Page 28 of King of Obsession

But needs must.

Even though I dreaded the drive and, even more, being spotted by curious onlookers, I tracked to my old beat-up Toyota Hilux parked in the shed.

For a moment, I stared at my unwanted guest’s brand-new,sparkling V8 luxury 4X4 with some longing, then shrugged.

It’d bring me too much scrutiny I didn’t need.

My old, reliable truck, Sugar, was a rough and noisy ride, but it was also the least obtrusive option.

After a quick thought, I opened the trunk of Alessio’s 4X4 and pulled out a shotgun and bullets from his extensive ammo collection. Placing them in my front seat, next to me, in case of any trouble.

I reversed out of the barn, locked up, and headed outside my property after checking and rechecking every lock and gate.

The roads were dusty, and the ute bounced along, the drive shitty from its lack of shock absorbers.

Still, the scenery made up for it.

As I navigated the winding route, the winter sun illuminated a lush, foliage-covered landscape that was only distinctive to Australia.

It was June, and the outback grasslands had just cast off their morning frost.

Houses and farms dotted the countryside, livestock grazed in paddocks, and wild kangaroos hopped across fields.

The trees were in the wane of autumn, but their pretty orange and red leaves still created bursts of color through the green panorama.

My rural life gave me the space to rebuild my life from scratch. For the most, I’d remained unobserved, finding the solitude I needed to keep the past at bay.

A privacy I guarded, avoiding cities and towns as much as possible.

Not by choice but necessity,I sighed as Moss Vale came into view within an hour.

I headed to a small village at the edge of the borough, on aquaint street with petite shops and eateries scattered along it.

In recent years, the country town has become fashionable, offering stunning lifestyle stores, fab cafes and restaurants, and a popular tap house. All of which had attracted a robust, creative community of former city dwellers.

I pulled into the pharmacy’s parking lot, threw my hoodie over my hair, ducked as I sidled inside, and grabbed a shopping cart.

While I did, I avoided all contact with my fellow humans.

I’ll always be a freak, a grumpy freak, I told myself as I hankered down and strode through the aisles.

I was way up on the scale. Somewhere between Angela Bassett’s Queen Ramonda in Black Panther and Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley from Aliens with a touch of Florence Pugh’s Alice in ‘Don’t Worry Darling.’

I’d never been ‘fun’.

That’s because nothing in my life had been a laugh.

What irked me was that nearly all souls in the locale were apprised of my past and tribulations.

Which made every trip to Moss Vale a pain in the fuckin’ ass; most all times, I spent them gritting my teeth, jaw clenched to stop myself from thwacking the curious locals over the head with their umbrellas.

Whenever they saw me and recognized me, they stared.

Then came the avalanche of questions and the pitying half-smiles.

So, to avoid them all, I power-walked like a booted missile, bobbing and weaving through crowds with heated intent.

I refused to meet other shoppers’ eyes, guarding my privacy with a fierceness born out of necessity over the years.

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