Page 62 of Bound By Obsession

Behind him, Dax wades through those fighting. There’s a strangely wild grin plastered across his face that doesn’t look like it should belong there. A reckless type of joy shines in his blue eyes. He catches one of the jocks nearing Wyatt by the collar and throws him aside, acting as the mediator amongst the macho bullshit. Wyatt is in a world of his own, his fists smeared red with more splattered across his face. His face is twisted into a grim scowl as he takes down another guy with a brutal knee to the ribs.

For a moment, it seems like we’re winning. Until we’re really not. There’s too many of them and not enough of us, the tide quickly turning in the jock’s favor. The sounds around me blur together, the sickening thud of fists meeting flesh, the grunts of effort, the occasional pained shout.

I hear someone yell my name, but I can’t tell who it is. It doesn’t matter. There’s no time to process anything. Another jock charges at me, this one taller and leaner, his fists raised boxing style. I lunge forward, feinting to the left before swinginga right hook that catches him across the jaw. He stumbles, but he’s quick to recover. His fist flies toward me, catching my chest and then side in quick succession. An arm bands around my neck, tugging me backwards.

I hit the floor, a spike of pain explodes across my entire back. My heart pounds, adrenaline roaring through my veins as a body lands on top of me, fists sailing towards my face. In an attempt to defend myself, I bring my arms up until they’re promptly tucked back down and pinned at my sides.

“Your kind disgust me,” The words are hissed in my face, followed by a wad of spit coating my forehead and eyes. I writhe beneath the body pinning my hips, each blow to the head increasing the ringing in my ears. I’m dragged lower into the darkness, closer to the panic that consumes me night after night.

Hands press my shoulders into the bed of grass. A mattress puckers beneath my back. The words pummel into me as heavily as the fists, contorting, transforming.

“Let’s see who wants to kiss you after this, pretty boy.”

“Let me kiss you, pretty boy. Don’t be shy.” No, please no. Looking up, a large woman’s arms hold me in place, the mattress a stark contrast to the pinch of her nails. Rolling my head to the side, I release a sob as the silky texture of my long, brunette hair glides over the pillow. I’m not that boy anymore, but I still don’t know how to get out of this never-ending loop. Clutching a hand in the rough sheets, I brace myself for what comes next. How my body will betray me and give her exactly what she wants, despite the sickening twist in my gut.

“Dude!” a shout penetrates my mind. “He’s getting fucking hard on me!” A new type of shame washes over my cheeks as I groan, unable to see through eyes that are now swollen shut. My mouth is numb, the coppery warmth of blood gliding down my throat. There’s a round of disgusted jeers and the weight jerksoff me, but it’s too late for me. The terror has a hold of my mind, laboring my breathing as an attack hits before I can register it.

I’m standing now, appearing in the doorway of the ballroom. The space is filled with women of all ages in fancy ball gowns. In unison, they turn to glare at me. Gloved hands ball into fists, perfectly painted lips sneer. A walkway down the center has been left clear, my mother waiting expectantly on the podium at the far end. A sparkling champagne colored dress hugs her surgery perfected body, a usual pearl necklace hanging around her slender neck.

Stepping onto the shiny floor, my shoes echo loudly in an otherwise silent space as I make my way towards her. With each step closer, my mother’s hands begin to change to a deep shade of crimson. The stain grows until I reach the raised platform, stopping just short of her wrists. Following my eyeline, she smiles wickedly and lifts a skinny index finger to paint the color across her lips.

“This is all your fault,” she smirks down at me. Confusion seeps in with a feeling of unease as I look around. Pale, bare feet are poking out from behind mother’s dress and catch my attention. Sidestepping, I follow the length of ankle, then leg and beyond to find Avery’s blonde hair fanned around her as she lies lifelessly on the stage. Making a move to rush to her, hands grab me from behind and pull me backwards. Arms hook across my chest with impossible strength yanking me further away as my mother cackles.

“It’s all your fault!” the crowd shout and jeer over and over again. I try to set my feet so I can’t be moved but it doesn’t work and soon I’m too far back and too surrounded to even see the podium. I reach out desperately, tears filling my eyes as I scream her name. I’ve failed her again, like I do every night in every scenario. I’ll never be able to save Avery when I can’t save myself from these visions.

The first tear spills from my eye and everyone freezes, my mother suddenly appearing before me. Her dark hair has started to fall from her flawless chignon and the bloodstain smearing her lips glistens.

