Page 57 of Bound By Obsession

A frown pitches my brows at the sudden steel quality to Rachel’s voice. Was that a loving threat or a dangerous promise?I have to remind myself that she’s not only the shy, quiet housewife but the gangster’s wife who will do anything to protect her only son. Unfortunately, I’m long past the point of letting people protect me. I’ve been through too much not to see this through for myself.

“Rachel. Thank you for caring, but let me handle it. I know what I’m doing,” I lie. I haven’t got a fucking clue, but I’ll figure it out. Eventually. An understanding sigh travels into my ear.

“I’m not without my uses, Wyatt. I have my own set of connections and resources. If there’s anything you need, promise me you’ll call straight away.”

“I will. Thank you.” The uniformed employee appears around the corner to beckon me again, the sound of the jet roaring to life behind. I’m out of time. “I have to go, I love you.” I call into the phone, pressing the device against my ear to barely make out her answer.

“I love you too, my boy.”

Choking on my own sob, I lower the phone, every vein in my forearm popping into full effect. My knuckles are white while I stall long enough to level my breathing. I’ve always had a singular objective. One destination in mind, and it was as far from Hughes’ Manor as possible. For the first time, I’m torn between where I long to go and need to be.

A dark shadow lingers over my shadow. The drugs may have painstakingly ebbed their way out of my system over this pastweek, but Ray refuses to vanish. I won’t let him. I imagine his presence, powerful and imposing. It fills me with the same notion.

Rolling my neck, I stride around the hangar to see that same employee standing within earshot. Has he been there the entire time, listening into my conversation? The thought that Rachel wasn’t the only one to hear my vulnerability hits me like a wrecking ball to the chest, throwing my guard back up in full effect.

He straightens upon seeing me, eyes wide as if he’s been caught out. Fuck yeah, he has. Ray leans into me, pressing the weight of his suspicion into me. I force the man to look me in the eyes, daring him to reveal his secrets.

“Who the fuck do you really work for?” I glare, stepping into his space. He’s a few inches shorter than me, a man of around thirty. His blue eyes flicker to the family crest embroidered into his jacket, feigning confusion. I grip his lapels and slam him into the white metal at his back. “You like listening to phone calls, do you?” My voice is raised over the roar of the jet, my impatience quickly wearing thin. After the emotional backlash Rachel has unknowingly dealt, I have nothing else to fall back on but rage.

The fool shrinking away from me is muttering words I can’t hear. Lies, I’m sure. Yanking him closer and throwing him back into the metal again, I get right into his face.

“You don’t repeat my conversation with anyone, you understand? Nothing I say is of your concern.” He’s nodding so fast, his blond hair falls from its neat slick-back. Whoever he is, he’s pathetic. I toss him aside, and Ray prims with pride. He’d want me to be strong, to be the sort of man Rachel needs. By the time I make it back to her, I’ll be fit to bear the Perelli name.

The employee, who clearly has a death wish, jumps back into his job role instantly. Attempting to usher me towards the jet, his hand brushes my back and I don’t even consider my reaction.Red coats my vision as my arm snaps back and plummets forward, my fist connecting with his jaw. He hit the floor this time, dirt marring his jacket and slacks. Without a second thought, I push my hands into my pockets and stride towards the jet. No one dares to rush to his aid until I’ve ascended the stairs, and no one tries to rush me again.

Once inside, five sets of eyes hit me like daggers. Huxley is on the right side by the window, the one with the best view of just what happened. I keep my face relaxed, dropping into the seat furthest away from the rest and instantly reaching for an eye mask. My intent is clear - leave me alone, go back to giggling and fucking around with each other.

Darkness settles over my mind, keeping me company for the remainder of the journey back to Waversea. I manage to go the entire day with only a series of grunts and shrugs, keeping up the pretense that I’m the monster they should fear. That I no longer exist in their world.

Stepping into my old bedroom, my resolve shatters. Everything has been left exactly as it was the night I stormed out. A path of destruction carves its way from one side of the room to the other. A visual portrait of confusion and hatred. Those emotions flood back now, as if they’ve been lingering beneath my broken bed and waiting for me.

