Page 28 of The Obsession

Logan reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. “Why don’t you give us a chance? What have you got to lose? Be honest with yourself, this was the best date you’ve been on. You gave me so many positive signals. You liked me. You were the one who kissed me.”

I couldn’t stop my upper lip from curling with disgust. A caustic retort was already fizzing its way up my throat when a small voice told me he had a point. Up until he showed me that damn video, I had regarded this as the best date I had ever been on. Not that I’d been on many, but there was a connection here, something special that made conversation between us flow effortlessly.

Yeah, that’s because he’s a stalker who dug up everything he could about you.

Before I could say a word, Logan spoke up. “I know right now it feels like you’re being pushed into doing something you don’t want to do, but over time, I promise you’ll realize you need me as much as I need you. And I swear we can progress at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m comfortable with us going backward, to a time when we didn’t know each other.”

Logan laughed. “I knew you were going to say that.”

I opened and closed my mouth, feeling ridiculously outmatched. He knew everything about me, and I knew nothing about him, nothing that could help me in this situation.

“Sleep on it,” he said. “I know you won’t ever find a boyfriend as dedicated as me.”

I walked away in a daze, everything around me muted and slow as though I were underwater. Halfway to the house, I turned my head. Logan waved at me from inside the car, handsome face pulled into a smile fit for magazine covers. If he hadn’t shown me the video, if I hadn’t found out about how he’d stalked me, the sight of his face would have given flight to butterflies in my stomach. Now, it only made me sick. My skin throbbed with revulsion. And the word my mind spat out—stalked—sat painfully in my gut like a piece of flint, all hard, jagged edges that pierced my insides. Stalked. I had a stalker. I’d gone out on a date with him. A pretty awesome date, if I were to be completely honest. I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I tore my gaze from Logan and lurched away.

Mom was in the living room watching TV when I came in. She jumped up and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw me. I guess I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t quite used to Brandon being dead.

“How was the date?” she asked, turning off the TV. She twisted around and rested her arms on the back of the couch, smiling expectantly at me.

It was great, up until he showed me a video of me killing your boyfriend.

“It was okay.”

Mom groaned. “Don’t go all surly teenager on me. Come on, I need details. Tell me over a hot chocolate. I got the good stuff from Ghirardelli.”

Despite myself, a small part of me whined to stay down here with Mom, sipping hot chocolate so thick that it had the consistency of melted ice cream. I wanted to spill, to sob out every single lurid detail, down to the puddle of blood reaching toward my feet from under Brandon’s car. I wanted Mom to hug me and tell me it was all okay, that she didn’t hold Brandon’s murder against me, that I had saved us, savedher, and she was so grateful, and everything would be okay.

But another part was furious at Mom. It was a part that screamed,You didn’t protect us! You let Brandon into our lives, you let him strip you of your power, your strength, and reduce you into a blubbering mess with zero confidence. I killed him for our sake, and now it’s my life on the line.It took all of me to keep from lashing out at her. And I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t totally quiet that part of me.

I managed to choke out a nonconfrontational “I’m too tired. Maybe tomorrow?” before trudging upstairs into the bathroom. First, a shower so hot it felt like I was stripping off my skin as I lathered up. I took my time rubbing shampoo into my scalp, soaping every inch of my body, letting the suds and water scald away the grime of the day, wishing it could be this easy to wash out everything that had to do with Logan. After my shower, I felt a little bit less like I was about to explode into a million teeny shards.

My phone beeped with a message from Aisha.

Aisha [9:17 p.m.]:

How was it?????

Delilah [9:18 p.m.]:

It was ok. I’m tired. Ttyl!

I turned my phone to Silent and switched on my laptop, my head humming with thoughts of Logan, of Brandon, of Mom, of the things Logan had told me in the car. Out of habit, I opened Instagram and scrolled through it listlessly, looking at pictures of my friends blowing kisses at the camera, showing off their footwear, their food, their nails. The frivolousness of their posts jabbed at me. I wanted to put my fist through the screen.

My fingers moved across the keyboard and typed Logan’s name into the search box. He and I had followed each other months ago, but I hadn’t paid that much attention aside from a casual glance through some of his pictures. My skin crawled when I realized he’d been looking through my pictures with sinister purpose, digging out information about me for his sick obsession. Logan knew my darkest secret. Did he also know other secrets I carried?

No. I couldn’t let my mind go there. Not right now. I’d completely lose my shit. I had to focus.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about his pictures—mostly Logan with his buddies, all of them tall, broad-shouldered, healthy, all-American types with good looks. Wholesome. Happy. I didn’t even know where to begin trying to glean useful information out of this, like how the hell do I get him out of my life?

I looked through his pictures until I couldn’t stomach the thought of him anymore. Slamming my laptop shut, I burrowed into my bed and nuzzled my face into my pillow. Despair sucked me in, wrapped its claws around me, and entrapped me in solid, unforgiving terror. I’d escaped from one maniac only to run straight into another. What was it about me that attracted these men, these predators? Was there something wrong with me, did I havePREYprinted across my forehead? Had Pa’s death broken me to the point where anyone could see I was vulnerable and ripe for the picking?

Sleep took a while to claim me. When it did, it was uneasy, a dark forest full of blood and dangerous secrets that snagged at my skin and sipped my blood. I might have screamed out loud a couple of times. In my dreams, I bit and scratched at something dark, only to find out the thing I was attacking was me, and then I wept with revulsion and lunged at myself again, claws outstretched. I was the biggest monster of them all.

I woke up more exhausted than before I’d gone to bed. I stayed in bed for a while, watching the dust motes glitter as they floated through the streaks of sunlight streaming through my curtains. No closer to figuring out what I was going to do about my little problem. I shut my eyes.

There was a hesitant knock on my door. “Sweetie, you awake?” Mom asked.

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