Page 95 of Pucking Obsessed

“Obsession is something that we all live with in different ways. D’Angelo knows that with his OCD, I was stalked and targeted by both Wilder and Melanie, and each of us were screwed by Gibbs’ obsession.” She shrugs. “Whatever reason this mystery person is doing this now, it has to stop. It’s fucking D’Angelo up. Plus, sending shit to our home is crossing a serious line into stalking. D’Angelo has hired his PI friend, Garcia, to track down who the main offenders are.”

“Is that legal?”

Robyn’s expression hardens. “I don’t give a fuck. They broke into our real life, while hiding behind their keyboards. They won’t think that it’s as fun, when we know who they actually are.”

I reach and cup her cheek. “My dark Robyn.”

She laughs. “Yep, and you’re dark Batman. Actually, I can see that.”

More like the Joker. I admire his dedication to seeing the world burn.

I flex my shoulders, suddenly aware of the phoenix tattoo on my back. It took a lot of painful sessions to have the symbol of my death and rebirth inked on my skin.

I pull back from Robyn. “I want to take you somewhere special, once you’re done here. Do you have time?”

Robyn looks surprised. “Special? Intriguing.”

I take a deep breath.

I haven’t spoken to anyone about this. It’s harder to get out these words than others.

Talking about my ink is like skinning myself alive. But for Robyn, I’ll do it.

She gives me the strength.

I take a deep breath. “My body never felt like it belonged to me. Even when I washed or touched myself, I could barely feel it. It was wrong because my body wasn’t mine. I would walk to my kitchen job at college past this tiny tattoo parlor. I became fixated on the idea that if I inked my skin — added piercings — like the men who I saw going in and out, then finally, I would own myself.”

Robyn’s eyes glint with tears.

“And you did. Your tattoos are beautiful, phoenix.” She glances at the student to check that he’s still not paying any attention to us, before she drops her voice to add, “Plus, you know that I love how sensitive your piercings make you.”

“So do I.” My cheeks tint with pink. “But I couldn’t afford the modifications. I finally built up the courage to go into the parlor and ask anyway. When the bloke looked over my pale skin, he said that I’d makethe perfect canvas. He’d do the work for free, if I let him take photographs of them to advertise his work. I loved my time having the work done. The buzz of the needles. The slow transformation through pain. The tattoo artist didn’t speak. The people who drifted in and out were like me — shadows who didn’t exist in the same world as everybody else.”

Robyn is looking at me in wonder. “You never talk this much.”

The tips of my ears redden.

I turn away.

I knew that I’d get this wrong.

Why do I keep trying to act like arealperson?

I’m shit at it.

“Hey.” Robyn snatches my hand, pulling me back to face her. “I’m not criticizing.I’m happy. I never want you to stop talkingto me. It means a lot. It just made me realize that this means a lot to you too.”

I give her a long gaze, before I nod.

This next part is even harder.

I reach into the pocket of my coat and pull out a small, moleskin notepad. It’s part of the stationary that D’Angelo gave me the budget to buy as his PA.

I had the best time ordering my dream stationary.

At college, I’d stare longingly at the soft looking folders and notebooks that the other students carried, which bristled with color coded Post-it notes.

Now, I have an entire drawer of my own Post-its.

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