Page 83 of Darkest Obsession

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me,” Thomas says. He really won’t believe me. Upper class British people recycle the same three names. Subscribers voted on my brother’s name in the comment section of my mom’s dramatic gender reveal video – we are not the same. He won’t understand my world for an instant.

“Chaos Shooter Robinson. I call him Cee or Lil’ Cee.”

“Chaos? Shooter?” Thomas repeats, barely concealing his mixture of bemusement and doubt. I pinch his shoulder hard, which makes him blush and smile at the same time. Annoying ass.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“It’s a weird thing with your parents, isn’t it?”

“Everything with my parents is a weird thing.”

When the divorce video drops, dealing with them will become even more insufferable, I’m sure of it. I don’t know why Thomas keeps trying to get to know me, but he’s the only person here I’ve bothered to tell about my past. Kola and Sylvia know everything from their teen years watching the channel, and they don’t judge me for it, but I don’t need anyone British all up in my American business.

Thomas scoffs. “Join the party. Everything with my parents is weird too.”

No way. From everything I’ve heard about Thomas and his family, they’re perfect. I heard a couple whispers about a divorce, but everyone seemed to think that even that would be handled with ultimate grace. He’s like royalty.

“Aren’t you basically as rich as a prince?” I blurt out, hating myself for a moment for sounding so uncouth. I learned quickly that unlike California, Texas, or anywhere else we lived, English people don’t like talking about money.

Thomas’ cheeks instantly turn red.

“I am not rich,” he says. “My family isn’t perfect. It’s a bloody mess.”

“Can’t be any messier than mine. I promise.”

“Are your parents getting a divorce?” Thomas throws back. My stomach lurches. I’ve spent almost every minute here trying hard not to think about their divorce. My dad won’t talk to me about it and my mom keeps sending me messages like it’s something I should celebrate. Where will I go for the holidays? What about our family? The weird feelings I’d suppressed about them bubble up and instead of saying something snarky back to Thomas, I tell him the truth.

“Actually, yes. And they’re posting about it on social media every single day, like they aren’t ruining everything.”

“I’m really sorry,” Thomas says. He sounds like he means it.

“What about your parents?” I reply. I’d rather hear about Thomas’ problems than talk about mine. “What happened?”

“My dad cheated,” Thomas says. “Repeatedly. He’s done worse than cheat.”

“What could be worse than cheating?”

“Who he cheated with.”

“This sounds like something we shouldn’t let leak to TMZ.”

Thomas snickers. “You’re funny.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

He fluffs out his way-too-fluffy hair and shrugs, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Thomas is so unreasonably chill, that I can’t imagine anything making him uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” he says. “But I haven’t told anyone. Not even Sylvia. So you have to promise to keep this a secret, yeah?”

He stares at me like he’s testing me, but I don’t know the right things to say. I never do, especially not with guys who look like Thomas. It’s easier for me to just act like an asshole and push him away. That’s always been easier for me than letting people get close. You let people get close, you get hurt. Love isn’t real, is it? With our generation, it’s so much worse too. Everything is just for show.

“You trust me to keep your secrets?” I don’t know why the thought makes my heart pound and I don’t know why I want him to say yes. I don’t need Thomas to trust me.

“Yes,” he says. “I do. I think you’re a sweet girl.”

He thinks the girl who walloped him with a cricket bat is sweet? I don’t get him.