages,” I continue. “I would love the opportunity to find new talent and help them succeed in their writing career. There are many possibilities out there, but I’m extremely attached to the world of literature. There’s nothing more satisfying than being a part of that process.”
“Those are very wise words from a young woman such as yourself,” Rose says. “Which is why I would like to invite you to join our paid internship program starting this Friday.”
For a moment, I am almost lost for words because I thought I’d have to really make myself desperate for this interview.
“Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. Hall,” I say, wiping my hands on my pants, as I reach over and shake her hand. “I really hope I can be of help here at Gulliver Books.”
“I am confident that you will be.” Rose smiles. “And we’re glad to have you on the team. If we are happy about your progress by the end of our Spring Internship, you will be offered a permanent place in this publishing house if that is something that interests you.”
“Thank you so much. This is great. I can’t wait to begin,” I tell her.
I leave Gulliver Books feeling better than I did this morning. I should phone my dad and tell him that one of those applications came through, so I hail a cab and when I finally get one, someone bumps my shoulder and I look back up to see a dirty blonde-haired guy.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologizes in a deep, low voice. “I guess we both saw the same cab, but you can have it.”
His eyes are striking gunmetal blue, he has a long aquiline kind of nose and wears wire-rimmed glasses, looking like he just stepped out of a completely different era in his black t-shirt, dark suede coat, and dark jeans that covered his tall length. He also looks way older than me. Late twenties? Perhaps even older than Hudson.
I’d feel bad if I had to take the cab so instead, I say, “Or we can both take the cab?”
His wide lips curl into a friendly smile. “That could also work.”
We both get into the cab and I can’t help but notice his shoulder pressing against mine the entire time.
“Thank you for being courteous,” he says. “Most people aren’t that nice.”
“It only seemed fair.” I give him a side glance and he smiles. “And most people aren’t considerate.”
“I’m Eric.” He holds out his hand and I reach out to shake it. His skin is warm.
“Parker.”
“It was wonderful to make your acquaintance,” he says, before turning to the cab driver and leaning over. “You can stop there.” Eric points to the side of a dingy street corner and before I know it, he’s out of the cab, disappearing into the alcove of darkness through an alleyway.
I feel stunned for a few minutes as the cab driver continues in the direction of Kensington College, wondering what the hell just happened.
4
Heathcliff
PARKER
“Heathcliff,” Professor Tillman says as he stands by his ancient podium with a copy of Wuthering Heights open before him. “Today, we’ll be taking on Heathcliff who’s a little more of a darker character than our dear Dorian Gray.”
I pull out my notebook and pencil to make notes on anything that piques my interest.
“Brontë did the impossible when she wrote Wuthering Heights. She made Heathcliff both the villain and romantic interest,” Professor Tillman says. “What I find extraordinary is that over the years Heathcliff’s character has been labeled a Sociopath or a vicious Psychopath. Back in the Victorian Era, there was no proper definition of what a Sociopath and Psychopath were.”
The room is in silence as Tillman walks around thinking silently to himself as he slips his hands into his pockets.
“People adore Heathcliff. They empathize with his character but find him vile at the same time. He has been depicted as abusive, sadistic, and almost Satanic.”
There’s laughter and murmuring around the classroom and he smiles. “Not Satanic like devil-worshiping. Several times throughout the novel, Heathcliff has been described as being dark which attributes to his devilish, cruel nature. Even his wife Isabella”— Tillman glances into his book—” in Chapter 11 believed him to be ‘The black villain, a lying fiend, a monster and not a human being!’ Even as a baby he is described as being The Imp of the Devil or better yet just devilish.” Tillman taps the tip of his pencil against the book. “There is almost a demonic relationship between Catherine and Heathcliff. Such a powerful love, yet so dark and cruel. Possessive. Everything dark you can think of, this book captures it perfectly.”
Heathcliff. I can’t help but feel pain and love for his character. I can feel his suffering deep in my chest.
Professor Tillman turns to the class. “Can anyone tell me what kind of hero Heathcliff is exactly?”
The class is silent, so I decide to lift my hand and Professor Tillman smiles widely almost pleased that someone has been reading their work.
“Yes, Miss Kelleher.”
“Heathcliff belongs to the Byronic Hero category,” I say.
“Excellent! Can you tell us why?”
I clear my throat before answering and try to ignore the fact that everyone’s eyes are on me. “Because a Byronic hero was described as dark, brooding and is usually ostracized from society which fits Heathcliff’s character.”
“Precisely. Good work Miss Kelleher.” Tillman turns back to the class. “One of the biggest questions that my past students always asked me was whether Heathcliff was villain or victim.”
“And I always tell them the same thing,” Tillman says. “No one is born a villain. They are made into one. In his case, Heathcliff is frequently ill-treated, when Hindley becomes master of the Earnshaw house.”