However, there’s clarity.

The man who caused this mess couldn’t see a future worth living. He didn’t know he had a family who would never give up on him, and I don’t mean the Perelli’s. The Shadowed Souls. The men who have fought their own battles and day after day, continue to tolerate me through mine. Love is a powerful thing. It’s enough to replace the emptiness I’ve been clinging to. The validation I’ve been seeking from those who were never going to give it willingly.

They could have tidied the clutter, replaced the broken furniture, and figuratively swept the evidence beneath the rug. They could have sat around waiting for me to return and pretend that everything was normal. But doing that was never going to help. I need to tidy this mess for myself. I need to take responsibility for the damage I cause, and I know exactly where to start.

Acold wind nips at my cheeks as I make the short journey across campus, tugging my cardigan tighter around my leotard and leggings. The bag slung over my back holds my ballet slippers and compression socks, and Dax holds my hand. He gives me a small smile every time I look up at him, wondering how he’s unaffected by the sudden winter clinging to Waversea. We were lucky that Nixon’s safe house was in a warmer climate, and I completely took it for granted.

But nothing can lessen the excited tremors building in my chest as we near the dance studio. My first class back. I’m practically giddy with the thought of being a normal university student again, cementing my decision. I needed to return to my life, to take back control.

There’s not too many students around this early, none as visibly eager to get back into a routine as I am, but those who pass throw us curious looks. I suppose a lot has changed in the last few weeks, and Dax’s claim on me is clear.

Crossing the uneven mound of frosted grass, we take a shortcut to the studio where he openly kisses me goodbye, wishing me a good day. The smile on my face is touching ear to ear when I push open the heavy door to the familiar room of wood and glass. Warmth and brightness hits me all at once. The smell of rosin, wood, and sweat feel like a familiar friend, welcoming me back.

As I make my way inside, there’s a chorus of hushed voices. I pull up short at the expression on many of the dancer’s faces. A mixture of disgust and jealousy hits me, reflected in each of the mirrors circling the room. Madam Nightingale crosses the dance floor on light feet, a long white skirt floating around toned legs and a smile on her face that shows she’s the only one pleased to see me.

“Avery! How was your festive break?” She air-kisses my cheek, her hands clasping my frozen ones. Those at her back return to their warmups, but are no less evident in their eavesdropping.

“It was good, thank you. And yours?” I respond, barely aware I’m speaking. My attention is on my peers, actively ignoring my presence whilst lingering close by. Madam Nightingale waves me off, whisking me towards the rear door where the dressing and storage rooms linger. She leads me into a dim office, the blind half-mast and paperwork strewn across an aged desk. My chest tightens. “Am I…in trouble?” I frown, thrown into a spin of confusion. Madam Nightingale rifles through her paperwork, blinking up as if she doesn’t understand my question.

“You tell me. These are letters I received over the holidays on your behalf.” Cocking her brow, she holds out the folded papers, totally unaware that my heart just fell out of my ass.

Letters? Here? It wouldn’t be the first time Mr. XO approached me at the studio. Perhaps he wasn’t aware I’d left for the holidays, and when he did find out, he tracked me to the safe house. But that doesn’t make sense. If he could find me, surely Fredrick Walters could too. Growing impatient by my stalling, Madam Nightingale rounds the desk and plants the folded papers into my hands.

I quickly scan the typed words, latching onto the formality of the language. The breath I didn’t know I was holding rushes through my lips. They’re acceptance letters into some of the country’s most prestigious ballet schools, offers from agents to represent me and some are simply commendations from well-known names in the business, stating that they will be keeping an eye out for what I do in the future.

“The showcase was a huge hit! You can take your pick of schools, of careers. You’re going to be a star, and don’t forget who gave you the small push into dancing publicly,” Madam Nightingale breaks her usually strict character to wink at me. She’s gushing, her eyes alight with possibilities. Suddenly, the looks when I entered the studio all make sense now.

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