Pathological

The first time Professor Weston touched me, it was to guide my breathing. The second time, it was to hold my hand as my world fell apart. He became my anchor, my secret, my ruin. Now, a powerful stranger is offering us everything, and I see the same hunger in his eyes that once lived in mine. He doesn't want to help us. He wants to own us. And the only way out is to use the very therapy that saved me, as a weapon to destroy him.

"Ah... go easy, my husband is calling." My cheeks flushed bright red as I grabbed the phone and accepted the video call. On the other end, my husband, Trevor Chambers, stared intently and began rattling off a list of instructions. He was completely unaware that just out of view, a young man's head was busy nuzzling between my thighs.

After I got pregnant, my husband started driving for Uber after work to help with household expenses. He wouldn't return home until the early hours of the morning. Then, on Valentine's Day, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my belly. I called an ambulance to take me to the hospital. When I arrived, I saw my husband entangled with another woman. Both of them were being wheeled into the emergency room. "Tsk, these two really have no shame, going at it right out in public," someone muttered. "They probably wrecked the car in the process, don't you think?" another chimed in. "What's even worse," a voice added with a hint of horror, "is that guy has a wife!" The bystanders gasped in unison. "His wife must be devastated." Whether his wife is devastated or not, I don't know. But one thing is certain—he'll be going straight to hell for this!

I’ve always felt the child that I’ve cared for the past three years was not mine. My mother-in-law told me I was overthinking and was just tired. However, I remember it clearly. My child had a birthmark on their left arm.   Even my husband said it was nothing more than a dream I had after passing out during labor.   Still, I began to suspect that my in-laws swapped my child at birth.  

The intern my husband brings home feeds our son hard liquor. My husband merely says I'm making a mountain out of a molehill when he finds out. Ultimately, our son dies. After his death, I leave the country to be with my parents. That's when my husband regrets everything.

Because her precious Jeremy needed a lab rat, Harper shipped me off to Bendora Mental Health Institute after my surgery. I got electroshocked until I was drooling and twitching, and she? She just slapped her hand over Jeremy's eyes like, "Ew, babe, don't look." Jeremy scored a Research Award nomination off that mess. Harper celebrated with fireworks so loud they could've woken the dead. Meanwhile, I was lying there in the dark, staring up at the sky while they took my leg. To keep it quiet, Jeremy slapped on a prosthetic and threatened me if I ever opened my mouth. He told Harper I just got "a little banged up" in the trial. Numb, I boxed up my leg in a freezer box. Seven days later, at Jeremy's big gala night, guess who would unwrap it like a party favor? Yeah. Harper.

My boyfriend is a forensic doctor. I've been abducted and tied to a bomb—there's only ten minutes to detonation. The abductors force me to call my boyfriend, but all I get is a scolding. "What the hell do you want, Michelle? What are you playing at, using your life as an excuse just because you're jealous? "Vi's cat has already been stuck in a tree for three days. She loves it like it's her life! If you delay me from saving it, you'll be a murderer!" I hear a coquettish voice ring out on the other end of the line. "Thank you for this, Kev. You're amazing!" I recognize that voice—it belongs to my boyfriend's childhood friend. I text my boyfriend when the bomb is about to explode. "Farewell forever. I pray we won't meet each other again in another life."

My husband's childhood sweetheart kills my parents in an accident due to drunk driving. I want to call the police, but my husband blindfolds me and takes me to the cellar. I'm tormented and subjected to inhumane treatment for the next three years. After each torture session, an icy male voice will ring out in my ear. "Do you still hate her, Sabrina?" One day, I finally cave and submit to the icy voice. "No, I don't. I don't hate her anymore!" I hear my husband's joyous laughter on the other end of the line. On the day he welcomes me out of the cellar, I avoid his embrace. Yet he loses his mind when I ask him for a divorce.

My wife has an emotional breakdown after being violated. She insists I'm the one who orchestrated it, but both our parents know her true love is the actual culprit. Still, they don't object to her insane retaliation. They even have me locked up in a prison abroad. As I'm tormented, she sells my company to help her true love get away scot-free. Ultimately, he's set free, but I die without even having a final resting place. When a judge informs her to collect my body, she sneers and says, "I've had enough of this nonsense. Does he think he can get away with a fake corpse? I won't even bat an eye if his body is flushed down the drain! He's nothing but a disgusting criminal!" Later, she realizes that I've truly died. She's delighted, but her laughter soon turns to tears as she holds my corpse.

Five years ago, when my boyfriend's small company was on the brink of bankruptcy I stepped in to save him, quietly supporting him from the shadows. Without revealing my identity, I became the company’s largest shareholder. Five years later, the night before his company was set to go public, he held me in his arms and said, "Emma, after the company goes public tomorrow, don’t leave. I have a surprise for you." At that moment, I was swept away by the idea of his "surprise," my mind racing with the hopeful thought that he might propose. I didn’t notice the cold glint of malice lurking in his eyes. The next day, as his company went public, he slapped me across the face and sneered, "Do you even see what kind of person you are? Did you really think someone like you could marry me?" He grabbed me by the hair and dragged both me and my best friend in front of a crowd of thugs and beggars he’d gathered. “These worthless cast-offs aren’t good enough for me anymore. Consider them my gift to you. Do whatever you like with them!”