“How can Heathcliff be portrayed as a romantic hero when he wanted revenge on Catherine too?” a blonde-haired girl from the front row asks. “He was sadistic and cruel. Nothing about him was romantic.”
“Good question. That is the tragedy of Heathcliff, because of Catherine’s rejection and his suffering at the hands of Hindley and Edgar Linton, Heathcliff leaves Wuthering Heights and returns a changed man. He is prosperous and exactly the kind of man Catherine would want. But Heathcliff’s character is driven by two important things: revenge and his desire for Catherine, who he cannot yet have because his need for revenge and control is greater,” Tillman explains. “Catherine was in love with Heathcliff, but from overhearing her conversation with Nelly Dean about how she can’t possibly marry Heathcliff because he is of a lower class and lacks social ethics, Heathcliff leaves and returns the man Cathy always wanted, but now can’t have.”
“As Miss Kelleher said.” He points out to me. “Heathcliff is a Byronic hero. He is a romantic hero with darker character traits. He is driven by revenge and his obsession with Catherine Earnshaw. We can sympathize with his past and the way he became.”
The class silently takes notes while I find myself feeling oddly attracted to Heathcliff’s dark character.
“Does anyone else have any questions?” Professor Tillman asks as he looks at his watch.
There are a few murmurs and no exact answer so he goes over to his desk and starts packing his black case.
“We can wrap up this class then. I hope you all take the time to read deeper into the story and we’ll pick up from there next time,” he says and everyone starts rushing out of the classroom as if they can hardly stand being in it any longer.
I leave class too, my mind haunted by the darkness and cruelty of Heathcliff and his insensitive attitude towards everyone including Catherine. It almost reminds me of Hudson.
It’s the first thing I think about as I read further into Heathcliff’s character. Cold, withdrawn, and driven. It’s all too familiar. But what could be Hudson’s reason for being so callous? I know he had a hard childhood. I don’t know any more than that.
Heathcliff is simply a character in a book written a long time ago, Hudson on the other hand, is real.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t see where I’m going and walk right into someone.
When I look up I see Blake standing there. I hadn’t seen this asshole ever since that night in Ryder’s bar, yet here he is outside my literature class.
“Parker.” The surprise in his voice is as evident as the fading blue-purple bruise on his jaw. “I—I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for how things turned out.”
“What exactly are you sorry for? Lacing my drink with full knowledge that I could have overdosed?” I can’t suppress the bitterness in my voice.
“I thought you were being nice, you’re so lucky that I didn’t go to the cops.”
He drops his gaze, appearing disgusted with himself. “I wasn’t going to do anything. I just wanted to have fun.”
“Trying to make your actions seem like good intentions just makes you more of an asshole,” I say, as I walk away from him.
It’s only 5 p.m. and I still have an extra hour before I have to leave to have dinner with Lex, so I head over to the Library and find my little spot vacant.
Memories of Hudson fingering me on this very seat enters my mind and I try to ignore them, but I can’t.
I can’t understand why I can’t just ignore the thought of him. When I left him, I felt he was vile and heartless and I still think that. There is something not wholly right with him and even though he’s not here, I still find it hard to ignore his face in my mind. It just shows how much he affected me in so many aspects.
I told him I didn’t love him when I did. I told him I didn’t want him when I did. He hurt me and there is no excuse for that. I wish moving on was as simple as reading books or going to sleep and waking up.
But it isn’t. And I can’t stop thinking of him. As I settle down on my seat to read more of Wuthering Heights, my phone pings and I see one new text.
I switch on my screen and it’s as if he can read my mind. It’s him. I thought he’d just give up and leave me alone. He’s been texting me all week.
Can we meet? For coffee maybe? I want to talk to you…—H
A tired sigh escapes my lips and I press on his text for a long. The options come up and I struggle to move my fingers across the screen as I press delete. I can’t go. I just don’t have it in me.
5
I’m Sorry
PARKER
I grab a bottle of red wine from Food Co. before I get a cab and it’s exactly 6:20 p.m. when I reach the apartment.
The evening air is cool on my skin as I climb out of the cab, gathering all my books and my bag along with the wine.
It’s been a long day and I just want to eat dinner, have a hot shower and crawl into my warm bed after, possibly reading more of Wuthering Heights, so I walk into the building and take the elevator up. I’m glad he didn’t text me again. I should have blocked his number but I couldn’t. It’s fucking weak of me, I know. Lex will bitch slap me if she only knew how stupid I’m being.
When I reach my floor, the elevator doors slide open and that’s when I look up and see him standing right outside the apartment door. I fucking clutch the books and wine tightly to my chest, because I almost drop everything. Hudson.
At first, I almost start to think I might be seeing things, but it’s him. He’s there. It’s not a dream and it’s certainly not a freaking illusion playing tricks on me.
His inky black hair is messy, roughly cut, and a little shorter than when I last saw him. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with the first few buttons open and exposing the smooth protruding lump of his Adams Apple, and a pair of dark jeans.
