Page 4 of The Obsession

I understood transformations all too well. The version of me right now was nothing like the version I was during freshman year. Sometimes my idiot friends would repost some old photos and tag me in them, and it always hurt to see what I looked like at the time—lanky, all elbows and knees. It had all changed when I met Sophie. She was a sophomore then and was the most beautiful thing I had ever come across. She’d bewitched me. I knew I had to change myself to be worthy of her, and I did. I hit the gym hard. I choked down protein shakes. I tried out for various sports teams and made friends with the right people. It took about a year to leave that skinny, awkward kid behind. And it was all worth it.

Delilah’s transformation was a different one. A heartbreaking one, but maybe Happy Delilah wasn’t really gone. Maybe she was just hiding under all the layers of grief. My purpose was clear as day. I was meant to restore the old Delilah.

Too bad she’d largely stopped posting on social media weeks ago. On one hand, I liked that she wasn’t like every other kid our age, faking everything on social media, desperately gobbling up every Like they could get their hands on. On the other hand, it made my job so much harder than it needed to be.

As I paced about my room, scratching the side of my neck with increasing ferocity, Sophie’s voice floated through my head.

I could see her plain as day, her lips curled into a nice-but-mostly-naughty smile.Nothing worthwhile ever comes easy, Lolo. You must know that by now.

She was right, as usual. Shame on me, getting frustrated so easily. Since when did love come easy? I had to figure shit out. Delilah may not be the type to publicly check in at every location she visited, but others sure were. Others like Aisha.

Aisha’s Instagram was a cacophony of selfies, smiling faces, kissy faces, long legs being showcased at a million different angles. Aisha had nice legs. Aisha also liked to announce her whereabouts to the world at all possible moments.

@Aishazzam checked in at Freddy’s.

Come hungry, leave happy! #FreddysBurgers #PiggingOut

@Aishazzam checked in at AMC Draycott.

Movie night with the girls! #PopcornTime

I scrolled through nearly a year’s worth of banality—if only Delilah knew the lengths I was going to for her sake—before striking gold:

@Aishazzam checked in at 1876 Woolworth Dr.

Sleepover with the BFF! #JustLikeWhenWeWereKids

And there was a picture of her and Delilah in matching pajamas.

I stole out of the dorms that same night, climbing out my window and keeping in the shadows until I was off school grounds, then I ran. And it felt. So. Good. I was Lazarus. I was alive again. Everything was amazing. I wanted to fly through the sky, shouting, but I managed to keep my excitement inside.

It took a bit of effort, but I managed to make myself sit down when I caught the bus to Woolworth Drive instead of pacing around and freaking the other passengers out. Delilah’s neighborhood was nice; modest but respectable. Trimmed lawns and lush trees lined the sidewalk. I stopped across the street from number 1876, my throat sandpapery and dry, a fist squeezing my heart, because there she was: my Delilah, sitting in her room on the second floor braiding her hair, her curtains wide open, putting her on display for all the world to see. Really, she should be more careful. She was so luminescent, she could easily attract some creep’s attention.

My heart squeezed tighter at the thought of some asshole taking advantage of Delilah’s naivety.It’s okay, I told myself.It’s fine. It’s why I’m here, to protect her. I will never let anything bad happen to her.

Never.

Chapter Three

Delilah

I was sorting through the latest inventory sheet for Lisa, the school librarian, when I heard the door open downstairs, startling me. Work always made me jumpy, especially when I had to take it home, like I did today, because Brandon—my mom’s asshole boyfriend—didn’t understand the meaning of privacy. All he knew was that I worked at the school library, and I didn’t want him to learn any details about it. A glance at my phone told me it was five o’clock, too early for Mom to be back. Which meant it could only be Brandon, which meant—well, it meant nothing good. I hopped up, grabbed a textbook, and opened it at random. I hunched over the book at my desk because Brandon found it less threatening to see me curled over a book.

I held my breath, listening for his heavy footsteps, but all I heard were soft steps and cupboards being opened and closed. Then a feminine sigh. My breath came out in a whoosh. It was Mom. Weird. The only other time Mom had been home this early was when we received the news about Pa. Maybe something similarly awful had happened to Brandon. One could hope. That’s a horrible thing to think, right? Still, I couldn’t deny the coil of twisted satisfaction at the thought of Brandon pushing up daisies. Sick, sick, sick.

I crept out of my room—even though Brandon wasn’t around, the habit was hard to break. I was used to creeping everywhere now, making my footsteps as diminutive as possible—and stopped on the third step to watch Mom as she emptied the dishwasher. She looked tired. She always did, I guess that’s how most Silicon Valley employees look, but I liked to think she also looked happy when Pa was still around. Now she just looked haggard.

“Why are you home so early?” I said from the steps.

She jumped. “Sweetheart, I didn’t think you’d be home!”

“Yeah, they called off volleyball practice today cause Coach had to take her dog to the vet.”

“Awww. Is it okay?” Mom went back to stacking the dishes.

“Probably not.”

“Oh, Dee. Don’t start.”

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