Page 11 of The Obsession

Delilah met my eyes then, and my breath caught in my throat. She wore Sophie’s face—the expression of someone who was being hunted, that primal fear dancing frantically in her eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she laughed, and the sound came out too high and too brittle.Delilah, I know when you’re lying.

“I—uh—I hope you don’t think it’s weird, but I’ve seen you a couple of times at the Secret board…” I said, taking a giant leap into the world of risk.

At the lobby of the library at school was something called Post Ur Secret—a giant bulletin board where students were encouraged to pin up their secrets anonymously. We used to have an electronic version, an app called Draycott Dirt, but it got out of hand and devolved into a massive online bullying and trolling forum, and Mrs. Henderson banned any future such apps from being made. Then Lisa, the school librarian, suggested using one of the boards at the library as a more sensible outlet for students to let off some steam without it going out of control, and the thing became a huge hit. It was filled with all sorts of secrets. We weren’t allowed to put any identifying information, so the board was also a great source of entertainment, an ongoing game of Guess Who?

Delilah’s eyes were practically perfect circles and I wanted to reach out to hug her and tell her it was okay.

“I don’t really post anything—I just like to look at the secrets there,” she said.

“Hey, it’s okay. I post on the board.” Mostly stuff about Sophie, vague musings that couldn’t be identified. “It’s a good outlet for our feelings. But if someone’s hurting you, the board won’t help. Let me help you, Delilah.”

Her eyes watered, and she blinked furiously, taking in a shaky breath, and I wondered how anyone could hurt someone like her. But it was going to be okay. I’d make it okay.

“That’s really sweet, Logan. But I don’t know what you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

Sophie’s words stabbed through my head. “There’s nothing anyone can do. I’m alone, Lolo. No one can help me.”

“We can report it. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Delilah shook her head. “You don’t understand. He’s a cop. And my mom and I are so hated after what my dad did… Brandon can do whatever he wants to us and nobody would give a shit.” She took a shaky breath. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“The school has counselors. They can help you.” Hollow words, especially since I knew on a personal level how useless the counselors were. But I didn’t want to leave her hopeless, and I couldn’t tell her I would fix things. I would, but I’d have to be an anonymous benefactor.

“No, it’s fine, really. If this gets out, if Brandon hears anything about it—” She grabbed my hand, her grip feral, strong. “Logan, please don’t tell anyone.”

“But—”

“If you want to help, you won’t tell anyone. He’ll kill me. I’m serious.” There were no traces of exaggeration on her face.

“All right,” I said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Delilah let her breath go. Then she seemed to notice for the first time that she was holding my hand and dropped it, her cheeks reddening. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it.” Time for another change of subject. “Hey, how’re you doing in chemistry? I am dying in that damn class.”

Her face brightened a little. Chemistry was her favorite subject. “I love it. Ms. Woods is awesome.” For the next few minutes, she described her chemistry project, her face animated, her hands flitting back and forth like butterflies. She stopped when we got to the front of the supermarket and turned to me. “Wow, I can’t believe you just let me babble on and on about chem class.”

I grinned. “It’s mostly for Daddy’s sake. He’s really into chem. I wasn’t really listening.”

She laughed. “Thanks for everything, Logan.” We stood there for an awkward second before she said, “See you at school.”

“See you.” I made myself turn and leave instead of waiting around and watching her enter the store, which I wanted to do but would no doubt freak her out.

My mind was a whirring mess—going too fast, everything too bright and sharp-edged—as I walked Daddy back to the shelter. Delilah was in trouble. Detective Jackson was an abuser. And here I was, just another boy in love. I could feast my mind on killing him in a dozen different ways, each more gruesome than the last, but the truth was, I was pretty much powerless. And Delilah was right; accusing him was out of the question. His cop buddies would click into one giant, impenetrable wall. They’d do it even if they hated the guy; it was more about the principle of the thing. You just don’t go after a cop.

When I got back to Draycott, I was too amped up to go inside my dorm room. I briskly walked past all the main buildings, through the wrought iron gate at the edge of the rose garden, and into the trees. Past the thicket of blackberry bushes and among the cedar trees, there was a little clearing. The air was suddenly different here, everything hushed as though I’d stepped into an underwater world.

Sophie had shown me this place once. Well, not shown. I’d followed her and watched as she rolled a joint with her best friend, the two of them smoking and holding it carelessly, aloof, and she looked so grown-up and worldly, it was impossible not to fall in love. Later on, Sophie would let me come here, and I’d sit next to her, watching the smoke curl out of her mouth and wishing she’d let me kiss her.

Nobody came here anymore. It was undisturbed. Even the smell was different—wild grass and overripe berries and a hint of animals.

“Hey, Soph,” I said, sitting down at my usual spot. “Weird night.” I breathed out and listened to the susurration of the leaves around me, like they were nodding, listening.

“I talked to her tonight,” I said. “Really talked. You’d like her, I think. You guys have the same sense of humor.” I took out my phone and scrolled through social media absentmindedly. I couldn’t get Delilah’s haunted expression out of my head. Was I destined to sit by once again while the girl I loved went through hell? Pretend I didn’t know anything when she followed in Sophie’s footsteps?

“Fuck,” I muttered. For a moment I wanted to fling my phone into the darkness, hear the satisfying crack as it shattered against the trunk of some tree. But I couldn’t let my temper mar this place, this sacred spot. I took a deep breath, listened to Sophie shushing me. This place was Sophie. The breeze caressing my skin was her soft hands, lulling me into peace. Telling me there was a way. There was always a way.

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