The Man of My Dreams

Chapter Eleven: Ethan's Descent into the Shadows

Ethan sat in his dimly lit apartment, his fingers brushing the edge of one of his sketches—a portrait of Mia, her face half-hidden in shadow. The artwork was a reflection of his obsession, his connection to her that went beyond what anyone else could understand. He had spent countless nights weaving himself into her dreams, manipulating the fragile threads of her subconscious, carefully placing himself at the center of her world.

At first, it had been exhilarating. The dreams were a shared space where he could be the version of himself that he couldn't be in reality—confident, commanding, magnetic. And Mia had responded exactly as he had hoped. In her dreams, she was drawn to him, her laughter soft, her gaze filled with trust. But lately, something had changed.

During their recent encounters, both in her dreams and in reality, Mia had begun to pull away. It was subtle at first—a hesitation in her voice, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. She no longer clung to every word he said with the same unspoken longing. When they met at the art exhibits or exchanged messages late into the night, there was a shift in her demeanor, an invisible wall building between them.

Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that she was drifting, slipping through his fingers, no longer entirely under his spell.

It frustrated him.

He had spent so much time cultivating their connection—each dream, each carefully curated moment designed to keep her tethered to him. Yet now, something in Mia's energy had shifted. It wasn't just the distractions in her waking life or the presence of Neal, the ever-loyal friend who lingered too closely. It was something deeper. She wasn't as dependent on him as she had been. The power dynamic between them, once so carefully balanced in his favor, was beginning to tilt.

It gnawed at Ethan's insides, a slow-burning anger that he tried to suppress.

Sitting in his apartment, surrounded by the art that once fueled his obsession, Ethan felt a pang of desperation. He needed to remind Mia that she was his. He needed her to understand that their connection was more than just dreams—it was real, tangible. And she couldn't simply drift away.

He had already crossed into her subconscious effortlessly, but now he wanted more. He wanted to control not just her dreams, but the waking world. That was where true power lay—where the boundaries between her thoughts, her fears, and her reality blurred completely.

That night, Ethan set his plan into motion.

For years, Ethan had studied the art of lucid dreaming, not just as a tool to enter and control others' dreams, but to break the barrier between the dream world and reality. His techniques were rooted in a unique combination of hypnotic suggestion, neuro-linguistic programming, and something even darker—a manipulation of the energy fields around him. He believed that if one could control the dream state deeply enough, the body would respond as though it were real. What happened in the dream could manifest physically in the waking world.

He had never pushed this far before, but Mia was worth the risk.

Using the hypnotic techniques he had perfected, he focused on bridging the gap between her dreams and her waking life. He wanted her to feel him—his presence, his touch—even after she awoke. It required deeper manipulation, one that took a toll on his mind as much as hers. But he didn't care. The thought of losing her was unbearable.

He pushed himself further into her dreams than ever before.

Mia's face appeared, soft and unguarded, as he slipped into her sleeping mind. But this time, it wasn't enough to just share the dream. He wanted her to wake up with evidence that he had been there.

In the dream, he reached out and grasped her wrist firmly, his grip tightening as she tried to pull away. Her skin bruised under his fingers, just as he intended. With his mind honed in on the connection between dream and reality, he visualized the bruises forming on her real body, just as they did in the dream.

And then came the window.

In the dream, they stood in a room with a large, old window that creaked open in the wind. Ethan let the dream world mimic her real room—details she'd recognize and feel. He focused on that window, imagining it open when she awoke, as if the boundary between worlds was paper-thin. His control seeped into the waking world, and as he pushed the window open in her dream, the real window in Mia's bedroom creaked and cracked open in unison, an eerie wind flowing in.

Next, the door. In the dream, Ethan moved through her home freely, her bedroom door ajar. He envisioned it perfectly—a crack of light spilling into the room, the faint squeak of the hinges. As he left the dream, he imagined her waking up to find the same—a physical reminder of his power over her, even when she believed herself safe in the waking world.

The following day, Ethan watched Mia closely. Her demeanor had changed again, but this time, it was different. There was a fear in her eyes that hadn't been there before. She moved cautiously, her words careful and measured. She hadn't mentioned the dream—or the bruises—but he could see the way she glanced over her shoulder, the way her hands fidgeted with unease.

It thrilled him.

The bruises were there, faint purple marks on her wrists. She kept them hidden under the sleeves of her sweater, but Ethan had seen them. He knew she was trying to rationalize their presence—perhaps she had knocked into something in her sleep, or it was the lingering imprint of an old injury. But he could see the unease in her eyes.

He knew she had woken up to the open window, the chill in the room a quiet reminder of his presence. And the door—ajar, just as he had imagined. She would have no explanation for that, no logical reason why her sanctuary had been breached. The growing fear he had planted was blooming.

But the thrill was short-lived, replaced by something darker. Despite the control he had asserted, there was still an invisible force pulling her away from him. He could feel it in the way her energy fluctuated, the way her attention slipped away during their conversations. The more he tried to tighten his grip, the more she seemed to resist, even if she wasn't fully aware of it.

Ethan clenched his fists, his mind racing. Mia was slipping away, and it wasn't just Neal, or her art, or the pressures of her life. It was something inside her—a strength he hadn't anticipated. She was beginning to fight back, and he couldn't allow that.

Ethan's obsession had evolved into something darker, more sinister. The line between love and control had been blurred for so long that even he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began. The nightmares, the bruises, the open window—they were his way of reminding her that no matter what happened, she belonged to him. He had crossed into her world, and now he intended to stay.

As the sun set that evening, Ethan sat in his studio, staring at the newest portrait he had drawn of Mia. Her face was half-obscured in the shadows, just as it had been in the dream. The darkness in his own mind was spilling out onto the canvas, into her life.

And tonight, he would visit her again.

This time, there would be no escape.