Page 79 of Unholy Obsession

Fuck. No one wants to hear from me.

No one wants this chaotic mess in their life.Idon’t even want this chaotic mess in my life.

Wrong, wrong, wrong in the head, my brain singsongs.

Shouldn’t be here. Should be dead.

A giggle bubbles up, sharp and bright like champagne fizz, but I slap it down just in time.Don’t laugh in church, Moira. That’s rule number one in the Don’t Be A Fucking Disaster handbook.

But then?—

Exitsign.

Red and glowing like a beacon just down on the opposite end of the church.

Run.

My legs move before my brain catches up. I shove through the door, metal slamming behind me with a satisfyingclang.

Then I gulp in the cold night air like it’s the first breath I’ve taken all day.

I’m outside, tucked into the shadowy guts of the church—a concrete patch squeezed between a giant AC unit and a dumpster. I press my back against the cold brick, heart racing, pulse in my throat.

Breathe.

But I’m not really here, am I?

I giggle again, feeling light-headed. Light like I might just lift off from the ground. Gravity can’t hold me.

I’m just a ghost in the shadows. A flicker at the edge of his vision. Not someone you hold on to. Not someone you keep.

There’s a balloon inflating inside, pushing against my ribs, my heart, my everything.

Somewhere at the back of my head, I recognize this feeling.

Hello, Crazy, my old friend.

I shake my hands out, fingers twitching like they’ve got a mind of their own. Doesn’t help.

So I start dancing in place. Just quick little stomps, feet slapping the ground, trying to shake it out—shake out the static, the buzz, the wild, uncontrollablemorethat’s crackling under my skin.

But it’s still there. Louder. Bigger.

Then I freeze mid-stomp, breath ragged. I know what I need.

Of course.

I need to fuck.

That’s it. That’s always what I need when I get like this. When my head feels too full and too empty all at once. When my skin doesn’t fit right and my thoughts are racing laps around sanity.

I ruin things. That’s what I do.

A loud, manic laugh bursts from my throat, sharp and too big for my chest. I slap my hands over my mouth, but it’s already out, echoing off the stone walls like an accusation.

Time to fuck. Time to fuck!

Ding, ding, ding.

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