Page 43 of The Obsession

Mom gripped her mug white-knuckle tight. “I used to wonder why battered women would stay with their asshole husband or boyfriend. There are so many resources out there. Use them!” She snorted. “I was so ignorant. It never crossed my mind that what Brandon was doing was wrong. I mean, I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t think it was enough to report him over, you know? I felt like I was making a fuss over nothing more than a spat. That was what he’d say: ‘God, why do you have to make a big deal out of everything?’ And part of me even felt like I deserved it. I’d tell myself he was doing it because I was being a bitch—”

The word jolted me, and I snapped, “Mom, you were never a bitch toward him. You were never a bitch to anyone.” Using the word alone made me angry. The number of times Brandon had used it against Mom and me, the way it reduced us, the way it was meant to knock the wind out of us. How effective it had been. “It was his way of keeping us obedient.”

“I know, and I hate that it worked. I hate that I let it work. And if Brandon hadn’t had his accident, who knows how long I would have allowed him to stay in our lives?” Mom shuddered then locked eyes with me, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, a large part of me is almost glad that he had that accident.” She covered her mouth as soon as she said it, looking somewhat startled, as though she hadn’t allowed even herself to think the thought.

I bit my lip, nodding.

Mom sniffled and blew her nose into a kitchen napkin. “Anyway, I wanted to say I’m sorry. I haven’t been a good mother, but if you let me, I will try my best to make it up to you.”

I put my hand over hers, snotty tissue and all. “We were both pretty messed up after Pa’s death.”And only one of us emerged a killer. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Mom laughed. “All right. Promise you’ll tell me if anything’s wrong? If Logan or any other boy does or says even the slightest thing that makes you feel less than—”

“I will,” I said. I couldn’t let her carry on. The temptation to break, to reveal everything and shed the load was becoming way too great. “Thanks, Mom.” I kissed her on her cheek and went upstairs.

I sat at my desk for the longest time, considering my options. The talk with Mom had refreshed my memory. I had forgotten the subtlety with which Brandon had wormed his way into our minds and hearts. Now, with bitterness, I recalled how I used to find Detective Brandon Jackson charming. I couldn’t stop my upper lip from curling into a disgusted sneer at the memory of the three of us laughing together, Brandon putting a meaty arm around my shoulders and giving me a fatherly hug, how good that had felt, his hand on my shoulder so firm and warm, how nice it had been to see Mom’s eyes light up after Pa’s death. And, to think, I had almost allowed Logan to do the exact same goddamned thing, worm his sick way into my life like Brandon did. I really was the most gullible person alive.

Deep breaths, I reminded myself when my breath became rapid with self-hatred. What do we know about manipulative assholes like Brandon and Logan? They’re charming, overflowing with charisma when they put their minds to it. They’re like a mind-altering drug; they keep you from thinking clearly. I had to keep reminding myself that whatever he said, Logan didn’t truly love me. His version of love was warped, corrupted. And the only reason our first date had been so amazing was because he’d stalked me online and crafted a date based on what he’d discovered.

The thought of Logan trawling the web for information about me was a chilling one. I turned on my laptop and looked through all my social media accounts. I’d never stopped to think about how many accounts I had across platforms, but now I saw the painful truth: I was so exposed, so easy to find, my life so quick to map out. I clicked through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Tumblr, Goodreads. Every picture I had up, every post I’d made, now felt tainted, dirty. Logan had read every word, stared at every picture. My finger hovered over the Delete button. I wanted to erase every trace of me that was on the internet.

Instead, I opened up a new tab and did a search forstalker in love. I got plenty of hits for some novel, but one of the results was an article on something callederotomania. I Googled it, and when I clicked the first hit, my heart clenched in my throat.

Erotomania is a type of delusional disorder where the affected person believes that another person is in love with him or her.

I clicked ondelusional disorder.

Delusional disorder is a mental illness in which the patient presents delusions. Apart from their delusions, people with DD may continue to socialize and function in a normal manner and their behavior does not necessarily generally seem odd.

A flash of Logan, laughing easily with his friends, none of whom seemed to have an inkling that something was off with him.

I scrolled down tosymptoms.

The patient expresses an idea or belief with unusual persistence or force.

I recalled the intensity in Logan’s eyes as he told me, over and over, that we were meant to be.

That idea appears to have an undue influence on the patient’s life.

Him following me everywhere. Turning up at the library. Turning up at my house.

Despite his/her profound conviction, there is often a quality of secretiveness.

As far as I was aware, no one else knew about Logan’s obsession with me. Everyone else seemed to think we were just a normal couple. And yet he’d been stalking me for weeks, watching, making videos of me…

I scanned the rest of the page, my stomach sinking when I came to the part about treatment and how challenging it was to treat delusional disorders. Could I report Logan to the school admin? Maybe file an anonymous report on how he was harassing a female student?

No. I couldn’t take that risk. He’d know it was me. I read through the list of symptoms again.

An attempt to contradict the belief is likely to arouse an inappropriately strong emotional reaction, often with irritability and hostility.

What if he were confronted by the principal and reacted badly? What if he told her the truth about me? And what was worse, did he know all of my secrets? Did he know that killing Brandon wasn’t my only secret? That I had another one, which was perhaps just as bad, if not worse than that?

Did he know I was Draycott’s drug dealer?

The thought of it made me ill. No one, not even Aisha, would ever think me capable of such a thing.

I’d known, when Lisa first approached me, that the new job was bad news. But the legit librarian job wasn’t paying much, and with Brandon around, I’d needed all the money I could get. I needed to save every cent to ensure I could get out of the house once school was over, instead of being beholden to Brandon. He’d taken over Mom’s finances by then, and he’d started grumbling about how expensive college would be, which terrified me. I needed a way to survive, and Lisa had offered that. And, like Lisa had pointed out, drugs were already part of Draycott life. Part of the scenery. It wasn’t like I would be creating them. She just needed help sorting out the inventory. Just a…a desk person. Inconsequential. With or without my help, the business would continue to tick over in the background. Without me, the students of Draycott would still get their manicured fingers on drugs some other way.

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