Page 7 of The Obsession

Mom came by with his drink before going back to the kitchen.

Brandon swilled his glass for a while, his thumb scraping the rim. He was wearing this faraway look. “Of course, in the end, nothing happened. The place is untouchable. The trail had gone dry, anyway. Whoever was running the drug business closed up shop.”

I made anaww, that really sucksface.

“But now we got word someone’s started selling again.” He pointed a large, stubby finger and glared at me. “Have you and your friends been buying, Dee?”

He might as well have picked up our solid oak coffee table and smashed me in the head with it. “I don’t—I really—”

Brandon threw his head back and guffawed. “I’m messing around, Dee. That look on your face! You are the biggest fuckin’ nerd I’ve come across. ‘Ooh, I’m Asian, I can’t do anything fun! Must study hard!’” He raised his hands and leaned back a little. “Uh-oh, call the PC police! I made a race joke!”

Somehow, I managed to force a smile onto my face. “Ha ha,” I bit out.

He winked at me. “I’m messing with you. I don’t really believe that. You’re a great kid, Dee.”

“Thanks, Brandon.” Sometimes, I imagined Brandon dead.Maybe he slips while going down the stairs and breaks his neck. Maybe he gets caught in a gunfight and a bullet rips through his skull. Maybe—

Brandon grinned and took a sip of his whiskey sour. He made a face and called out to Mom. “Hey, babe, can you bring me some ice cubes?”

“Okay, sweet stuff,” Mom chirped.

That was my cue to leave. I was halfway to the bottom of the staircase when I heard Mom whisper, “Shit.”

I paused. Pre-Brandon, my reaction to my mom swearing would have been laughter, followed by me giving her a hard time. But there was actual terror in Mom’s voice, and it was contagious. I crept back to the kitchen and raised my eyebrows at her.

She tipped the ice box toward me and gestured at it. Empty.

“I’ll go to the store and buy some,” I whispered.

Mom blinked rapidly, her eyes shining with tears. “I—I’d have to ask him for money,” she said.

My chest tightened. How wrong, how fucking awful it was that my mom was reduced to this. How could she have let him bully her into letting him take over the finances? And now here we were, panicking because we’d have to ask Brandon to give us a few of Mom’s hard-earned dollars so we could get him ice for his goddamn whiskey.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll pay for it. It’s why I got the library job.” And why I was working so hard at it, squirreling money away.

Mom smiled gratefully, then her smile froze when Brandon called out, “Any luck on that ice?” Already there was a dangerous tone to his voice.

Mom took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face, even though Brandon wasn’t in the kitchen to see it in its full terrified glory. “We’re out of ice cubes, sweetie. Dee’s just about to go to the store and grab a bag.” She ushered me out of the kitchen.

“Out of ice?” Brandon’s voice had gone silky soft. He hefted himself off the couch, and suddenly, there he was, a mountain of muscle and sudden, swift punishment.

My bones turned to water. The urge to curl up in a tight corner with my head in my hands almost overcame me.

“Who was the last to use the ice?” he said, still in that velvety voice.

Mom was opening and shutting her mouth, but no words came out. And then I recalled she’d poured a whole bunch of ice cubes into a water bottle last night and then pressed it to her back, where he’d—

“It was me.”

It took a moment to realize I’d spoken. They were both staring at me.Shit, shit, shit.

“No, Brandon—” Mom started.

“Shh,” Brandon whispered, putting a finger to his lips. He turned toward me, and when Brandon turned to face you, he did so with his entire body, and it felt like seeing a large bull that had been happily munching grass but now realized you were there and you were wearing red.

Time held its breath. The only sound in the room was the roar of my blood rushing through my ears. I should run right now. I shouldn’t even take the time to grab anything on the way out, just run until there was no more air in my lungs. But I was a useless, watery thing, and so I stood there, trembling, as he advanced upon me.

“Brandon—” Mom pleaded, but like me, she was broken too. She wouldn’t actually do anything.

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