Page 10 of Frozen Obsession

I pull out my phone and text Jimmy.

are you on your way ?

Almost there. Desperate for Daddy :)

I can feel bile rise in my throat at his words, but I ignore it. I’m desperate for oblivion, even if it isn’t Jimmy who I crave.

Jimmy arrives not long after, his familiar presence a welcome reprieve from my spiraling thoughts. He pulls out the usual—nothing fancy, just enough to blur the edges. We get high, the world around us fading, and we fuck lazily on the old couch, like it’s the only thing we know how to do anymore. The scent of pine fills the air, almost enough to mask the dread still clinging to me, stubborn and unrelenting.

I try to lose myself in the moment, to forget the memory of those eyes watching me, of the panties left behind like some twisted offering. Almost. But not quite.

Lying there afterward, Jimmy strokes my arm lazily, his breath warm against my neck. "You okay, Xena? You’ve been jumpy all night."

I hesitate, biting my lip. "Just… a long day at work. Some creeps; you know how it is."

He chuckles softly, pulling me closer. It’s a gesture I usually wouldn’t welcome; I’m not the cuddly type. And if I were, it sure wouldn’t be Jimmy that I’d be cuddling up to.

"Want me to rough ‘em up next time? Santa’s got some gifts to deliver."

I manage a snort, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, I’m sure you’d make agreat Santa."

"Hey," he protests, feigning hurt. "I’d be the best damn Santa you’ve ever seen." And with that, he parts my legs once again and slips inside.

We fuck again, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating as the drugs begin to take hold. I close my eyes, letting the haze envelop me. The room grows quiet after he finishes, his breathing steady and rhythmic as he falls asleep. I get up and shuffle my way to the bathroom to clean the remnants of his release from my stomach.

But just as I’m about to step back into the dimly lit room, I hear it—a sound like someone walking around the cabin. Fucking drugs must be making me delusional, I think, but a wave of unease washes over me. I turn to look behind me, my heart pounding, but there’s nothing there.

Picking up my pace, I rush back to the couch and lie down, desperate to let the drugs take me under. But in the dark, I’m jolted awake by the creak of old floorboards. My heart races as I squint into the shadows, trying to decipher what’s real and what’s not.

The snowstorm outside casts strange, shifting silhouettes against the walls, and for a fleeting moment, I think I see him—a dark figure standing at the edge of the room, unmoving.

Roman.

Panic surges through me, sending icy tendrils of fear coiling around my throat. I blink hard, but the figure doesn’t disappear. I can’t tell if it’s a trick of the light or if he’s really there, but my gut tells me it’s not just a hallucination.

"Jimmy?" I whisper, my voice trembling, but he’s deep in sleep, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding around us.

The figure shifts slightly, and my breath hitches in my throat. It’s just my imagination, I tell myself. Just the drugs. But the air feels charged with a presence I can’t shake, like a weight pressing down on my chest. I sit up, every nerve in my body on high alert, and then the figure steps forward, its outline sharpening in the dim light.

"Xena," it whispers, a voice that cuts through the silence like a knife.

The name hangs heavy in the air, and I freeze; the world around me fades into the background. My heart races, pounding against my ribcage like a frantic drum.

I blink, my breath catching in my throat. The faint jingle of bells, soft but eerie, drifts through the room. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it all to be a trick of the light, a figment of my imagination.

When I open my eyes again, he’s gone. The room is empty, save for the shifting shadows that mock my fear.

Chapter Six

Roman

Ispend hours walking the icy streets, my breath misting in the cold air as I make my way back to her. Every corner and shadow feels like it holds a piece of my past and my purpose. After hours of trudging through the biting cold, I hitch a ride from a trucker. "Come on in, it’s cold out, boy," he says with a smirk. I glance at the small, balding old man, who smells like cigarettes and whiskey. His gut stretches tight against a Christmas sweater. "Thank you," I mutter as I slip into the passenger side of his truck.

"Where to?" he asks, pulling away from the shoulder. I smile before replying, "Cedarvale."

The man honks the horn and turns to me with a smile. "You’re in luck; that’s where I live." I let out a sigh as my body begins to warm up. The ride is relatively quiet—some small talk here and there—but the most interesting thing is where he’s going before heading home to his wife.

"Anabel’s Tits and Grits," he says—a run-down strip club with a name that says it all. I’m not here for pleasure, though I miss the warmth and touch of a woman. I don’t care to sink my cock into any pussy that’s not Xena’s. "I paid for a private room—thirty minutes of heaven with a nice honey." He offers me a cigarette, and I take it, welcoming the familiar taste of minty smoke. "You can fuck her with me, but I gotta go first," he suggests. I stay quiet, ignoring the old man’s lecherous advances. I’m not interested in swapping fluids with him or havinghim see my dick. My dick is all hers.

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