Page 145 of Obsession

I couldn’t stop myself and turned my head towards Harris, my idiotic instinct having done it before I could think it through.

I’d expected to see him angry, at least a little red in the face and with that demonic, bloodthirsty expression, but he looked… different. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think there was pain on his face. Remorse. Maybe some anger too, but a bleeding one.

I knew immediately what he was thinking.

I would have beenthere.

If he hadn’t messed things up today, if he’d said the right words in front of Amber, I’d be at that table right now, next to him, maybe even on his lap like V was on Jay’s.

But I was here, next to Zac, and he knew that if he lost his cool and beat him up, I would hate him even more.

I closed my eyes and went back to my food, having lost my appetite. I tried to pay attention to Chris as he sat in front of me, but all my eyes could see were the words he had written before he left.

That lie was sucking the life out of me with every passing second.

***

I spent the rest of the day doing homework, working on projects that had to be turned in in a couple days, but I felt the need to be engaged in something, and I felt like studying and fretting over equations, not my own stupidity when it came to boys.

I missed my friends from home terribly. I talked to Nicky for a few hours, even though it was extremely difficult not to mention Harris, not to tell my girlfriend what an idiot I’d been and ask her for advice, but the more brutally I cut him out of my life, the better. I knew that if I gave him another chance, he would only hurt me more. That’s how love and I worked, the more I hoped, the more I hurt.

I’d had enough.

I had other priorities, Harris hadn’t become the center of my universe.

Nicky complained about Adam, that she hardly saw him lately, and that reminded me that he wanted to come over for the photo shoot. He hadn’t called me to talk about it anymore, and he hadn’t told them about our project.

I tried to call him too, but he didn’t answer. Maybe he had changed his mind and no longer needed me. I would have been relieved.

Around 6 p.m., I went for a jog and thought about what kind of manipulation I had to do with my dad to buy a treadmill, because I couldn’t get used to the neighborhood and the park was crowded, too. Maybe if I told him he was getting fat, he’d relent.

When I got home, panting and drenched in sweat, I pulled out my headphones and stumbled to the sink. I dipped my mouth right under the running water and drank, then grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge and went upstairs to my room.

My father wasn’t home, but I had gotten used to his absence. I was glad he was not trying to put his family members in front of me anymore.

As I opened my door, a deafening scream pierced my eardrums.

My scream.

I clung to the handle and struggled to stay on my feet. The water bottle fell from my hand and hit the floor, and my heart thudded with fear as I stared at my bed

At the macabre image.

My sheets were red, a huge puddle spread across the entire length, as if someone had poured a bucket of blood down the middle of my bed.

It took me a few seconds to make sure it was real and not just a nightmare.

Breathe. Think. Run!

That’s what my subconscious dictated to me as it made the connections and figured out that someone had been in my house. Someone who might still be here.

Then I thought about my dad.

Was he really gone?

Fear burst from my chest, and I howled.

“Dad!” I screamed as loud as I could and ran to his room.

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