The Psychology Of Obsession

"So you're still obsessed."

I slammed my laptop shut instinctually before turning to face the round-faced brunette who had plopped into the seat beside me. Her hair was pulled back into an impeccable bun, and her dress shirt was subtly patterned like green agate. Jane always looked lovely, even after a long workday.

I laughed her concern off, like usual. What else could I do at this point? "So obsessed, I let you sneak right up on me."

"Yep. You're getting sloppy, Sherlock."

"Well, every Sherlock needs their Watson to keep them in check. You've been neglecting me!"

"I'm sorry, this time of year is just so busy in Advising. You do look kind of miserable." Jane wrapped me in a tight, loving hug. I rubbed her back and sighed. After fifteen years of friendship, few things were as comforting as that soft embrace. But just when my shoulders started to relax, I pulled away.

I reopened the laptop; Jane already knew what I was working on anyway. "Look, I tried to get help. Instead what I got was two weeks of shitty hospital food and a prescription for antipsychotics. Unfortunately, the only person able and willing to find this asshole is me."

It wasn't the first time we'd had this conversation, and I was sure it wouldn't be the last. Because she was right. I knew what I was doing wasn't healthy. But I knew I was right, too.

"So you keep saying. Any new leads?"

I sat up a little taller. "Yes! Yes, actually. The National Security Archive just released a new collection on the CIA's mind control experiments. So I've been reading through some of these records."

"Putting the university library to good use I see. So...a bunch of sketchy documents from 75 years ago. How exactly does this help you find someone now?"

"Don't know yet. But I have a good feeling about it. Either way, I'm learning a lot." A line about "unwitting subjects" grabs my attention and before I know it I'm sucked in again.

"Well. I'm sorry for interrupting your hunch or whatever, but after days of neglect, I thought I'd take you out for dim sum."

This time, I properly turned off the laptop. "You always know just the thing, Jane!"

--

Home safe! ❤️ Thanks again for dinner. I needed that.

With a relieved sigh, I threw my coat at the rack and kicked off my sneakers. The backpack holding my laptop, headphones, and other vital objects was placed much more respectfully next to the desk.

Duh. I love you, Dina. Psychoses and all

I rolled my eyes, and plugged in my phone for the night. As much as I appreciated Jane for sticking with me, I'd had enough of her gentle judgements for one day.

After my nightly routines, I could feel the siren's call of horrifying historical documents once more. So I brought my laptop to bed, knowing full well my sleep schedule was about to be trashed.

But when I opened the folder that had previously held hundreds of separate PDFs, I instead found a single.txt file. My stomach dropped, and heat flooded my cheeks. I was terrified. But it didn't take long for curiosity to win out, and I double-clicked the new file.

Good try, but let me save you some time. None of those documents can help you. You'd be better off getting a good night's sleep. Sweet dreams!

I may have failed to mention this part of the situation to Jane. Part of what had kept me so obsessed was that this person was

still actively fucking with me

. Every so often, after waiting just long enough that I would almost feel safe again, they'd find a new way to leave me a message.

And apparently they had access to my computer. What else could they have seen or done? How humiliating! I threw my once-precious laptop to the floor, and rolled over to sob into my pillow.

--

My dreams were not sweet. I was reliving that day again, as I often had over the previous six months. Sitting in the uncomfortable plastic seat, my view half-blocked by someone a foot taller than me. Listening to the panelist drone on about pseudoscience. Thoughts about quitting my PhD program. The flask that kept me "sane" in those times. Mutters that turned to heckling that turned to arguing with the person sitting in front of me. Their annoyed voice morphing into the honeyed one I heard in the hotel room.

My mind desperately invented new variations where things played out differently, yet ultimately, it always ended the same way. In one reality, I left the conference early, but a tall figure was waiting for me in my apartment. In another, I ran through liminal convention center corridors until, lost and exhausted, I fell directly into my captor's arms. I relived our conversation, this time sober, prepared. But by the end I was still a pathetic mess, ready to do anything that fucker wanted.

I woke up to my alarm, sheets absolutely soaked with sweat. It was going to be another miserable day as a teaching assistant for Psych 101. Not exactly what I had intended when I went into academia.

