Page 49 of To Obsess

In pajama pants, an oversized shirt, and my most worn-out, comfy slippers, I head for my car. Maybe a drive will clear my head enough to be able to focus on the work I need to get done today. At the very least, some music should help lighten the mood.

I’m not surprised when I pull up to Violet’s mailbox long before the sun lights the sky in shades of pink and red.

Inside, there’s a single sheet of folded paper. With a contended sigh, I reach inside, shutting the lid again once the page is in the car. I only make it to the gas station parking lot before I’m pulling in, shifting into park, and taking in her scrawled handwriting.

K,

More things about me… How about I’ll send one new fact or secret per letter, as long as you promise to keep writing to me, no matter what. Promise you won’t abandon me, regardless of what else happens in this life.

Fact #2: I’ve always dreamed of being an author and owning a bookstore. Thankfully, one of those dreams is in the works, but the other has yet to come to fruition. One day, though, I’ll write down the stories in my head and share them with the world.

Yours,

-V

Even through the exhaustion currently wreaking havoc on my system, I smile as my eyes scan the words. Violet has always been so different than everyone else.

In a world where other girls wanted to be dancers or veterinarians, she had dreams of writing and owning a bookstore. Where others dream of grandeur, she dreams of simplicity and showing others a new view of the world.

There are a million things I adore about her, but that has always been my favorite. I wish more people were able to see the world through her eyes. I wish I was able to see it that way.

By the time I make it home, I have half an hour to get ready for work. I slip off my sweatpants, shove my legs into the tailored slacks, change out my T-shirt for a button up with a nice jacket to match the slacks, and slip into a pair of perfectly shined oxfords. With less than three minutes to spare, I’m out the door, slamming it behind me.

The workday consists of the same bullshit I deal with on a daily basis. Upset wives wanting a divorce consultation they’ll never follow through with, the middle-aged man who thinks he’s a business tycoon wants to discuss a prenup before he proposes to the twenty-seven-year-old girlfriend, and the old man on his deathbed wants to cut his son out of the will over a stupid dispute that happened last Tuesday. I swear, people are only happy if they can be miserable.

By midday, I’m ready to pull my hair out but suffer through, hair intact. Before clocking out for the day, I knock on my boss’s door. As much as I hate to disturb him at the end of such a terrible day, I don’t feel like I have much of a choice.

“Sir?” I say, cracking it open hesitantly. I’m never sure exactly what I’ll find on the other side of his door, but I tend to air on the side of caution on days like this. A grunt is the only sign of acknowledgment, but I take it as permission to enter.

“I just wanted to give you this before I head out for the day.” I step toward the desk, sliding the slip of paper toward him. He looks at the paper, up at me, then back to the paper with an arched eyebrow.

“What’s this, Killian?” The annoyance in his tone isn’t going to help me out here, but I push forward.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for his response. “I need to take some time off, sir. Just a few days. I need some time to get my head straight so I can do the best work possible here.” I hope my selective honesty isn’t as transparent as it feels when it leaves my lips. I do need time off, but I couldn’t give a fuck less about this job anymore.

He picks up the request slip, scanning over it quickly. “This is ten days, Killian.” When he looks up at me over the top of the paper, I can see he has absolutely no desire to agree to this, but he’s willing to hear me out apparently.

“It is, yes. I’ve taken off very few days since I started working here, so the days have been accumulating. I’d like to use some of them if you can manage without me for a bit.” The prickles of anxiety are clawing up my throat, trying to push words out of my mouth. I want to overexplain, give him reasons he could relate to, soothe whatever emotions he’s feeling right now. But the truth is, I’ve earned this time off and I don’t need to give him any sort of explanation for taking it.

Instead, I stand in silence, waiting for his response. Just as the words bubble up and begin to make their way past my teeth, he sighs and places the paper on his desk before picking up his pen and scribbling his signature across the bottom in approval.

“I always need you here, but I hope you can use the time to get your head right.” He levels me with a look I’ve only seen him use once before. A look that hurls me back through time to when I was a young boy and my dad found my report card stuffed into the trash can in hopes he wouldn’t find out I was failing my classes. Suddenly, I feel so incredibly small.

I do my best to stand up straight and pull my shoulders back. “Thank you, sir. I’ll finish up what I’ve already started by tomorrow afternoon.” I don’t meet his eyes as I turn to leave the office.

“Actually, we can manage, I believe. Go ahead and start your leave, Killian. Let me know if you need anything while you’re off.” The words he doesn’t say are heavy in the air between us. With emotion swelling in my throat, I don’t trust my voice to be steady, so I just nod and duck out the door instead.

My boss has never been one for many words, but he deeply cares about his employees and takes mental health very seriously. He once told me about a bout of burnout he suffered through in his mid-thirties, including how it nearly wrecked his marriage, followed by a lecture on never letting it get to that point for his employees.

It takes twelve minutes to get all my things together, but the instant I step out into the fresh air, a weight lifts from my shoulders. I drag in a full breath, reveling in the feel of sunshine on my face and my lungs expanding to the point of pain.

At home, I shower and tidy up the apartment, running over Violet’s letter again and again in my mind. I want to know everything there is to know about her. All her deepest secrets and silliest desires. I want to know the things she dreams about and the things she prays never come to light. I want to know what she’s proud of but also what she thinks is shameful. I want to know it all.

VIOLET,

I DIDN’T KNOW YOU DREaM OF WRITING. THAT’S INCREDIBLE. I’D LOVE TO READ SOME OF YOUR WORK IF YOU EVER FEEL LIKE INCLUDING IT IN A LETTER.

ENDURINGLY YOURS,