Page 29 of Dangerous Obsession

A thought plays at the corner of my mind. I could open those little capsules, pour them into his drink. He’d never know. He’d sleep like a baby and I could just walk right out the front door and go straight to the police station. Sure it’s a very long walk to the closest precinct around here probably, and no I don’t really know where it’s at or how to get there, but I’d be free. I’d be with my father, and this whole bull shit with Leo would be over.

My heart starts to settle into the plan to escape and I calm myself with thinking of my father as I drift off to sleep.

17

LEO

“Looks like the Yankees are going to go all the way this year,” I call out to Willow who is in the other room cooking. She doesn’t respond. She’s not into sports like I am and she’s been irritated with me for days now. Despite all my attempts to make peace, she remains quiet and studious.

My phone sits on the end table, a constant reminder that there is life outside this place, a life I deserted in favor of an ungrateful woman who only wants to leave. She doesn’t even know that I’ve left the front door unlocked from the inside now for days. She’s free if she wants to leave, but like a true prisoner, she lingers. I turn the volume up and absorb the stadium sounds as the announcer talks about the first baseman’s stats. The only thing worse than watching baseball alone is watching in an icy house.

I look at the phone again. Matty usually watches the games with me, even if we do it in different houses and text each other our smack talk. I think about calling him for a moment, wondering if there has been any more movement against the family. But he’s probably still pissed at me for what happened, for how I held a gun to his chest and threatened him. We did this shit as kids all the time, kicked each other’s asses and threatened to hurt one another. It’s no different as adults, just bigger fists, harder punches, and weapons.

“Dinner is ready,” Willow shouts and I scowl.

“Trying to watch the game!” I roll my eyes. “Just bring me a bowl.”

I hear some dishes clatter and Willow cusses loudly. She’s making a mess in there she’ll have to clean up, and all I want is to watch the game in peace. “Keep it down,” I call over my shoulder and suddenly I feel something smack me in the back of the head. I turn to see her standing in the doorway. She has one oven mitt on her hand and the other is lying on the back of the couch touching my head.

“Get in here and eat. I didn’t just stand here cooking for an hour to sit and eat alone.” She plants her hands on her hips and scowls at me and my shoulders sink in defeat. In order to make this night a little more peaceful, I comply with her, but not because she ordered. It's only because I’m sick of screaming matches. I’m not sick of the nasty sex we have afterward, though. That part is hot. “Well are you coming?”

“Fine, god…” I push the power button on the remote and toss it onto the sofa cushion then stand and follow her to the kitchen. The scent of pot roast and vegetables wafts up my nostrils and it makes my mouth water. I have no idea if she is a good cook, but if the smell is anything to go by she is a fantastic gourmet chef.

The small laminate table is loaded down with dishes of food. We have our groceries delivered, but I had no clue she ordered all of this. In fact, I had no clue we had all these serving dishes here. They must be remnants of my former life—white Corelle plates with green ivy painted in a ring around the rim, and matching cups and bowls.

“This looks fancy. What’s the occasion?” I sit down and stretch my arms quickly, then reach for the ladle in the bowl of mixed vegetables.

“No occasion,” she grumps, taking her seat.

As I heap food on my plate she watches me. She’s already poured a glass of wine for each of us, though I'm more of a beer guy. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, relaxing her shoulders, then proceeds to place small portions on her plate. There’s even an apple pie here, sliced and ready for serving. I wait though, because I don’t have room on my plate for dessert right now.

“Did your mom teach you to cook?” I take a huge bite of the roast and it falls apart on my tongue. I barely have to chew it, it’s so tender.

“No,” she says coldly so I leave it at that.

She takes small bites and eyes my wine glass nervously, chewing meticulously before swallowing. She doesn’t even take a sip of her wine either. I’m too busy shoveling food into my mouth to think about a drink. Everything is so flavorful I could gorge myself like it’s Thanksgiving dinner. Juice from the roast dribbles down my chin and I wipe it away with the back of my hand and keep eating.

“Slow down, Leo. You’re going to bust your stomach,” she chuckles and takes another small bite.

“This is really good, woman.” I think that’s the first genuine compliment I’ve paid her, and it’s due. “If I knew you could cook like this, I’d have wifed you a long time ago.”

Snickering, she shakes her head. “Just enjoy, and enjoy that wine too. It wasn’t cheap. ”She points her fork at the stemware and I nod, but the way she looks down the fork is suspicious. I catch her staring at me for a split second and she looks down and her cheeks flushed. She thinks I’m stupid. She’s put something in my drink and she expects me to drink it.

“Look, I’m almost ready for pie, but I don’t see the server here.” I gesture at the table and look up at her. “Want to be a doll?” I wink at her while I chew with my mouth open and she scoffs, disgusted by my poor manners. I know her. It’s exactly what it takes to frustrate her. She clears her throat and sets her fork down, then stands to go to the utensil drawer.

Keeping my eye on her the entire time, I reach over and swap our glasses, and hold mine in hand as she reaches into the drawer and takes out the pie server. She turns around triumphantly and I hold my cup up as if I’m making a toast.

“To pie!” I say and wink at her, and she returns with a grin on her face. It’s priceless, because I’m about to see exactly what she planned to do to me up close and personal.

“I can drink to that.” Willow sits back down and places the server next to the pie, then picks up her drink and clinks her cup against mine. We both drink deeply, but I can’t help but smile at her. Foolish girl thinks she has got the upper hand on me, sneaking something into my drink, but she’s about to be taught a lesson.

“This is really good wine.” I don’t mean it. I hate wine, but I’ll say whatever I can to get her drinking. “You had this delivered?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs and takes another sip, but she sets it down in favor of another bird-sized bite of her roast. The only thing better than seeing her plan turned on its head, is the fact that she’s not even eating. Whatever she’s put in the drink is going to hit her very hard.

“Don’t you like it?” I take another gulp, emptying the glass, then pour another glassful from the bottle.

She grins but tries to hide it as she chews her food carefully. “Oh, no I love it.” She speaks with her mouth full but covers it so food doesn’t spray out.

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