Page 103 of Unholy Obsession

Sometimes, that light flickers.

She has her down days. She can be reactive, her moods shifting like a storm breaking without warning. She told me once it feels like a balloon popping; one second, she’s floating, untethered, and the next, she’s crashing hard over something as inconsequential as a commercial.

I haven’t brought it up to her yet. She’s sensitive about labels and about having been institutionalized before for her so-called sex addiction.

But it’s obvious—she’s somewhere on the bipolar spectrum. No one ever looked past her manic behaviors, past the reckless sex and the constant motion, to see what was really going on. They just saw the symptoms, not the cause.

It pisses me off. Especially when it comes to her brother.

Domhnall should have seen it. He should have realized. Instead, he just wrote her off. Treated her like a problem instead of a person. I hear the way she talks about him, the way she pretends not to care. But I know better. She does care. She loves him, despite everything.

And he doesn’t deserve it.

I do.

So I’ll keep watching. Keep learning her in all the ways no one else ever bothered to. Every new thing I learn only makes me more obsessed. More devoted. More determined to be the man she deserves. To protect her.

She chose me.

And I’ll keep choosing her every damn day.

THIRTY-NINE

MOIRA

I wakeup and immediately roll over, reaching for Bane’s warm, solid chest.

But he’s not there.

I frown, curls spilling into my face as I blink at the empty sheets. Where the hell is he? He’s always here in the morning.

Then it hits me.

Oh. Right. Church.

Ever since he announced the elopement, which we just pretend happened one week earlier than it did, he keeps saying I’m welcome to come. That everyone would love to meet me.

Right. Me, in a church? That would go overgreat.

I let my arm flop dramatically over my face.

At least marrying me did the trick. He got to keep his job.

But good Lord, I nearly burned the place down just walking through the doors on Christmas Eve. Almost got himfiredthe next morning afteralreadyalmost getting him fired two days before. Pretty sure, for both our sakes, I should stay far, far away.

I ruin things. That’s just what I do.

And yet… somehow, I haven’t ruinedthis.

I roll onto my stomach and shove my face into his pillow. It still smells like him—warm, woodsy,Bane—and I want to rub it all over me like some desperate little pervert.

Which is exactly what I did last night. Long after he said heshouldgo to sleep because he had to be up early. Long after we should’ve gone to sleep.

But I was hungry for him.

So he gave me what I needed. Because Bane? He’s always doing little things for me. Finding new ways to take care of me. Making sure I eat. Making sure I get out of bed. Making sure Ilive.

And what do I give him?

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