Page 72 of Distorted Obsession

How fucking dare she say sorry. We don’t want her fake apologies. Where the fuck was she when Farrah needed her?

Snatching my phone from my pocket, I shoot off a text. It’s time to bring the lamb into the lion’s den.

Me: Someone’s not following the rules.

Then I dial Colt. “Yeah,” he states, answering on the first ring.

My lips curl into a sinister smile before I reply, “It’s time to play with our food.”

29

eva

I blinkdown at the message on my phone.

Coop: Someone’s not following the rules.

My eyebrows knit together, and I struggle to recall my day yesterday and see if I broke any rules.

Outside of classes and practice, I didn’t go anywhere, so how could I break any rules?

Shaking my head, I quickly type my reply.

Me: And what rule was that exactly?

I wait for his response when I hear someone approaching.

“Evie,” Jade calls from the other side of my closed bedroom door. “We’re going to be late for the morning run.”

“Shit,” I mutter, scrambling from my bed—all thoughts of what Cooper’s text could mean get swallowed by trying to find clothes. I forgot we voted on going on runs as a team at our last practice.

I slip into fluorescent blue shorts and a white sports bra before heading to my bathroom. “Tick… tick… tick. That’s thesound of the time running out on you, bitch,” Jade taunts, and I throw my hair in some semblance of a bun and then quickly brush my teeth.

“You can’t see the finger I’m giving you, but I’m definitely flipping you off,” I shout after spitting out the toothpaste.

I ignore her cheeky clap-back as I check the mirror, ensuring I don’t have anything on my face. Then my sneakers are on, and I’m out the door.

“I swear you’re going to be late for your own funeral,” Ayana jests, standing from the couch.

“You’re probably right, but then it won’t be my fault,” I retort as we scramble through the front door.

We’re halfway through the fourth mile when my phone chimes. I ignore it, enjoying the tranquility the burning in my muscles provides. But then the sound of other phones going off in rapid succession gives me pause. I slow to a jog, pull my phone from my arm strap, and check my messages. It’s a video.

“Evie, we should use this one.”I hear a very familiar voice to my left.

Whipping my head toward the sound of Farrah’s voice, I pray that this isn’t what I think it is.

“It’s the sharpest. It’ll cut past all that scar tissue.”

Bile roils in my gut at the realization of what’s playing.How can they have this?I don’t have to listen to know what’s coming next.

“No. I’m going to use the boxcutter,” I murmur, picking up the blade and turning to Farrah. She’s spread out on my bed, holding the butterfly knife. “Where did you even get this?”

She giggles. “I stole it from Owen’s gym locker.”

“As is Owen fucking Jefferson—thee Owen fucking Jefferson?”

She nods. “The one and only.”

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