Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 87: Losing Control and Falling Deeper
Cillian Grant immediately wrapped his arms around her, stopping her from crouching down, "What’s wrong with you now? Using a series of tricks—"
He suddenly frowned, noticing her eyes flushed red, with trembling dark pupils exhibiting an involuntary continuous motion.
Elaine White sensed something was wrong and pushed him aside to check on Eleanor.
Eleanor waved her hand, standing up straight. She regained her composure after a dizzy spell, but a surge of nausea rose from her stomach. Unable to speak, she rushed to the bathroom.
Cillian Grant’s face darkened, and he followed in a few quick steps to the door, where Elaine White blocked him, insisting he couldn’t go in.
"All women’s private matters are personal privacy. If you act rudely again, I’ll call security."
Eleanor leaned against the sink, turning on the faucet with one hand, the sound of the running water masking her retching.
Perhaps because she hadn’t eaten anything that morning, the acidic reflux in her stomach surged to her throat and receded several times, causing her eyes to brim with tears from the discomfort.
Outside, Elaine White’s voice was also indistinct, gradually rising, "... Sick? It’s a mental illness, driven by you to eat poorly and sleep badly, dizzy, nauseated, and dreaming of The Reaper chasing her. If you push her a few more times, you’ll see her on the rooftop, jumping in the river, or at worst, lying in The Grant Family bathtub, slitting her wrist for a long and peaceful sleep."
Cillian Grant’s patience was running thin, "Move aside."
Eleanor knew Elaine’s temperament, tough against those who are weak but strong against those who are tough. Cillian Grant, however, was impervious to both coercion and flattery, resentful and vengeful. If he really holds a grudge, even Uncle from the White Family can’t save anyone from Mr. Grant.
She splashed cold water on her face, the chill clearing her mind.
Eleanor opened the door; the water droplets on her eyelashes hadn’t dried. She kept her eyes open despite her blurred vision, taking in the scent of Cillian Grant’s clothing, a deep and cold fragrance more awakening than the cold water.
"You didn’t eat?"
Eleanor felt his rough fingers brush over her damp temple, the chill of the water soaking into her skin, "I was just about to eat when you arrived."
Elaine White quickly chimed in, "The reservation time for the restaurant is almost over; we’re going now."
Cillian Grant brushed her aside, wrapping an arm around Eleanor as he walked out, "She’s not going; you help yourself."
Elaine White still tried to stop him, but Eleanor signaled with her hand behind her back.
Once they were out the door, Elaine White did not follow.
Eleanor watched the elevator display numbers decrease, "Are you taking me for a check-up?"
In the elevator, it was just the two of them, silent, with thin air.
Cillian Grant’s gaze lingered on her face, eyes deep and suppressed, like a calm sea with hidden undercurrents beneath.
"Still bleeding?"
Eleanor turned to look at him, "It’s called a period, not bleeding."
Cillian Grant lowered his head to look at her, tracing from her delicate yet thick eyebrows, inch by inch, down to the small mole on her nose, her slightly pursed lips, with their chubby lines and color like the juice of a blooming rose, dripping into his pupils, making the world bloom afresh.
Eleanor suddenly leaned back.
But it was a second too late.
The back of her head was cradled by his large hand, and the kiss fell in an instant, his deep-set eyes close at hand.
Eleanor has never been one for kiss ethics; she never closes her eyes.
Cillian Grant’s appearance alone left Eleanor with no match to compare with.
His features were already vividly distinct, with an aura and poise like no other.
He was coldly austere, deeply solemn, with a clean and sparse lifestyle, neither smoking nor drinking, his breath always fresh, with a hint of the coolness that he himself exuded. Yet, in the throes of passion, he is fiery and unstoppable, like a deity seduced by a demonic seductress, breaking the rules, falling, turning into a frenzy in the darkness.
Eleanor could feel him spiraling, losing control, immersing step by step.
"Cillian—," she exhaled a syllable, through a slightly parted gap, she saw an aunt outside the elevator, dropping a bunch of green onions in shock, covering a young boy’s eyes next to her swiftly.
"Young couple, such indecency—"
The elevator door closed again, making Eleanor feel suffocated, in both psychological and physical terms.
Cillian Grant’s face was backlit as he bent his head down, hidden in shadows, "Not going to the hospital."
Eleanor stepped out on the second floor, dizzy, seeing the corridor twisted, her steps faltering as if treading on cotton, persisting with difficulty, "Really not going?"
Half supporting her, Cillian Grant heard her query and looked at her again.
Her eyes were misty, tears forming at the corners, making them more alluring than her flushed swollen lips, looking pitiful, cute, and in a daze.
Clearly, she hadn’t regained her wits yet.
Cillian Grant’s eyes held a playful, intense smile, spread across his face, as he bent over, picking her up in his arms.
On the stairs of the fire escape, he pressed his lips against hers, rising and falling, going deeper each time.
Swallowing all her coquettish breaths, accepting all of her bad-tempered scratches and struggles.
......
Near eight in the evening, Eleanor returned to The Grant Family exhausted.
Auntie King voiced her concern, "Eleanor, did you have dinner? Your body isn’t well; you need to stay in bed and rest, don’t move around too much."
Although she didn’t go to the hospital in the afternoon, Eleanor was taken back to The Emerald Residence. Her period was running low, but at least there were still traces of blood, sparing her a major disaster after hours of push and pull.
When she left, Cillian Grant’s eyes were like those of a hungry wolf.
Eleanor didn’t dare imagine, how terrifying it would be when the cage of a ferocious wolf, pent up for forty-nine days, is finally opened.
"I’ve eaten, Auntie King." Eleanor’s throat still held food.
She struggled with lunch and dinner, almost unable to finish.
After Auntie King left, she called Elaine White to report her discovery, "I seem to have lost my sense of taste, everything tastes bitter, I have no appetite, and I get dizzy very easily."
Elaine White was typing quickly on the other end, "Have you felt hunger despite not eating? How exactly are you dizzy, does it occur when you’re still?"
Eleanor lay weakly on the bed, "No sense of hunger. As for dizziness... I get dizzy at the sight of Cillian Grant."
Elaine White paused distinctly, "So this call is part of the elevator play with Cillian Grant?"
Eleanor’s phone quivered, "You know?"
"Yes." Elaine White responded with unexpectedly calm composure, "The aunt lives right across from me, and recognized you at a glance. With Cillian Grant ruthlessly blocking her outside the elevator, didn’t she come right over to knock on my door to talk about it?"
Eleanor was utterly ashamed, "Bury me alive, I’m never caught doing good things, only scandalous ones."
This time, Elaine White laughed, "Don’t worry, I told the aunt not to spread it around. Your pregnancy symptoms have begun. Even without an appetite, you need to ensure you eat three meals a day. If you can’t even force yourself to eat—" She became serious, "That would be the worst-case scenario."
The item Eleanor nearly expelled, she swallowed back with difficulty, enduring the nausea, "How long will this last?"
"The bleeding has stopped, hasn’t it?" Elaine White asked, "If you don’t get another shot, the drug’s effects should wear off in three to four months."
Eleanor asked a few more questions before hanging up.
Suddenly someone knocked on the door from outside, "Eleanor, are you asleep? Your father wants to have a word with you."
