4. My Obsession

Angioletto's Pov

It is considered a deformity to be fixated on a particular person or object. It is a deformity to be narrow minded. It is a deformity to only find psychological fulfillment from just one person.

My therapist had so many words to describe my obsessive tendencies. But right now, all I want is to live with that deformity for the rest of my life.

My new obsession. A beauty to behold. From the moment I set eyes on her, from dusk to dawn, every day since I’ve had her under my care, she has been imprinted in my DNA.

A part of me and I have no complaints.

She’s my obsession, constantly pouring through my soul like a soothing cold breeze that leaves me longing for more.

“Oceane Augustin.” I test out the feel of her name on the tip of my tongue while I watch her through the cameras.

Yes, my penthouse has security cameras placed in every corner, all of which are connected to the big screen in my room—for security reasons of course.

Except now, it’s serving other purposes.

It’s not that I’m perverted, but I just can’t bring myself to look away from this petite little girl.

I brush my knuckle softly across the screen, shutting my eyes and allowing my imagination run wild. I imagine that she’s here with me. I imagine the uniqueness of her features.

I imagine her innocence, her childlike face, the depth of her gaze, and her mesmerizing eyes.

I imagine the whole of her.

Small and adorable. Sweet and timid—which is the exact reason I adore her.

She’s untouched, naïve, unscathed, still as pure as when she was formed, but I’ll be her ruin. I’ll open her eyes to the real world.

My games with Oceane Dumont Agusutin are yet to begin.

But how can I play with her if she’s so infuriated at me?

Was I extremely mean? Yes. But it wasn’t my fault the girl was beginning to think she has a say in the decisions I make as pertaining to her. I just had to put her in her place.

I know, I made the wrong move.

Because now, I’m bored and she wouldn’t even inhale or exhale a breath around me.

Shit!

I fucked up.

It happened so fast, so fast I couldn’t even control the words that were leaving my mouth.

I should probably force her to play with me. She’s after all my hostage and should do whatever I demand of her. No questions asked.

Forcing her wouldn’t work though.

She’s a different breed, who grew up around very violent men and women, adding to her rebellious persona. 

I see it in her eyes as much as she tries to shield that part of her. I see her anger, her rage, her spitefulness, her fire, her rebellion, her courage, her lack of fear.

She’s not one to fear anyone or anything. Not even death.

Having ruled out that option, I pick up my phone and log onto g****e.

G****e is your friend, they say, now, it’s time to test out that theory.

‘How do I get someone to be happy with me after I’ve upset them?’

That’s all I type and wait.

It’s insane, unnerving, maddening.

I’m a twenty five year old man and should act the part but with this girl, I lose all of me to her essence. Each time, I find myself chasing after her as though she’s a price to be won. She triggers me in ways that excites me and I wouldn’t give that up for anything in the world.

She’s not a price though. She’s just my little plaything. An object to be toyed with.

When g****e finally provides me answers, all I see are a series of ‘apologize’ and ‘a simple sorry can solve a problem’.

Apologize? Say sorry? To my hostage?

Laughter bubbles out of my throat. G****e might be every other person’s friend, but it has proven to be an enemy of mine.

If it were a person making this despicable suggestion, there'd be a bullet hole between his eyes the instant those godforsaken words leave his mouth.

Apologize.

Why should I apologize when I can make her do my bidding?

Over my dead body will I apologize to anyone. Especially not her.

Swiftly storming out of my room, I head for the living room where she’s splayed out on the couch, reading the dirtiest, filthiest book there is. She doesn’t know it yet.

How naïve.

“Oceane.” I call out. She acknowledges my presence by just a single glance that doesn’t even last a second.

Fuck! This is nerve wracking.

“Munchk—”

Her voice harsh and rough, she cut me off. “I can hear you.”

“The things I said earlier, I didn’t mean them.” My voice is a slight escape of a murmur.

She doesn’t regard me for about a minute. It’s as though I had just spoken to a deaf person. She finally manages to spit out an, “okay.”

I continue. “I just wanted to know the things you would love to do if rules didn’t exist.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, sir.”

“But I’m here and I’m explaining!” I yell, slowly losing my grip on my last string of patience. A soft gasp is all that escapes her parted lips. Nothing more, nothing less.

She proceeds to read her book. A book I got with my own money. 

I scoff, restraining myself from grabbing the book and ripping it to shreds.

“School.” She whispers when I turn my back in an attempt to walk away.

I turn back around to face her with furrowed brows. “What?”

She looks up from the book, her big brown eyes and deep gaze settling on my nervous, icy blue ones. “I would really love it if I could go to school.” She elaborates.

I hum. “Have you never been?” She shakes her head ‘no’ .

“You speak so well.” I state, causing her lips to curve up into a smile as though reminiscing. “My father preferred that I was homeschooled. He thought I was too rebellious, hot headed, and would spiral out of control if he let me into the world.”

I chuckle incredulously. “What about your mother? What did she think of your father’s theory?”

“She had no say in the matter.” Her eyes twitch and when I look closely, I find them burning with held back tears.

Does it have something to do with her mother?

I don’t bother diving deeper into her life in the past. I should focus on now. She’s with me and the fact will remain unchanged for an unforeseen period of time. 

She’s mine.

Mine.

“Would you like to be homeschooled?” I further enquire but she shakes her head in disagreement. “I want to learn in a school. For the experience.”

The implication of her statement gets a chuckle out of me. The experience is quite shitty until you’ve learned to exert your power on others.

I’m about to speak further on the matter when I receive a text from my father demanding my presence. Knowing what this meeting is all about, I hiss exasperatedly, running my fingers through my hair.

“I have a meeting in a few hours, munchkin, tell me the things you’d love to experience in school. You have ten minutes to convince me.”

Her perfect lips form a pout. “I don’t understand.” 

I scratch the back of my head, wondering how I’d explain it to her in the way she’s able to comprehend. “Uhm. . .pitch it to me, like a business proposal, like you’re trying to convince me to invest in you.”

Her lips twitch. Something about her changes. She looks so high-spirited, lively, friendly, talkative, animated, and just generally enthusiastic about life. Her bubbly and exuberant self coming to the surface.

Her mesmerizing eyes glisten with so much excitement that makes my lips twitch at the corners.

With widened eyes, she rambles on and on about the experiences she’d like to have if allowed to go to school.

She believes I’ll let her, and that gets her more excited.

Again, I force down the smile threatening to creep up on my lips.

She’s so beautiful when she smiles. A voice in the back of my head whispers and I’m suddenly lost in her beauty. Something in me feels way too excited for comfort.

Not until she begins talking about boys.

“I’ll definitely have a boyfriend.” Are her first words that completely tug at my sanity. “Have some alcohol,” she fawns. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“Go on trips!” She giggles, tapping her hands softly. Her innocence and naivety makes the moment wholesome, but I know too well the world out there, and I know they’ll take advantage of her in ways she’d never imagined.

“Trips?” I enquire with furrowed brows.

She nods enthusiastically. “Yes.”

I scoff. “That means you wouldn’t come back to me for days?”

She freezes.