When I rolled out of bed, I winced at the discarded laptop leaning against my laundry basket. Thankfully, it seemed unharmed. Well, other than the fact my personal nightmare apparently had access to it.

This time, at least, there didn't seem to be anything new. I felt vulnerable in a way that really pissed me off. Impulsively, I saved a fresh Notepad document to the desktop.

To the worst person in the world.txt

You want to "help"? How about you turn yourself in? Or let me know where to find you so I can handle you myself. Otherwise, leave me the fuck alone

It wasn't until I'd wasted my time sitting through a downright elementary lecture on classical conditioning--the professor didn't even need my help today, goddammit--that I found a response. This time, a text message.

To my favorite pet,

If you want to see me so badly, all you have to do is ask nicely. But I know that's hard for you.

Send me a picture of the present I left you, and I'll give you a hint.

I felt my eyes sting with frustrated tears. It was all a game to them. What fucking present? I couldn't give them the satisfaction of another response. I would find them myself, and make sure they couldn't hurt anyone else like they hurt me.

--

I followed every guide I could find to trace who had accessed my computer, to identify them from the phone number they were texting from. Hours and hours until it was the middle of the night. But everything was a dead end, or led me in circles, until I was too frustrated to continue. In that moment of exhaustion, I was almost tempted to ask for my hint. Not that I knew what "present" they were referring to--a terrifying thought in and of itself.

Instead of giving in to that impulse, I decided to opt for a protein bar followed by a nice hot shower. The flavor of chocolate and granola lingered even after rinsing it down with cold coffee.

"The picture of success, aren't we," I muttered as I stared myself down in the bathroom mirror, long ginger hair clearly in need of shampoo after my research bender. The hiss of the hot water and the steadily warming room eased my stress ever so slightly, until I felt comfortable enough to strip. Being naked just felt so vulnerable lately.

Steam was beginning to fill the room and condensate at the edges of my reflection. I noticed something out of place: a spot of dark contrast against my skin. I leaned towards the mirror. At the base of my neck, there was a blotch of purple and red, just hidden from view when I was wearing my t-shirt.

"Fuck, no..."

It was, unmistakably, a hickey.

--

"It's been six months, Dina." Jane tugged at my shirt collar to get a closer look. "Hickeys don't last six months."

"I know,

Jane

." I yanked myself out of her grip. "That is why I am here, having a panic attack."

"You seriously don't remember getting it? Any dates recently?"

"Haven't exactly been in the mood for dates, if you didn't notice!"

"Last year you told me hypnotists were con artists and quack doctors. Isn't that what your dissertation is about? And now you think they can erase your memory? I know

something

happened to you, but... Dina, I'm really worried about you."

"Yeah, drunkenly yelling about mentalism at a panel full of hypnotists is how this all started, remember?" I took a shaky breath. In, and out. Felt the awkwardness in the air. "I'm worried too, Jane. I know it sounds nuts. But I can promise you I didn't give myself

this

." I pointed at the bruise by my collarbone.

"You were drunk at the conference?"

I sighed. "Yes. I was self-medicating. It was obviously a bad idea, and I haven't had alcohol since. But I think we're missing the point here!"

"Okay, okay." She nodded seriously, looking at the hickey again. "I believe you." My friend, loving as ever, sat on the red sectional and patted the spot beside her. "I'm sorry this is happening. And you're welcome to stay here if you would feel safer."

I joined her on the couch and rested my head against her shoulder. "Thank you. I really don't want to be alone right now." It was only a little bit humiliating the way my voice cracked as I said it.

--

That night, cuddled safely against my friend, my dreams were different. I felt the soothing tugs of my braid being undone. A scalp massage. I heard happy sighs and pleased laughter. My eyes were closed, which seemed to turn up the dial on my other senses.

"You are so sensitive. I bet I could condition you cum from this alone. Wouldn't that be fun? A bit embarrassing..."

I tried to answer, but it came out as more of a little moan as nails continued circling on my scalp in all the right places.

"Wait, I have an even better idea. You'll love it." Their fingers slid down the sides of my neck, then over my breasts. I felt warm breath against my skin, tickles of curly hair, soft lips by my collarbone. I was moaning again, louder now. Suddenly, they

snapped

-

And I was in Jane's bed, alone. Feeling like a puddle of bliss for just a moment. My fingers trailed up my body, sleepily, before pressing against that spot on my neck, enough to hurt-and I gasped as pain and pleasure radiated from the bruise. I rolled over and felt the slickness between my legs, the throbbing need-

Then an ice bucket of shame from head to toe.

