Page 50 of To Obsess

-K

I fold the letter, running my fingers along the fresh creases in contemplation. The last few letters I’ve written have left me with a heavy feeling I can’t quite explain.

Instead of wasting the afternoon drowning in my own thoughts, I toss the paper onto the coffee table and pull out my phone, scanning her social media for any updates. When I find nothing there, I switch over to the podcast and click on the latest episode.

Normally, Violet and Abby put out an episode once a weekend, but it’s Monday and there’s a new one posted just two hours ago. With a wrinkle in my brow, I click play and breathe a bit easier as the sound of her voice during the intro loosens the knot in my chest slightly.

To my surprise, this one is entirely different than their normal show. It isn’t so much about the notes and cards as the ongoing investigation into the “psychotic son of a bitch” who slaughtered a man in the woods some months ago then left a painting near where the dead man was found.

I was completely unaware. Of course, I knew the painting had been found, but I didn’t know they were still pursuing it heavily. I thought, stupidly, that once the guy had been dead a while, it might die down and kind of fade into the background or something. Fuck.

To hear Abby talk about how the guy who did that was ‘totally fucked in the head’ didn’t really surprise me. What did catch me off guard was Violet’s response. As I listened, she objectively discussed her theories about what could have happened. Granted, she was entirely off base about every detail of it, but her open-mindedness was enlightening. She was almost defensive of the actions, wondering if perhaps it was self-defense somehow. Or maybe the guy had done something to the murderer’s loved one and it was deserved.

She also played the other side, making sure to volley points for both sides.

If she could be that open-minded without even knowing who did it or their reasons behind it, this just might work out after all.

As I slip the note into her mailbox, I feel more optimistic than I have in weeks.

We just might have a shot at making it out of this bullshit together.

Chapter 45

Violet

I haven’t heard from Alex in a few days, and it’s got me in a funk. There. That’s the truth of it. I know I shouldn’t be so flustered over a guy I just met, but we had a wonderful time together, I thought. It’s not often I meet someone I have that kind of chemistry with, especially right off the bat.

Abby may or may not have pointed out that my codependency was showing, but that isn’t the point. The point is, I really like this guy, and it’s frustrating that he hasn’t reached out.

Not hearing from him has actually led to me being a bit more productive than usual though, so it’s not all bad.

After two days of silence, I texted Abby with a desperate plea to help me get out of the funk I’d landed in by doing an extra episode for the podcast. We had been meaning to do an update about the painting found in the woods anyway, so it was a win-win in my book.

Once it was edited and uploaded, I headed into the shop to finish cataloging the newest shipment of books and work on an upcoming sale. With Mr. and Mrs. Yates being gone, I’ve increased the orders a bit, leaving less room on the shelves for the books that aren’t selling quickly.

It takes all of a minute before my phone is vibrating in my pocket. I don’t have to check it to know it’s Abby texting back. She’s always up for late night binges, no questions asked.

I work another forty-five minutes on flyers for the sale before shutting everything down and flipping off all the lights expect the old lamp on the front counter. That thing has been left on every night since I’ve worked here, and I plan to keep that tradition going. It adds a homey sense to the place somehow.

The drive home is quick and uneventful until I get to the mailbox. I grab the day’s mail without much thought, noticing that there’s another note thrown in the mix but not giving it any attention. With the day I’ve had, I honestly don’t have the energy to deal with that right now. At least not until I’ve changed into pajamas, thrown my hair up, and stuffed my face with my best friend.

Except when I pull up in front of the house, the driveway is empty. Weird.

It’s been just over an hour since I texted Abby, so maybe she’s almost here. I clutch the mail to my chest and stomp up the steps. After more effort than I’m willing to admit, the door is open and I manage to make it inside without dropping anything.

I fish the phone from my pocket and hit the side button to light up the screen. There’s a text, but it’s not from Abby. It’s from fuckface (aka Alex).

My eyes roll so hard it’s nearly painful. If he had been thinking of me, there wouldn’t have been so much silence recently. He hasn’t blown me off or anything like that, but Abby and I came up with a rule years ago. Twenty-four hours with no contact whatsoever and it’s a wrap. Even a quick, simple text will suffice.

My heart aches as I exit the message and pull up Abby’s contact instead. We’ve shared our locations for the last several years, so I can see she’s about to make the turn onto my road. Thank the gods. I could use some girl time.

My eyes are drawn back to the letter I tossed on the counter when I first got home. Before I have time to think about it, my feet are moving. In seconds, the letter is open in my hands, eyes flying over the words.

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,