Page 23 of To Obsess

So instead of giving in to my desire to pursue her further, I’ve taken up painting. I thought maybe if I was able to get my creative ideas out on a canvas instead of making cards, it might help to ease the longing building in my bones.

I tried running, reading, and even scrubbed every inch of the apartment until my hands were raw and aching. Still, I found no relief from my thoughts. As a last-ditch effort, I dragged my easel out from the corner of the closet and went into town for supplies. Canvas, paints, brushes—the works.

I thought maybe if I was able to get my creative ideas out on a canvas like I did in high school when I was struggling mentally, it might help to ease the longing building in my bones.

The apartment has felt suffocating for the past few days, so I opted to move my efforts outdoors where I can feel the breeze on my face and hear the rustling of the leaves. I can actually breathe out here, unrestricted by four walls and raging thoughts.

With the new easel set up, I pull on a fresh set of latex gloves and brush the paints across the taut surface. It takes a few hours, but the picture comes into focus. Stepping back, the surroundings filter back into focus. The trees are in their full summer glory, and the sounds of the creek invade my senses, calming me for the first time in days.

My breath catches in my throat when I take in the painting. I hadn’t really been paying much attention to the scene my hands were creating, just brushing the colors in where they felt right while my mind wandered.

Gunnar. Lying in a pool of red. Surrounded by the browns of late winter in the surrounding forest.

Maybe coming back here wasn’t my best idea after all. I had just wanted to get out of my stuffy shoebox of an apartment for a while on this gorgeous evening. I hoped being out in nature would help settle whatever shred of a soul I might have left, and it did. Or at least it had seemed to. However, it also pulled the worst of my memories to the surface apparently.

Quickly gathering all my paints and brushes, I rush back to the false safety of my car, suddenly feeling like the forest has seen things it shouldn’t have seen. With all of my darkest secrets laid bare, I slide into the seat, tossing the materials into the back, and bump the key.

I make it all the way home, not remembering a second of the drive, before I realize I fucked up. Like capital F fucked up.

Chapter 22

Violet

“I don’t know,” I say, dipping my chip in salsa between the words. “Everything has been eerily quiet since I got that sticky note. Literally not a peep.”

“Something’s weird about that. He’d been leaving cards more often, along with the sunflowers, and now poof? Nothing?” she asks, gesturing like a small explosion.

I shrug and dip another chip before washing it down with my margarita. “Maybe he’s decided to back off now that there’s some attention on what he’s been doing.” We both know there’s not a snowballs chance in Hell of that being the case but voicing that little sliver of hope eases a bit of the tension that’s been building for the past two and a half weeks.

We decided to hold off on releasing the second episode of the podcast just in case the sticky note was a sign of a major escalation on its way, but he’s stopped communicating with me entirely. No notes, no cards, no flowers. Nothing out of place at all.

The lack of communication makes me feel more unnerved than when I was receiving the cards and flowers all the time. My skin feels too tight, the anxiety crawls through my veins, waiting for his next move.

“Enough about that, though. I want to hear all about your date last weekend,” I prompt, desperate to change the subject to something with tangible facts instead of our wild theories.

A shrug is followed by an almost shy smile from Abby. “There’s not a whole lot to tell. We went out to dinner, he drove me home, hugged me at the door, and that’s that.”

“He didn’t even try to kiss you?!”

A shake of her head is the only response, but the smile is broadening.

“Well, look at you! That’s got to be a first!” I say with an easy laugh. Abby has never been accused of taking things slow. From our teenage years on, she’s been an advocate for women doing whatever—and whoever—they want to do.

“I really like this one,” she admits with a girlish grin.

“I’m happy for you, Abby. Never thought I’d see the day where you wanted to take it slow and see where it goes.” I bump my shoulder against hers as the waitress takes our empty chip bowl and replaces it with a full one. “Can I get another margarita please?” I ask before she walks away. I really should slow down, but I’m having a fantastic time. I can’t remember the last time we went out and had a carefree dinner truthfully. It’s been lovely so far.

“Oh, I have a date tomorrow night, by the way,” I mention, pulling up a profile on the dating app.

Her eyes widen in surprise as she leans closer to see the screen. “This is the first one since Gunnar, right?”

As much as I try to keep the mood light, the mention of my last date definitely dampens the mood. It’d be hard not to considering he ended up dead right after our date.

“Mhmm,” I groan, trying to push the thoughts out of my head before they can take root. I show her his pictures, rattling off his details. His name is Mason, thirty-four, ex-lawyer going for a more modest route as a consultant now, wants a family but not in a hurry. Enjoys reading, horses, and hiking. Dislikes loud places, open-mouth chewers, and cats—mostly because he’s allergic. A gem in my book.

She nods her approval, slurping the last of her drink and waving to the server in hopes she’ll bring another one when mine is ready. “Sounds perfect for you, Vi. I’m glad you’re going out again. It’ll be good for you to get out of the house and spend some time with someone other than me and the bookworms.”

An hour and a half later, the server places our check on the table, not bothering to ask if we need anything further. She’s been annoyed with us for the last half hour, if her glaring was any indication. I pay the bill, leaving her a hefty tip for the inconvenience of two drunk white girls, and walk out onto the street with my arm linked through Abby’s.