Painter’s Obsession

33. Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Three

Ren

I t took a while for my Thorn to fall back asleep. The medicine seems to be doing its job, pulling him back into the haze of fever dreams. Who would’ve known I’d be good at playing nurse? Be good at caring for someone other than myself. But I guess it should be expected, coming from someone like me.

I step into the room, using the black towel to dry off my hair as I lean against the door frame, watching his chest rise and fall. The faint hum of the IV fills the silence, a monotonous reminder of the lengths I’ve gone to keep him alive. I should probably get some rest, but instead, I’ve been sketching him.

The urges claw at me, relentless. The need to consume him, immortalize him, keep him as mine forever. But I can’t—not yet.

I’m intrigued.

I want to know more about the man who’s become a pain in my ass, the same man who shares my darkness.

Maybe I just want a friend.

The thought makes me laugh under my breath, low and bitter. A friend . What an absurd notion. Growing up, my psychiatrist told my mother I needed friends. That didn’t last long. The doctor was fired, and my mother taught me her own lessons instead.

I push off the door frame, the towel slipping from my fingers to the floor. My bare feet carry me toward his sleeping form, each step deliberate and quiet. Byron’s face is peaceful, serene, and free of the tension and defiance that usually define him.

I kneel beside him, my fingers hovering above his lips before I give in, tracing the small zigzag scar above them.

“What is it about you?” I whisper, my voice soft, almost reverent. The air feels thick, pressing, or maybe it’s all in my head or how my heart increases in rhythm. What an odd reaction.

“Is it the fact that we both have shitty parents? No, that can’t be it. I’ve met plenty of people with shitty parents.” My finger trails lower, moving down the line of his jaw as I inch closer, my face hovering just above his. “Where we’re alike is here.”

My hand lingers over his chest, right above his heart.

“It’s the masks we wear. Your shadow is a passenger. Mine’s the driver. Yet we both hide what we truly are.”

My gaze sweeps over his face, studying the way his brows relax and his lips part slightly in sleep.

“Aren’t you tired of hiding? Of pretending?” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

The faint warmth of his breath brushes my skin as my lips hover just above his.

I’ve never kissed a man before.

The thought doesn’t bother me. If anything, it intrigues me. Byron isn’t like the flowers I’ve crushed, their beauty and fragility wilting under my hands. He doesn’t remind me of her. He’s something else entirely.

Now that Byron knows who I am, I can have companionship—at most, I can have a pet. Because there’s no way he’s leaving me. Not alive, at least. Even after death he’s mine to keep.

Gabriela’s face flashes in my mind, unbidden. She’s the leash keeping him tethered. I need her back in my grasp, but I can’t hurt her—not yet. Not when she’s my way to control him. Without her, he’d unravel.

Unless I suffocate him with darkness. Corrupt him completely.

A smile curls on my lips as I lean in and press my lips against his, a brief kiss that lingers just long enough to leave a mark. His lips are warm, softer than I expected, and for a moment, I feel something strange, unfamiliar.

“I know exactly how to bring you to the dark,” I whisper against his lips, my voice a soft, venomous promise.

Standing, I move to the dresser where I keep my sleeping clothes. Opening the top drawer, I pull out my favorite pair of black pajama pants with the yellow Batman symbol printed on the leg.

Something about Batman has always appealed to me. The man who has everything and yet nothing at all. The man who resists the pull of darkness even when it calls to him like a siren’s song.

He’d make a better villain.

Slipping into the pants, I clap my hands, and the room plunges into darkness, save for the faint light filtering through the blinds.

I walk back to the bed and glance at Byron one last time. He stirs slightly, his brow furrowing as if caught in the throes of a nightmare.

The shadows on the wall shift unnaturally, curling and writhing like living things. For a moment, they seem to reach toward him, clawing at the edges of his form.

“Goodnight, Batboy,” I murmur, my smirk curling wider as I slip under the thick black comforter.

“GAbrIELA!”

Byron’s scream jolts me out of the abyss of sleep, the sound sharp and raw, slicing through the stillness of the room. My eyes snap open, and for a moment, I’m disoriented—too close to him, close enough that this proximity feels suffocating.

I can feel his heat radiating against my skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket we share. It feels… wrong. Like something pressing heavily against my chest, a weight I don’t want to acknowledge.

His wide, glassy eyes find mine despite the darkness in my room. I push myself up on one elbow, running a hand down my face. “You’re finally awake,” I say, my voice low, deliberately casual, as I suppress the irritation clawing at me.

He shifts, his breathing uneven, his body tense. “Where am I?” he demands, his voice hoarse but laced with defiance.

“My room.”

“What am I doing here?”

I let out a slow yawn, dragging the moment out. His panic is almost palpable, and I savor it, even if I won’t admit it to myself.

“You had a bad infection. I saved you. You owe me. End of story,” I drawl, waving a hand lazily toward the IV pole standing beside the bed, its saline bag nearly empty.

Byron doesn’t respond right away. His eyes dart around the room, landing on the cuff binding his right hand to the bed frame.

Smart. Already looking for a way out.

“Why?” he finally asks, his voice sharper now, cutting through the silence.

I sigh, the sound exaggerated, as if the answer should be obvious. “Because,” I say, leaning closer, “what’s the fun in breaking you if you’re dead? Plus, you know the real me, and maybe I want some company. Either way, you owe me.”

His jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring as he tugs at the cuff. The sound of metal against metal grates in the quiet room.

“I’ll be dead either way,” he mutters, his voice low but charged with frustration. “So why even bother?”

I smile at that, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch between us.

“Enough,” I say, my tone dropping, sharp and cold. “I don’t want you dead. Not yet, at least. I think you and I can have some fun. I can show you how to play in the dark without being afraid of the monsters.”

Byron scoffs, the sound harsh and bitter. “What the fuck are you babbling about? Play in the dark… monsters. I’m not afraid of you.”

My smile widens. Of course, he isn’t. That’s what makes him so delightful.

“I know,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost tender. “And that’s why I want to keep you around.”

His gaze sharpens, his breathing unsteady. There’s anger there, sure, but beneath it, something else lingers—something I can’t quite place.

“How about we go back to sleep,” I say, leaning back slightly, “and I’ll answer all your questions in the morning?”

He doesn’t respond right away. The bed shifts as he lies back down, the cuff clinking softly against the frame. His body remains tense, his muscles coiled, like he’s ready to spring at any moment.

“She’s safe,” I add, my voice low, almost a whisper. “Go to bed.”

I see the change immediately. His body softens, the tension bleeding out of him as the confirmation of Gabriela’s safety sinks in.

But I don’t turn my back on him.

Instead, I inch closer, my body pressing against his. The heat of his fevered skin seeps into mine, almost unbearable, but I don’t pull away. My arm wraps around his waist, and he freezes beneath me, his breathing shallow.

Not that I’m into cuddling.

This is practical. If he tries anything—if he even thinks about moving—I’ll feel it. You can never be too careful.

But as his warmth sinks into me, I let my eyes close, a smirk curling on my lips.

“Goodnight, Thorn,” I whisper, my voice soft and mocking, as the darkness swallows us both.