"What the actual

fuck

!"

I looked at the clock; it was 10:44. Jane was long gone. At least no one else had borne witness to that humiliating moment.

--

Just in case the shame wasn't enough, I rinsed myself with cold water in the shower. Cornflakes and black coffee for breakfast. There was no room for whatever had overtaken me in my sleep, or any other distractions.

I had one goal: find the asshole who was fucking with my head. And there was a lead I hadn't yet pursued.

I took a selfie showing off the hickey as well as my middle finger. Time to play along.

There was no immediate response. After a while of pacing and panicking, I finally distracted myself with a crime procedural that was just interesting enough to keep me glued to the couch for a few hours. A teenager ran away from home to meet up with his internet boyfriend. The parents were frantic, and for a moment it seemed things had taken a very dark turn. A real nail-biter. But in a surprisingly wholesome scene, the detective found the boys and convinced them to go home.

My phone vibrated, and the mindless television was suddenly irrelevant again. I had my response.

It was a video this time. My hands shook as I saw a freckled face and loose ginger waves in the thumbnail. But I pressed

Play

.

"Tell the camera what you just told me, gorgeous." A familiar, seductive voice.

The only person in frame had long hair spilling over her body, but was otherwise entirely naked, kneeling on the ground.

No.

"Y-your pet..."

"Hmm?"

"I want to be your pet, please..."

"Are you

begging

me?"

"I'm begging! Please, please let me be yours!"

"And what a good pet you are." The camera moved in closer, and a hand caressed her face. My face. I smiled in a way I couldn't remember ever seeing myself smile before.

The camera moved back again. "But did I tell you to touch yourself?"

I gasped, realizing I was fingering myself

not just in the video

. Hand fully shoved down my pants as I sat on Jane's couch. And it felt good. It was terrifying to see myself doing things I couldn't remember, or at least it should have been. But that look on my face...like I was utterly fulfilled. Not a single care in the world. Why was I so turned on? I couldn't help rubbing my clit just a moment longer before pulling away.

"There is something so wrong with me," I groaned, tears blurring my vision. Utterly humiliating. Disgusting. Fortunately, or unfortunately, that was a thought spiral I was well acquainted with. I couldn't have made it this far in life if I didn't know how to snap myself out of it.

I took some time for ill-advised-but-grounding slaps on the face, a tall glass of ice water, deep breathing and distraction, until I was gathered enough to remember the original point of all this. The video was supposedly a hint, though it seemed to be more of a taunt.

I watched it a few more times, paying attention to things I missed the first time. The brick wall, hardwood floors. A woven rug where I was kneeling. Some mounted artwork...I was able to look up the artist's name, an Expressionist, not that they were familiar to me. When I noticed my legs rubbing together eagerly again, I decided to take a break. It did seem like there was a clue here, hopefully one the sender didn't intend me to find. But first, I really needed a proper meal and a change of scenery.

--

The trolley swayed as I looked for an open seat, but I was able to grab the handrail in time to stabilize.

Ah, there's one.

I slid into a spot near the back of the car and pulled my phone out of my backpack. One new message, from Jane.

I'll be home around 6. Wanna do dinner??

Outside, businesses and townhomes and strangers whizzed by. Someone two seats ahead was coughing. I winced.

When I thought about going back to Jane's place, I remembered waking up in her bed that morning, the dream I'd had. When I considered meeting her for dinner, I remembered the video of me begging to be a pet. The blissful smile. Touching myself.

My cheeks burned. I couldn't bear to face Jane, not today.

Maybe tomorrow. I think I need some alone time to process stuff now

As we approached downtown, the buildings got taller and taller. Too many cars and not enough road to fit them all.

I totally get that. I'm here if you need me! Love you, D

Love you too

I switched over to my Maps app, still not sure which restaurant I wanted to go to. Was that good Chinese place open on Tuesdays?

