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Object of Obsession	By : Demona_Andariel Category: G through L > Halloween (All) > Halloween (All) Views: 1807 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Halloween movie series, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
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- 17
Gretchen stared up at the ceiling. What was she going to do? What could she do? It frustrated her to no end. She wanted Michael to stay. Her. His victim. And yet, she didn’t feel like one. Clearly, there was something wrong with her.
Or maybe this is right.
Gretchen’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Right? She quickly sat up and stared at the wall.
“What is right about wanting a fucking serial killer to stay after sex, Gretchen?” she growled at herself, then groaned as her head pounded from getting up to quickly. She pressed her fingers against her templed and rubbed them till she felt better. Despite trying to chastise herself, she knew it didn’t change things.
Letting out a yawn, she stretched. She was actually rested, despite practically crying herself to sleep. Her eyes felt dry but that was to be expected. She wasn’t sure at what point she fell asleep, or how long she’d been sleeping. But, she was awake. Awake and grumpy. Good. She’d be able to snap at Michael without a problem. Even if he didn’t do anything wrong.
He kills people. Of course, he will always do something wrong.
Setting her feet on the wooden floor, she got up. She didn’t bother changing, walking out of her room in her pajamas. She wasn’t sure why she’d done it, but the last couple of days she’d made sure she was dressed and presentable, as it were, just in case she’d run into Michael. It wasn't as if she were trying to impress him.
It was a good thing she had changed. Being in her pajamas in front of the killer would have mortified her. But today she didn’t care. She was going to be grumpy and look a mess. She wasn’t even going to brush her hair or her teeth.
Stepping out into the hallway, she paused. Her eyes fixated on his door near the end of the hallway. It was impossible to tell if he were inside his room or not.
Do I really care?
She moved her focus to the room at the end of the hall, the one he’d caught her coming out of when he returned home the night before. Of course, his room had to be beside the two empty ones. But he wasn’t using it.
With quiet ease, she tiptoed past his room and into the one at the end of the hall. It was almost completely clear of furniture and only had a few more miscellaneous items she needed to take out. There was a bed, but she had moved that to the corner of the room since she couldn’t take it apart.
She started to close the door behind her, but then thought better of her actions. She’d rather see him leave than wonder if he’d gone. Plus, she could snappily tell him she hoped he didn’t kill anyone. The last time she’d said it she noticed he seemed a little bit annoyed by her words.
Going to the bed, she lifted the mattress and took out her sketchbook and pencils. Not the greatest of hiding spots. But, she wasn’t hiding them from people.
Setting the sketchbook on the hard wooden floor, she sat down and crossed her legs. Maybe Michael would bring back some of her painting supplies from her apartment for her. She had at best a week before she filled up her sketchbook, although realistically probably less.
She had gotten bored the day before and decided to turn one of the other rooms into a type of art studio. She liked having a separate room to do her art versus her bedroom or the kitchen. She’d spent most of the day moving furniture and almost every other item from the room at the end of the hall to the last unclaimed bedroom. It had been a long and exhausting project.
“Which could explain how I got so emotional last night,” she pointed out to herself.
Denial.
Gretchen glanced up, staring past the open door into the hallway. From her view, she could easily see Michael leave his room. What was her plan? To give him the cold shoulder? As if he cared. No. Despite being grumpy, she still wanted to ask him if he could bring her back some of her items from her apartment. Mainly her paints, maybe some canvases, for sure a couple of sketchbooks. If he didn’t, she was going to draw on the god damn white walls until her pencils ran out of lead.
Also, knowing when he left helped her measure time to some extent. He had come back late before, but the last couple of days he seemed to come home around the same time. Home?
Gretchen shook her head. Either way, he left around the same time, so knowing when he left gave her some form of sense of time.
There was a gentle silence around her. Did he snore? She strained her ears just in case but heard nothing. Maybe it was a good idea for him to sleep in his own room. If he snored then he’d wake her up and she’d have a horrible night’s rest. But then again, it wasn’t like she had anything to do all day. She could take as many naps as she wanted to catch up on some sleep.
She was interested in the warmth of his body, his presence, just her not being alone. She’d always been alone. She didn’t want to be.
“Oh gods,” she muttered to herself, bringing her hands up to her face and resting her elbows on her knees. The pencil pressed against her cheek and palm of her hand.
“You’re being irrational,” she stated. A frown crossed her brow. Her, irrational? Had she always been irrational? She set her pencil down and leaned back against the bed. Maybe. She’d seen a vision of her future, at least she assumed it was her future, and without a question hared off and followed where it led her. She didn’t tell her family because she knew she couldn’t. They would have stopped her. Then she wouldn’t have met Michael.
Her heart beat picked up slightly at the thought. Why did that bother her?
Were those the thoughts, the actions of a rational person?
She tapped her pencil on the page. A knowledge nudged the back of her brain. Something that was true, but she couldn’t face it yet.
Gretchen looked down at her notebook and cocked her head to one side. When had she started drawing his face? Or at least, part of it. She’d drawn his eyes, mouth, and neck, but the rest of him was a rough circle just waiting to be filled in.
The heart wanted something the brain knew it couldn’t have.
“You’re a damn fool, Gretchen,” she muttered to herself. But still. She ran light ran her fingers along his lips, recalling the desperation of their last kiss. His breath left his nose and brushed her cheek while they both desperately kissed.
She loved the feeling of his lips on hers. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, pull him close, keep his mouth on hers and look into his eyes without a mask in the way. Gods dammit! She rubbed her legs as her brain started to feel aroused. She wanted to fuck him again.
-So quick to move on?- The guilty part of her mind scoffed at her.
How long had it been since Brandon was killed?
“I know that it’s not fair to him,” she slowly said out loud. Brandon had died just before he could fuck her. What a way to go.
