Page 30 of To Obsess

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and middle finger, begging the headache to ease before I’m incapacitated. I have too much to do today to be dealing with that.

I spend the next four hours coming up with a new plan. Something a little more…fun. I’m willing to give her the pieces over time, but she’s going to have to work for it. Nothing worth having comes easily, after all.

That night, I find myself outside her house again, staring at the darkened kitchen windows. I know I shouldn’t be here. Obviously, I shouldn’t be here, but I’m finding it harder to resist lately. There’s a draw that has taken root somewhere deep inside me. It’s overpowering.

She hasn’t been here since early this afternoon, yet I’ve stayed, impatiently waiting for her to make it home. I keep telling myself I’m only here to make sure she comes home safely tonight, but that’s another lie to add to the ever-growing pile that has become my life in the last six months.

Tonight, I’m sitting in the woods, back pressed up against a giant hickory tree, making one of those goofy little animal keychains kids used to make out of beads in elementary school.

It’s hard as fuck to see by the dim light of my phone, but I’m doing the best I can. I want to leave it for her tonight if all goes well.

I was in the bookstore about a week and a half ago, looking through all of the new arrivals when I overheard Abby and Violet talking at the front counter. Apparently, Abby had made her a little turtle when they were in seventh grade, and it finally gave up its long hold on life a couple months ago, much to Violet’s despair. Abby had brushed it off like it was no big deal, but the pain in Violet’s voice at the loss was tangible.

So, I found a pattern online last week, ordered all the supplies, and had intended to make the little critter at my apartment this weekend.

Tonight, however, I couldn’t override the anxiety that kept clawing its way up my throat and tightening around my chest, so I made my way out here, parked my ass against this tree, and went to work.

This might not give her any clues about who I am, but I’m hoping it sends the right message across. A ‘hey, I’m a really nice guy who cares about the things that matter to you, so here’s a replica turtle for you’ instead of a ‘I’m a stalker who just so happened to overhear a very private conversation between you and your best friend and couldn’t leave well enough alone.’

For the clue about who I am, she’ll have to look a bit deeper into the words on the card this time. Over the next few weeks, I fully plan to give her all the information she’ll need to figure out who I am if she’s willing to think outside the box a little bit instead of reading the cards at surface level. She’ll need to give the cards as much attention as I’ve been devoting to her.

It takes an hour and a half, along with four failed attempts, to make the tiny turtle, but I smile at my handiwork once I’m sure the final knot is secure.

By the time the little guy is resting on her back porch beside the card I brought along, the sky is beginning to light up beyond the forest.

Violet didn’t come home last night.

Chapter 28

Violet

Fucking hell, what is that sound? I peel my eyes open to find a completely unfamiliar room. The deep blue walls, dresser placed between two windows opposite the bed, tv mounted on the wall, ceiling fan whirring quietly. None of it seems familiar until I roll my head to the side and find Mason, snoring softly beside me.

“What time is it?” I mutter to myself, feeling around the edge of the bed for my phone. Trying not to wake him, I peel my body away from his and slip out from under the scratchy blanket. This place is the definition of a bachelor pad, I grumble as I sit up, perching myself on the edge of the bed.

I find my phone on the nightstand beside me, nearly dead. Wonderful. I tap the screen, finding only one notification. I assume it’s a text from Abby, so I hit the button to lock the screen, place it back on the nightstand, and look around, trying to remember where my clothes might be.

It takes several seconds to clear my head enough to remember the events from last night. When I do, the seed of self-loathing begins to take root in the pit of my stomach.

I showed up here late last night after Mason had agreed to talk. I’d never been here before, so finding the place had been a feat all on its own, but I’d managed after getting lost only once. When he opened the door, there was a hint of liquor on his breath and a haze to his normally bright eyes. Against my better judgment, I stepped past him into the entryway.

Mason lives in a cute ranch style house with a mostly open concept interior. From the front door, I was able to see the entire living room, most of the kitchen, and what I assumed was a utility room along the back right wall. There were three doors along the left wall. Bedrooms and a bathroom, maybe.

I never found out what the other two doors would lead to, but I was correct about at least one of them. The first door on the left was the master bedroom with a modest attached bath. That was as far as I had gotten in the house tour because Mason’s lips were on mine the instant the front door had closed.

I find my pants lying in a heap by the foot of the bed, my underwear by the bed, bra by the door, and shirt on the couch inside out. So much for talking, I guess. Although, we had talked some after he was done ravaging my body for the third time.

Sex with Mason is always amazing, but somehow, I’m left feeling more empty than before I’d knocked on his front door last night. Nothing had really changed—except maybe me. I don’t feel the draw to him that I felt when we first met and started hanging out. With an ounce of disgust, I wonder if, now that I got what I so vehemently said I wanted, I no longer wanted it—like a kid wanting a toy at the grocery store, just to toss it to the side before even making it back to the driveway.

Pulling my jeans up over my hips, I lean over to kiss him on the cheek, forcing a smile as he stirs slightly. He looks so sweet it melts my heart a bit. This is exactly what I want, I chastise myself, straightening.

I quietly close the front door, making sure the knob is locked before slipping into the driver’s seat of my car. My sigh of relief is quickly replaced with a groan as I realize I’m nearly late for work. As much as I would love to take a hot shower right about now, I don’t have time to go all the way back across town and still make it on time.

Mrs. Yates might kill me if I’m late again this week, so as much as I don’t want to, I back the car out of his driveway and head in the direction of the bookstore.

The first hours of my shift go by smoothly, putting in the next inventory, dusting shelves, and looking up the newest releases to see if we can get our hands on a few copies. We try to keep some of the newest books in stock, but it can be difficult since we’re a smaller bookstore in a tiny town. It doesn’t keep me from trying, though.

Once all of my routine tasks are finished, I sit behind the cash register with a murder mystery from a promising debut author. I barely hear the bell chime as I’m skirted away into a different world, back to early 1900’s Ireland.