Page 2 of To Obsess

Chapter 2

KILLIAN

I wake to the obnoxiously consistent sound of my alarm, then groan and muster every ounce of willpower I have to roll over and snatch my phone off the nightstand. I push the red button that stops the noise assaulting my eardrums and fling the cover back.

For a quick second, I almost forgot what day it is—March 21st. Checking the forecast, I see it’s calling for rain nearly all day. Perfect.

I’ve gotten to the point of hoping for rain on March 21st every year. After two birthdays of almost getting caught slipping the card into her mailbox, I discovered that rainy days are a little bit safer since most people don’t willingly venture outside until the sky clears.

The first time, I was fourteen. I rode my bike to her neighborhood, parked it down the street from her house, and walked to her box. The plan was to nonchalantly slip the card in the mailbox as I walked by. Easy peasy, or so I thought.

When I made it to the box, one of her older brothers had opened the front door and really should have caught me. Luckily, her mom called out to him, so he turned his head, hand on the door, to respond to her. That quick action gave me enough time to shut the lid and walk away, successfully evading detection. I had turned at the end of the street and looped back to my bike on the next road over.

The second time I nearly got caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I was seventeen. I had my license by that point, so I thought driving by and dropping it off would be the least risky. Wrong. It was her sixteenth birthday, so there were tons of people at her house to celebrate. That possibility never even crossed my mind. Instead of coming back later that night, I took my chances and nearly fucked up.

I circled the neighborhood a few times, waiting for everyone to be inside. I could see a birthday banner over the fence leading to their backyard, so the best-case scenario would be everyone being in the backyard, but I would have settled for them all being inside the house. As I came down the street for the third time in as many hours, I took my shot.

I’d pulled up to the mailbox. If anyone had been passing by, it would have looked like I was simply checking the mail. To anyone inside the house, it would have been an instant red flag. Without even fully stopping, I flipped open the lid and slid the card inside. But I turned to look back at the house as I shut it and eased my foot off the brake pedal. To my horror, the garage door was slowly opening.

I could see someone’s legs standing inside the garage, waiting for the door to open fully. Luckily, their face was still obscured, and I was able to pull away without being noticed.

Ever since then, I’ve sent up pleas to the universe for rain on her birthday. It makes everything so much simpler.

Six years ago, when she was turning twenty-two, things changed a bit. She’d gone to college, gotten her associate’s degree, and then ultimately decided college wasn’t for her. Instead of going back to pursue a bachelor’s degree, she worked her ass off at the bookstore in town and saved money. The sale went through a week before her birthday, and she was officially a homeowner.

The two-story house is on the other side of town, opposite of the polished and pretty neighborhood she grew up in. It sits on nearly six acres of land, most of which is still wooded, giving her all the privacy she could ever want. Throw in the long gravel driveway, and the place is an introvert’s wet dream.

I’ll admit, I was a little nervous about her moving into that house, so far away from any neighbors, but it’s worked to my benefit so far. It’s much easier to put the card in the mailbox now. The only downside is I can’t drive by and see her outside anymore. Fortunately, I still see her in town when I stop in at the bookstore to fuel my reading addiction.

She’s always friendly enough, but I can’t help but wonder if that would change if she were to discover the truth. If she knew I was the one that had been putting the cards in her box and keeping watch over her for the past nineteen years, would she still be so cordial?

The workday goes by as expected. I suffer through tons of calls in the morning, emails in the middle of the day, with meetings scheduled at the end. It’s a typical Friday, except for my lunch break. Instead of eating at work like I normally do, I take the liberty of leaving, planning to stop at the bookstore before driving across town and delivering the card to her box.

Her schedule is usually pretty set, but I want to be positive she was at work today. I don’t want any chance of being caught. Thankfully, she’s working the register as I expected.

I slip out of the store without so much as touching a book, then drive straight to her house, pull up to the box, and deposit the card into it, along with one yellow sunflower.

Sunflowers have always been her favorites. When all the other girls were drooling over roses, she was dreaming of sunflowers.

One of her ex-boyfriends had roses delivered to her at school for an anniversary, and it was clear as day she hated them. Of course, she smiled and thanked him, gushing over how beautiful they were, but if he had only taken a second to really look at her, he would have known. Sunflowers are her favorite.

Once the day wraps up, I make my way to the apartment, stopping only to pick up some hibachi for dinner.

The food really scratched an itch I didn’t know I had, leaving me feeling full and content. Flipping on the TV, I land on a murder documentary that will suffice for background noise as I scroll through my phone, inevitably making my way to her socials.

Pulling up her page, I see person after person wishing her the best for her birthday. Most of the words are generic; the words near strangers would post in order to seem friendly and well-meaning, then immediately forget you exist for another year.

That’s the number one reason I cannot stand people. They’re so insincere in everything they do. Why fully commit to one thing if they can half-ass two things?

Not me, though. I’m fully committed. Violet Selene Parker has my undivided attention.

Chapter 3

Violet

“Violet Selene!” Abby snaps her fingers to get my attention, and I look up to frustration radiating from her face. I pull the earbud from my ear and pop it back into the case on the table.

“Sorry,” I start, standing to give her a quick hug. “I got a bit lost there for a minute. Research has been kicking my ass lately.” I offer her a bright smile as we pull away and sit down at the table.