“But-” Her skin prickled at that word. “I,” she paused. “What if he wasn’t my destiny?” The question was out. It had been back there, in her mind, constantly trying to push its way to the forefront. But she couldn’t face it.
She closed her eyes, trying to bring back that vision that had been so vivid just days ago. But, like other visions that had come true, it had merged with her memory. But the important part was the feeling. Something important was going to happen in that moment dealing with her future. Her destiny.
Setting one hand on the ground, she tapped her fingers. What had she done to deserve such a shitty ass future? Brandon wasn’t a killer. He was handsome. Probably more handsome than Michael and she’d continue to force herself to believe so till she saw Michael’s face. Brandon was normal. He was affectionate towards her, and said sweet things to her. Yes, he did make her self-conscious about her scars, but he wasn’t perfect. He had a good career setup.
Meanwhile, Michael. Well, most importantly, he killed people. He wasn’t going to listen to her or tell her things. He didn’t ask for her permission to touch her, to fuck her. He was rough, uncaring. That was until, for whatever reason, he focused on her. That fire, that want, that need. Gods!
There was something there, between her and Michael. Something that wasn’t there between her and Brandon.
-You keep hoping for something you know is never going to happen. You keep denying the truth. Just give up.- The intrusive thought interrupted her comparison between her would-have-been-lover and her current one.
Lover? Shit.
“Give up on what?”
-Life. It’s easier than to live with the pain, with someone who will never love you. Never hold you the way you want to be held. He’ll never let you go. You’re nothing but a fuck toy to him.-
Gretchen’s eyes blurred and a couple of tears slipped down her cheeks. Perhaps. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, drawing in a noisy deep breath then let it out slowly. Fuck. She didn’t want Michael to see her cry.
-So lonely… So very very lonely. It’s time to let go. Give up. There’s no reason to stay around here anymore. You keep hoping for something a killer will never give you.-
“Let go,” she said softly, brushing her fingers along the image she drew. Gods, why did her heart have to pound so hard for Michael. “Let-”
She was on her feet in a matter of seconds, eyes darting, searching the room. “Those are not my thoughts.” The words spilled out of her mouth without hesitation. A frown crossed her face and her heart started to beat faster. There was a presence in the room. How had she missed it? The one from the basement? No. Connected? Yes, somehow, but also separate at the same time. With time, she’d realized that the basement was more of a feeling, a knowledge of something important going to happen down there. A vision attempting to reveal itself? Perhaps. But this, whatever was talking in her head, this was a presence.
“You tried to get me to kill myself before,” she stated, recalling the moment she’d been alone with Michael’s knife a few days ago.
The presence didn’t leave, but also didn’t answer back immediately.
-You were supposed to die that day as well.-
“But I didn’t,” she said. Her eyes narrowed. “Who or what are you?”
-You.-
Gretchen frowned, scratching her head. “I don’t think so. I would never tell myself to kill myself,” she stated. “I’ve been through a lot and that thought never entered my mind. Not once.”
-Always in denial. You can feel it. You were meant to die that day. Your body knows it. You’re slowly dying.-
The words stunned her. Was she? She frowned. Something wasn’t right.
“If I’m dying then there’s no need to rush my own end. Might as well make the most of my current life and enjoy it. Don’t ya think?”
-You will regret your decision. This will get worse. You know it.-
“I actually don’t know it,” she stated, squaring her shoulders. “Whoever, whatever you are, even if you’re my future self annoyed with my past mistake and dying a painful death. It doesn’t matter. I will not kill myself. My future self would know that.”
A sharp pain zapped through her brain, making her cry out as a headache formed.
-You’re going…-
Gretchen clamped her hands over her ears, shaking her head. Not that it would help. “Go away. Go away. Gods, go away!” A loud ringing filled her ears, making it difficult for her to hear her own words. But she refused to stop speaking. It needed to go away.
Pressure wrapped around her body, squeezing her tight as if two arms were holding her. It felt as if it were going for her throat. Her mind started to go wild with voices whispering, shouting, and screaming. Some at her, some with her. Her senses were overloading. The ache in her head beat painfully as if it were trying to distract her. She pushed passed the pain, making sure she kept speaking.
The pressure snaked up, tightening around her throat. Somewhere, back there, it was trying to say something, but its voice was drowned out.
Go away!
Abruptly, her world stilled. The voices, the pressure, the presence vanished as if they were never there. Her head throbbed with a dull but disappearing ache. She was alone.
Gretchen’s vision finally focused and she stared at the wooden floor. At some point, she’d fallen to her knees. She slowly lowered her hands, placing them on the ground. Her body quivered as it started to settle down. It was only her active emotions that gave her any indication that she had gone through something.
Dying? Her chest heaved with each breath. She slowly got up off the ground, wiping her hands on her pajama shorts. Michael? She quickly glanced over at the doorway. It was empty. There was little doubt in her mind that she was loud enough that he would have heard her. Which meant, either he ignored her, highly unlikely, or he wasn’t home.
She swallowed, but there was hardly any saliva in her mouth. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that he wasn’t there to see that? She wasn’t quite sure. Although, if he was maybe he’d hold her. Her body kept shaking as she tried to calm down. Then again, that was probably hoping for too much.
“Well,” she muttered, rubbing her hands along her arms to comfort herself. “If I’m dying I might as well enjoy all the sex I can get.”
She looked around the room again, not that she had seen the presence in the first place. She was alone. She could feel that. It didn’t hear her words. Did she care? Sort of. But for now, it was gone. And that was really what was important.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and she swallowed back some more saliva that started to pool in her mouth. She couldn’t wait for Michael to get back. Even if he wouldn’t hold her, his presence was still far more comforting.
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Object of Obsession