Deadly Obsession - Chapter 20 (Patreon)

Romelo

“She’s doing much better. Her violent tendencies have decreased substantially, and she’s allowing her gash to heal more properly now. Are you sure you don’t want to see her?”

“I’m sure. If anything changes. Call me.” I hang up the phone call with Dr. Shotwell. Charlie’s mood has improved, as well as her mental stability. And I know why. I stopped showing up.

“Hate you.”

Those words ring in my ears every day, and every night. They are words that I have never heard directed towards me before. Even my parents. They had their fucked up version of love. But hate? Never. And that look in her eyes. Like she meant it.

My home has been dark. The life is gone. My life. She’s gone. This place isn’t a home without her in it. Everywhere I look, is a reminder that she isn’t here. She isn’t on the swing in the backyard. Nor is she riding her bike. She isn’t in her bedroom, or holed up in her closet from the noise. She isn’t waiting for me in the tub, and she isn’t in her most favorite room in the house. The library.

She has affected me in a way no one has in my life. Her words to me actually causing an emotion that I’ve never felt before, to fester up inside of me.

Depression.

My phone rings again, and I look at the screen to see it’s her father calling. I roll my eyes ignoring it. He’s nothing but a selfish bastard. Using her for his campaign. A real father would have kept her out of the spotlight. But he has constantly done everything in his power to keep her in it. What can I tell him now? That his daughter is unable to come to the phone, because she’s in the hospital with a fucking hole in her skull?

Luca was right. This was a dangerous plan. I never counted on Charlie snapping. Not once. It’s because I grew too comfortable with the idea of her. In all honesty I think it’s this whole marriage sham that was the break for her. My actions were too confusing. I would act one way in public and another in private. She longed too much for the public perception, and when she finally grasped how different I was from what I could be, she broke.

“Shit,” I whisper aloud. I should have known. I should have calculated. She’s much too fragile. She’s always been fragile. From the moment she was brought into my life she was fragile. And now she... hates me.

I flinch at the thought. She couldn’t have meant that. But deep down. I know she did. I immediately stand up. Enough with this fucking brooding. I need to release this anger.

* * * * *

With each passing day, the wedding grows closer and closer. Now it’s less than three weeks away. And I still haven’t been back to the hospital. I can’t face her. I don’t know how. But I know I must sooner or later. I can’t figure out what it is I’m afraid of. The look in her eyes, or the way she’ll react towards me.

I show up to the hospital earlier than I was supposed to. Today is Charlie’s release day. I can finally bring her back home. I want her home. I want her back where she belongs. I haven’t been around her at all since she’s been in recovery, so I have no idea how she will act and react to see me and coming home with me.

I hate how I have been feeling lately. All of these foreign emotions have been running wild through me. And as I walk up the corridor, I feel nervous. The kind of nervous I felt when meeting Luca for the first time. That uncertainty and lack of control you have over a situation. And I hate it. The last time I saw her, she told me she hated me. She’s never had the nerve, nor the emotion in her head to hate me. And now she does? What does that even mean?

I round the corner, and doctor Shotwell is waiting for me outside of the room. He has an uneasy look on his face.

“She’s getting dressed,” he says. I nod my head, walking by him, and placing my hand on the knob. I push open the door, and there she is. Sitting on the bed with her head turned looking out the window. I knew that I missed her all this time, but looking at her and seeing her in person, makes me realize how badly I missed her presence. Her chocolate hair is falling down past her waist, bundled up in the bed that she’s sitting in. Her delicate hands are folded in her lap. And from this angle, I can see those long lashes.

I open my mouth to call her name, but pause. She hasn’t looked my direction yet. Hasn’t even acknowledged my presence. So I don’t speak. I just keep walking, until I am standing next to her, looking out the same window. It’s a nice view of the garden outside her room. I tear my gaze away from the window, and am caught completely off guard. Those deep blue eyes are staring at me. No joy, no happiness, not even fear. Just emotionless. She blinks once. Twice.

I take in her face, and my eyes come to a rest on her forehead. The stitches are now gone, but there is a faint scar running from her mid frontal lobe, up into her hairline. I reach out, to touch it.

SMACK

My hand is stinging and I blink in shock, trying to reign in my emotions. She slapped my hand away, and she’s looking at me with a new emotion. Hatred.

“Don’t touch me,” she growls out in a tone I’ve never heard from her before. I don’t even know how to react. I was so caught up in seeing her again, being around her again, I completely hadn’t realized my own emotions, as well as hers.

The room is silent, and she meets my gaze head on. She then looks away from me, hugging her arms to her chest.

“Charlie...” I say her name, hoping to get her to look at me. But she only stands, and walks past me to the door. She pauses in the doorway, looking back to me. I can see the hurt in her gaze. She’s pinning me to the spot with that stare, I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. No one has ever spoken to me like his before, no one has ever treated me like this. But I have never depended on someone’s existence the way I do hers.

“I gave you everything. I gave you everything I had to offer. I loved you, more than I loved myself. And yet... it was never good enough for you.” She looks down, and when she looks up, a single tear is falling down her face.

“There is nothing in me, that feels anything anymore, Romelo. Kill me, torture me, do what you want. I don’t care anymore.” And with that, she turns away from me, and walks out the door.

