Page 52 of To Obsess

With apprehension making full breaths difficult, I drive below the speed limit all the way back to the apartment, letter in the passenger seat. For the first time, I want to burn the damn thing into ashes instead of opening it and committing every word to memory. I have no desire to read the words scrawled in her pretty handwriting.

I pull in a deep breath, begging my ribs to expand past the growing pain. The pit only grows as the words register.

K,

We’ve been writing back and forth for a while now. You’ve been giving me birthday cards for twenty years. I think it might be time we met in person.

I’ve dreamed of knowing who you are for so long now, but I’ve never been brave enough to ask. Well… now I’m asking.

You asked me to send some of my photography with this letter, but how about I show you my favorite pictures in person instead? And you can show me your favorite things as well?

You name the place and time.

Yours,

-V

“No, no, no, no. This is not going to happen.” I read the words over and over again as if that will change anything. As if that will make her request different or give me any option to deny it.

The same squeezing sensation is returning to my chest as I refold the paper and screw my eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions.

I knew this was coming at some point, but I was hoping to have more time. I was hoping to have a few more letters to convince her to give me a real shot and get to know me for who I am now. I was hoping I’d have a chance to give her the world.

There’s still no reply when I check my phone, but I’m not giving up hope. Instead, I type out a message explaining the situation, how I’d love to see her again and hope we can set something up, then delete it before locking my phone and tossing it on the couch out of reach. A text isn’t going to fix this.

I take a full day to figure out the best way to proceed, not that there is a good way at this point. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to explain everything to her.

Do I try to fix things with her as Alex? Explain that I got a little overwhelmed and froze when I enjoyed spending time with her so much? In that case, I would have to stop writing the letters. There’s no way I can keep those going without meeting her in person, but the second I do, everything is going to come crashing down.

I wrote out another note for her last night, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to deliver it yet. Even after rewriting it seven different times, it still doesn’t feel quite perfect. There’s so much I want to say but can’t find the words to articulate.

My last text stares back at me from the screen, delivered but unread. The only good thing about that is she still hasn’t blocked me. It doesn’t mean much, but I’ll take whatever sliver of hope I can hang onto at this point.

As I stare at the paints still littering the living room floor, I can’t help the sigh that escapes me. Last night, after writing and rewriting the letter over and over, I drug out my paint supplies, hoping to find a way to quiet my mind at least a little bit. Normally, I keep them organized and put them away as soon as I’m finished, but I couldn’t be bothered when the first rays of sunshine filtered into the apartment this morning and I was just wrapping up the painting that had consumed my night.

I crashed for all of three hours, just to be awoken by a nightmare. In the dream, things with Violet took a hard turn, leaving me devastated in the middle of the woods, tears soaking my shirt. When I looked down at my hands, they were covered in blood. As bile rose in my throat, I looked around only to find Gunnar’s lifeless, beaten body lying at my feet. I turned to run, desperate to escape before anyone came across me. I made it two steps before slamming into a body, knocking me back.

Violet stood before me, tears streaking her pretty face, violence in her eyes. “What have you done?” she screamed, fury dripping from every word. “I swear to fuck, Killian. I hate—” the words cut short as I jolt awake.

That was more than half an hour ago. I’d crawled out of bed, begging my shaking legs to support my weight long enough to make it to the couch. I collapsed onto it and haven’t moved since, staring at the scene scattered across my house without really seeing any of it.

It takes another twenty minutes before I have any confidence that my legs won’t buckle the second I try to stand. I take the canvas I painted last night, fold it in half, then half again, before placing it on the table with the letter on top.

I pray she’s at work as I slip into the driver’s seat of my car and pull out of the parking lot. I need to do this while I still have the guts to finish it.

Chapter 47

Violet

I left the last text from Alex unread. It came in last night, but I have zero desire to entertain whatever it is he has going on right now. As far as I’m concerned, there isn’t really a valid excuse for dropping off the face of the earth. I get that life happens sometimes, but it takes half a second to send a ‘hey something came up, so sorry!’ text.

Instead, I spent the first half of the night tossing and turning in my bed. When I got fed up with that, I slipped on some pajama pants and slippers before heading out to the back porch with a glass of wine. When that was empty, I opted to grab the bottle from inside instead of just the glass.

Between the stress of figuring out how to run the bookstore, the podcast, and things with Alex, plus these damned letters, I’ve been struggling to sleep well. Self-medicating with a little wine has become the norm on nights like this. Which leads to my current circumstances.

I groan as I untuck my legs from beneath me and slowly stretch out my arms, fighting through the sore muscles. I must have fallen asleep (more likely passed out from finishing a second bottle of wine on my own) curled up in the chair outside. I’m glad I had the foresight to text (whatever the hell that girl’s name is) to cover opening the store this morning, seeing as it’s nearly noon now.

My heart clenches when my eyes are finally clear enough to focus on the small table in front of me. On it, tied up with a purple satin ribbon, sits a letter with something folded neatly beneath it. My eyes dart around the yard, scanning the tree line even though I know I won’t find him there.