“You see, Axel, you are weak. You will forever be stuck as this pathetic, little boy. You can never escape me.”

A scream is torn from my throat and I jolt back to life, throwing my fists out wildly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soft voice says. Small hands lightly grab my fists, then move their way up to my jaw. My head is spinning, leaving me completely disorientated. “Axel. I’m here, I’ve got you now.” I want to believe those words but I’m still combating my mother’s harsh words, or rather, the harsh words that my own brain produced. I’m fighting against myself and I’m starting to fear that’s a battle I’ll never win.

“Come on, Axe. Deep breaths for me.” Slowly, I start to come back to myself, realizing that my chest is heaving and a cold sweat coats my entire body. I feel disgusting. Managing to force my eyes to crack open, light bursts through the darkness held within.Avery fills my vision, her face inches from mine. I push away from the hard surface I’m leaning against, falling into her arms. She hugs me as I cry, the saltiness stinging my face. I know it’s bad, even before I blink up enough to see a line of ambulances along the sidewalk.

“Where-” I croak, not liking the scrape against my throat one bit. I’ve had some serious damage dealt onto me today.

“They’re all okay. The police responded to a call and broke up the fight. Hux and I pulled in after. You’d already passed out and…um,” there’s hesitation before Avery exhales. “Well, Garrett is being taken up to the station. Apparently, he went ape shit on the guys who were hurting you. All three of them have been carted off with broken bones.”

Not too far away, an officer slams the rear door shut and drops into the driver’s seat. Garrett’s silhouette moves into sight, dark blemishes marring his face. He stares out of the window and presses a cuffed hand to the glass. I attempt to reach out but pain shoots up my arm, drawing a hiss through my busted lip. Avery’s face says it all, the misery shimmering in her blue eyes. That, and the fact she’s kneeling in the grass with me.

I look around, taking in the scene properly at last. Wyatt and Dax are near the porch, bruised and bloodied, but standing whilst Huxley fusses over them, tugging the shiny silver blanket tighter over their shoulders and attending to the blood on their faces. The paramedics are busy loading groaning bodies into ambulances, working in haste to get on the road. A few football jocks are still scattered across the lawn awaiting medical attention, the arrogant smirks wiped clean off their faces.

“I’ll take you inside when you’re able to stand,” Avery tells me, rubbing her hands over my arms. I remain leaning against her, despite my crushing weight against her lithe frame. I currently couldn’t manage to hold myself up if I tried.

“N-no, the note,” I groan. “There was a…a flower.” My brows pinch with effort, a blossoming ache in my ribs making it hard to focus. Avery peels herself away from me as much as she dares, kissing my temple.

“The cops did a sweep of the house. There’s no one there.” I exhale loudly and wince, settling back against the wall I’ve been leaned against. I have no idea who moved me or what happened in the space of time I wasn’t conscious for. Blue flashing lights blare to life, announcing Garrett’s departure as the sirens slice through the air. My head snaps toward the street, tracking the vehicle until it disappears, wrenching out my heart along with it.

Please cooperate, Garrett.Do whatever they say to come back to me quickly.

Wringing my hands in my lap, my eyes dart around the room. Framed diplomas and various other achievements hang on the walls, amongst photos of a very pretty Persian cat. The desk separating us from a large circular window is almost bare, every pen laying exactly parallel to the next. A singular photo frame faces in the opposite direction, sitting beside the computer monitor, slick wireless keyboard and a brass name stand.

Dean O’Sullivan.As if reading his name conjured the man himself, the door at my back opens. Clipped dress shoes enter, striding around to face Dax, Huxley, Wyatt and myself sitting guiltily in armless chairs. Counselor Lorna is beside the Dean, particularly shocked to see Wyatt’s chair so close to mine. I’mnot surprised - I ripped him a new one in my sessions with her, and I’m sure he’s been doing the same about me for years.

Dean O’Sullivan appears strained, dark circles circling his eyes, his fingertips pressed against his temple as if to ease a headache. He’s young for a Dean, and despite his deep scowl, his voice is even. “I’ve asked the counselor to sit in with us today so she can be best equipped for your sessions going forward.” Those tired eyes linger on Wyatt and me for a moment.

Placing a brown folder down and taking the time to straighten it along the desk’s edge, the Dean unbuttons his jacket to lower into his large leather chair. Lorna pulls up a stool, a notepad and pen in her hands, large glasses hanging on her pointed nose. I avoid her gaze, preferring to stare at a spot on the floor as the Dean speaks.

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