* * * * * 

“She had what we call a psychotic break. Symptoms can range from harmless, sometimes unnoticed delusions, to violent outbursts and major depression. Her form seems to be violent outbursts. Her mental state is… fragile at the moment. It’s as if she’s trying to grip her reality. Something very traumatic must have ensued her mentally for it to come to violent outbursts.”

I look beyond Dr. Shotwell and into the waiting room at Charlie. She’s gazing at nothing really. She looks like she’s about to have a breakdown.

“So what am I supposed to do. What am I supposed to look for?” I ask.

“I would suggest, putting away anything in your home that can cause harm to herself or you. Her break was attributed to you so the amount of aggression she holds is majority towards you. I would also keep an eye on her eating habits, and her reactions. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started seeing or hearing things that aren’t there. You must be gentle with her. Coax her back to reality,” he says. I sit back in my seat, running my fingers through my hair and letting out a frustrated sigh. You’ve got to be kidding me. So basically I should keep her away from fucking everything in my home.

“Anything else?” I ask. I try and keep my tone mono which is complete opposite of how I truly feel.

“I have prescribed some medicatio-”

“No medication.” He slowly nods his head, knowing that there is no way he’s going to argue with me.

“I want you to bring her in every week, so that we can asses her. And make sure she is recovering instead of going backwards. I’m afraid if we don’t see any improvement, we’ll have to institutionalize her,” he says. My fists tighten on the chair as I reign in my anger to not pull a gun on this man.

I take a deep breath. “Ok.” I say, standing.

“One more thing... The wedding. I’m afraid you may need to postpone it.” I continue my footsteps, ignoring what he just said. I don’t take orders from him.

* * * * *

The car is silent. Charlie is sitting quietly in the backseat. The front seat is a bad idea due to the fact that she can easily grab ahold of the steering wheel. I look in the rear view mirror, and notice her staring out the window.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. She shakes her head. I know she is though. I know her like the back of my hand. When she gets hungry, she fidgets. And I can see her hands in her lap, tirelessly roaming over each other.

“It feels good to have you come home, Charlie,” I say.

I hope for some kind of reaction like the blush that crawls up her neck when I compliment her, or that small cough she does trying to hide her giggle. Or even hugging her arms to her chest with a small smile before looking away. But she does none of that. She just continues to stare at the scenery.

I hate how much I’m at her mercy. I don’t like this silence. And now that fear doesn’t control her, what do I use? Pain?

I skip getting food, and go straight home. Once the gate is closed, I get out to open Charlie’s door but she’s already out of the car making her way inside. I watch her as she walks inside. Something is completely wrong. She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t wait for me, she doesn’t even look around like she used to. She just goes inside.

The rest of the day passes uneventful. There is a lull in business so I have more time to sit at home. I make a point to stay in my office to let Charlie roam, but she doesn’t. I make sure to check on her to ensure that she doesn’t try and kill herself or me, but I find her in the same place on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Once I’m sure she’s going to stay I make my way to the kitchen to make dinner. I’m hardly the sentimental type, but I am curios of Charlie’s reaction if I cook her favorite food. She was never a picky eater growing up, so she never favored anything until I made lasagna. She loved it.

I smile softly remembering the way her eyes lit up when she took the first bite. She kept asking me what I put in it, how I made it, and begged for more. Once I place the lasagna in the oven I begin cleaning up. I’m wiping the counter when Charlie steps into the room. She’s watching me with a blank expression. It’s like living with a doll.

“I’m making your favorite,” I say. Her gaze travels past me to the oven. I can see the muscle working in her jaw as she grinds her teeth. She silently walks into the kitchen, her gaze focused on the island in the center. I look to where she is taking in the hooks that I had specially installed for her, so that I could tie her up and play when I felt like it.

Out of nowhere, she storms past me to the oven, yanking open the door.

“You can’t fix this,” she growls before reaching into the oven.

“Charlie, don’t-”

It’s too late though. Her hands grip the hot edges of the pan, and I see tears well up, her skin flushing from the pain. She throws it on the floor, the glass shattering on impact.

“You can’t fix this!” she shouts.

She’s having another breakdown. I know this isn’t my Charlie. My Charlie is somewhere in there, hiding from reality. I make my way towards her, reaching for her when she suddenly moves with purpose. Sharp pain rips through me from my stomach.

Fuck.

Charlie is staring at me with a deranged smile on her lips. She fucking stabbed me. I let my rage take over, snatching her around the throat. I ignore the pain in my side as I lift her from the ground.

“You’re fucking playing with fire, Charlie,” I growl.

She giggles, looking me in my eyes as she speaks.

“Then fucking burn me,” she growls before bringing her foot up, kicking the knife deeper into my side. I cry out in pain, immediately dropping her as she takes off laughing like a manic.

I did this. I pushed her to this point. I know exactly where she’s going. I pull my phone out, my breathing ragged as I place the house on lockdown. The alarm sounds overhead as the steel barricades lower over the doors and windows and locking every point of entry. No one can get in now. Or out.

I try and get up, but the stab wound is too deep. I grit my teeth in anger, pulling the knife out of my side.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

The shirt that I’m wearing slowly soaks in the blood pouring from the wound. My body is losing consciousness by the second. If I pass out while she’s like this, she’ll kill me for sure.

I keep chanting to myself to stay awake but the more time passes, the more my world blurs.

“Shit,” I growl out as I sway to my knees, my world darkening.