Right there in the recommended feed, something caught my eye. A brick wall with mounted artwork. It was probably a coincidence, given downtown was full of artsy old brick buildings. But "Roasted Reverie" did sound vaguely like a hypnotist's secret lair. Or just another cute coffee shop that would be out of business after a year of paying city rent.

The cross street was approaching, so it was time to decide. I yanked the cord to request the next stop.

--

Bells tinkled pleasantly as I pulled open the wooden door, and the smell of coffee was divine. Inside, a typical assortment of cafe-goers sat at small tables working on laptops; friends caught up over hot drinks. Someone was reading a book on a lounge chair. Aside from looking like a typical hipster hangout, Roasted Reverie wasn't particularly recognizable now that I was here.

Well, I was supposed to be getting lunch anyway. As I stepped up to the counter, the barista caught my eye and smiled brightly. "Hey, how are ya? What can I get for you?"

I smiled back. She was cute, with her buzz cut and big brown eyes and blackwork sleeve. "Good, thanks! I'll take a mocha and a caprese panini."

I waited by the register as she prepared the espresso and food, nothing to do but look around. Some of the artwork seemed familiar, famous prints I'd seen elsewhere before. One wall was entirely dedicated to local artists. I didn't know much about art, but I could appreciate the care that went into selecting pieces that suited the space.

"And here you are! Wesley is up in their office then." She gave a little head tilt and glanced towards the back of the room.

My brows furrowed. I turned, and sure enough, there was a staircase somewhat hidden off to the side. I met her gaze again, confused. Concerned.

"Don't worry, lunch is on the house. Go on!" She waved me off as another customer approached the counter.

Dumbfounded, coffee and plate of food in my hands, I went to the other end of the room. A narrow wooden staircase led up to a landing. After a moment, I found myself walking up the stairs, unable to think over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. A sign next to door at the top:

Wesley Jhaveri

Hypnotherapist

I stood there, frozen, with no idea what to do. Should I knock? Run for my life? Tell the barista to call the police?

Then the door opened, and the choice was made for me. "Dina, there you are! Come on in."

Suddenly seeing the person who had been haunting my mind for the past six months was like peeking behind the curtain on a stage, like pulling the mask off a monster to find a neighbor in a sweater vest. I numbly followed them into the room.

"Have a seat!" Wesley was as tall as I'd remembered, androgynous, with a curly bob of dark hair. They sat on the other side of a small table, and I joined them, still seemingly in shock. "Well, go ahead and enjoy your meal. You made it all the way here."

I sipped the coffee with a shaky hand, and they nodded approvingly. "I suppose that counts."

"It's actually you. Above a coffee shop?"

"Yeah, the owner loves me. I'm quiet, pay my rent on time, never had any complaints."

"I didn't see anything about a 'hypnotherapist' here on Maps." The strangely normal conversation was enough to help me remember I was kind of starving. I took a bite of the panini.

"There you go. Yeah, I prefer...word of mouth." They chuckled. "But seriously. The internet is a dangerous place, you know. I don't need all those weirdos knowing my business address."

"Weirdos?! You're one to talk!"

"Please, keep eating, Dina. You look pale. Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"Like you care. Asshole." But I took another bite, and tried to focus on the sharp, herby taste of pesto instead of how fucked I was.

"The food here is great, though the coffee is even better. Many perks to sharing the building with a cafe. And of course I care.

You're mine

, remember?" They chuckled fondly. When I gaped at them, preparing to retort, they interrupted me. "Oh, finish the damn sandwich before you go on being a brat. You need all the energy you can muster to fight back, I'm sure."

It was a fair point in a disturbing package. I did need my strength. I glared at them as I finished my lunch, trying to ignore their little approving noises and the amused look on their face and how it was all actually making me feel.

"See, despite the mouth, you're as obedient as ever. Shall we get started?"

"Sure. How the fuck do you live with yourself, putting 'therapist' on your door, and then violating people's minds?"

"Spicy! You know 99% of what I do is strictly professional. I've helped a lot of people, Dina. I've even helped you."

"Bullshit. You took advantage of me as soon as we met!"

"We argued about hypnotism and common courtesy, you accepted my bet, and I hypnotized you in your hotel room. Which I assume is what you wanted out of that convention in the first place."

"You didn't just hypnotize me. You...you..."