Book Obsession Novels & Stories

Lena asked, though her tone suggested she was already working through the possibilities. "Because he's obsessed," I replied, thinking about the photos, the note, the pattern of behavior we'd been observing for weeks. "He doesn't want to run from me anymore, he wants to confront me. He wants to possess me, reclaim me, make me choose him over whatever life I've been building." "That's insane," Lena said flatly. "Yes," I agreed. "But it's also predictable. Obsession makes people irrational, makes them take risks they normally wouldn't.

MARCELLUS I don't answer immediately. Instead, I look at Nora. She's staring at the chocolate spilling across the plate, refusing to look at me. "...I do." No one utters a word. Even Sebastian has his narrowed gaze on me. "She's right." My voice is calm. "Obsession doesn't announce itself. One day you're simply... rearranging your entire life around another person without realizing you've already lost." A few contestants exchange glances. "And lies?" I continue. "They sometimes don't begin with bad intentions."

An addiction. She was nothing but an addiction. Yet an intense addiction that has made its way in his blood, coursing through his veins and now there was no turning around. He had reached to the dead end of that addiction that despite wanting, he can't give up on that addiction. Reaching a point that he had accepted he was obsessed with her. That he has fallen into the depth of that obsession. Fallen completely. Insanely. Passionately. Desperately. And lastly, hopelessly.

He has been sitting here for over an hour turning things over in the specific way he turns things over, which is directly and without softening the edges, because that is how he thinks about everything and he is not going to stop doing it because the thing he's thinking about is uncomfortable. He has known obsession since before he had a name for it. He had looked at it early and called it what it was and never flinched from the truth of it. He was obsessed with her. That had been clear and simple. He'd filed it correctly and kept going. He had known possession the same way. She was his. He'd been certain of that before he had any reasonable basis to act on it, before she had any reason to a

Not like now, where I can’t replay his images of him in my head. I walk out the door not forgetting to delete my Reddit account. It's better to forget it all. I'm driving home but those words still echo in my mind. “Never get obsessed again, son. Don’t get caught.” Aunt Sarah had made sure she ingrained those words into my head and those very words have been my mantra for years. I should take a step back, because, holy fuck, this whole obsession thing is new. I didn’t know I could be this hyperfixated on a person until it becomes a noose that’s getting tighter around my throat with each passing day.

I can't rest my mind, so I put my bags in a corner, time for me to think about a way out. My phone is ringing. I thought I had muted it. Am I losing my mind? It is ringing again. I tell myself that my publisher is probably urging me for my second volume of 'The old perfume in the cupboard. ' I grab my phone, a little re-motivated. And there, my enthusiasm crashes down when I see the name of Paul appear on my screen.

Brock asked one evening, trying to start a conversation. “It’s fine, Dad.” “Need any help with the research?” “No.” “Reinna, how about you? What are you reading in English?” Mom chimed in. “We’re doing The Great Gatsby,” I replied, trying to sound intellectual. “It’s about the hollowness of the American Dream and the impossibility of recapturing the past.” I glanced at Austin, practically beaming the word “intellectual” across the table. He didn't even twitch. He just cut his chicken with extreme precision. The way he held his knife and fork, like he was surgically removing the food from the plate, was hypnotizing.

“There’s the sassy girl I know. Smartass.” The professor continues and I try to focus, but shit, he’s going to be in this class—right next to me—for the whole semester. DING! He’s going to drive me crazy. He wrote, Where’s that Kama Sutra book? I bet she still has it. Get a copy. I take a deep breath. This is going to be a long semester.

I dоn’t need іѕ tо ѕреnd аnоthеr mоmеnt оf energy оn ѕоmеоnе whо won’t treat me wеll, but I саn’t hеlр mуѕеlf. Agаіn, I wоndеr аbоut оbѕеѕѕіоn and whу thе tеntасlеѕ rеасh іntо every аѕресt of my lіfе.

He shook her from his mind and pushed open the doors to the study. The rug-lined room was bigger than B’s above-garage apartment. Floor to ceiling bookshelves dampened any noise B might made in his whiskey search. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of space on any one of the shelves. Books of all colors, textures, and sizes were packed together. In front of the book spines sat hundreds of little treasures–seashells, pocket watches, glass figurines, and carvings of creatures. So many creatures. B let his fingers drift over the book spines: The Picture of Dorian Gray. The Catcher in the Rye. The Odyssey. Brave New World. The Call of the Wild. White Noise. So many stories he’d never read and