Page 37 of Oblivion

Since I met Starling and saw firsthand the terrifying way Sebastian loves her, I’ve been both scared for her and also a little curious to know how it feels to be loved in such an obsessive way. A part of me always wondered if Evan would love that way, if he was capable of being so consumed, so insane.

I don’t know who Evan was before Sebastian met Starling. Starling says he was different, but I’ve only ever known the withdrawn, guilty, ashamed Evan. He smiles and jokes with the guys and is protective of the girls, but it always felt…controlled, like he was masking a lot of how he really felt.

On the phone, he said he’d been wrapped in chains, and that makes sense to me. I know he felt a lot of responsibility for the destruction of Starling and her mom’s relationship, and that in the time I’ve known him, he’s tried countless times to orchestrate a reconciliation between the two.

I’ve watched him advocate for the women who have fallen into his friends’ orbits and even show remorse over his past behavior. Which is why I don’t understand why he’d do this to me now.

If he felt bound by his guilt, why is he now suddenly willing to destroy and maim my life when, for the past eighteen months, he’s stood by and watched me flirt, kiss, and date other men?

Dropping my cell to my lap, I stare down at my hand and the tattoo he put on my skin. I should be at the police station reporting an assault, or at the hospital asking them to check my blood for traces of a sedative, or a roofie, or whatever he used to knock me out for long enough to be able to permanently mark my body. So why am I just sitting here, letting him threaten me?

My mind wanders to what I know about my friends and how they fought to evade their men’s toxic brand of love. Starling ran to the other side of the country. She evaded Sebastian foryears, but in that time, she lived a half-life, terrified, knowing he was watching and that despite the distance, she was never free of him. January went to Italy, only to realize that Clay was her home, and even her dreams were lackluster without him. Bunny literally fled. She left her entire life behind and hid for months. But eventually, she discovered that Hunter was the kind of crazy she just couldn’t live without.

Each of my friends has tried to run from these men, and none of them have found happiness in escape. I could pack a bag and leave, but what would be the point? If Evan wants to find me, he will. I could ignore him, but his threats aren’t idle. He’ll destroy Drew with a smile on his face and not feel an ounce of guilt or remorse.

So how do I fight this? Honestly, I don’t know, but I know it has to start with honesty. I need to tell Drew everything that happened in California, then I need to explain who my friends are and what impact they could have on his life.

Inhaling sharply, I slowly let the breath out, repeating the action until my limbs stop trembling and I feel as calm as I can. Picking up my cell again, I find Drew’s number, then hit dial.

18

EVAN

Smiling to myself, I watch as Sammy scrolls through her contacts until she finds Drew’s name, then hits dial. She’s nothing if not predictable. A part of me wondered if she’d run, but my wild one has never been one to back down from a fight, and this is no exception.

I listen as the call rings, then connects to Drew’s voicemail, and Sammy’s sweet melodic voice leaves a message.

“Hey, Drew, I know you’re in class right now, but I need to talk to you. If you have time, can we meet for lunch or tonight for dinner? It’s important. Love you.”

My clenched jaw ticks when I hear her say she loves him. It doesn’t matter that she’s notinlove with him. I still don’t want to hear her say the words to anyone else but me ever again.

I had planned to wait until Friday to give Sammy the chance to end things with Drew on her own, but those two words sealed all of our fates. She loves him, and that’s not okay. Opening the email I’ve already got saved and ready to go. I hit send, feeling my lips curve into a smirk as I hear the whooshing sound of the email being sent and heralding the end of Sammy and Drew’s engagement.

For good measure, I send him a text too, with a single picture attached. Then I exhale, feeling the warmth of victory heating my body.

Despite Sammy believing her fiancé is in class, I know that he’s actually studying in the library right now, like the good little student that he is. Opening the body cam feed of the guy I have watching him, I get to witness firsthand his expression as he opens the text I just sent him with a picture and three words.

Me

***Photo message*** Check. Your. Email.

If the picture of a half-naked, sleeping Sammy laying on my chest in the bed in her new Harvard home isn’t damning enough, then the entire portfolio of surveillance pictures I’ve been collecting for the past year will be.

Sammy drunk. Sammy dressed in short skirts with glassy eyes. Sammy rubbing on other guys. Sammy on dates. Sammy in a bikini in the pool. Sammy with her head in the toilet after she drank too many margaritas and puked her guts up. Sammy dancing in the middle of a party, sandwiched between two guys. Sammy asleep half-dressed at our breakfast table. And finally and easily the most damning: Sammy, looking up at me, her lips parted, cum decorating her face and tongue with the head of my cock clearly visible at the edge of the picture.

With a handful of photos, I just destroyed their relationship and made the woman I love look like a whore. The pool of lingering guilt inside of me that I’ve learned to tolerate for the last few years bubbles and pulses, but I ignore it. As reprehensible as what I’ve just done is, it was necessary. Apart from the last picture, the rest simply show a beautiful, young college student having fun. None of the pictures are too scandalous, but combined with the last shot, from the one andonly time Sammy and I connected beyond being distant friends, I’ve managed to make her look like a party girl slut, who lets guys take pictures of her when she’s wearing their cum like a badge of honor.

She’s not that, of course. Since she came to Kingsacre, she’s only ever kissed guys other than me. But with that one picture it won’t matter, because a picture says a thousand words, and that one screams political nightmare whore from the tops of the trees.

IfDrewis as attached to his political dreams as I think he is, then he’s going to drop Sammy like a fucking rock. If by some miracle, he chooses her, then I’ll have to think of some other way of getting rid of him.

As I watch him through the guard’s camera, his brows furrow and his lips purse. Bringing his cell closer to his face, he stares down at the picture of Sammy and me in her bed, and his jaw ticks.

After a moment, his fingers start tapping at the screen of his cell, and I see the moment he opens the email I sent to him, his dad, and the PR team they regularly consult with. They might all be getting the pictures of Sammy, but the cum shot they’ll only be able to view once before it’s automatically deleted. According to Clay, all traces of it will disappear from their computers, emails, and any backup servers. Clay is literally standing by to hack into their systems to make sure, but I trust him to know what he’s doing.

I might need all of them to see the picture, but I refuse to allow them to keep it. Until she’s finally mine, that’s the only reminder I have that she’s always belonged to me.

She’s hated me since the night I let her fall asleep in my arms and wake up alone. I should never have touched her that night, but I’ve never regretted it.

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