Page 6 of Distorted Obsession

How long did I space out for?

“Sorry,” I begin, trying to think of an excuse. It’s not the first time I’ve completely zoned out on them.

Inhaling, my shoulders slump when I realize I don’t have a great lie ready, at least not one they will believe. “I told you I had a lot on my mind.”

Paisley hops up, grabs my hand, pulls me from my bed, and drags me toward my bathroom. “All the more reason you need out. What better way to silence the endless loop than a party? The music will drown out your intrusive thoughts.”

Arching my brow, I reply, “Or give me a headache because they get louder, refusing to be ignored.”

“Someone’s a tad melodramatic,” Jade teases as she stops and stands beside me. Then she picks up my plum-shade lipstick and flashes her smile. “Mind if I borrow this?”

I pull my curly black hair from its messy bun, allowing it to cascade down my back before I respond. “If I let you, will you leave me be?” I inquire, and they all snort.

“A snowball has a better chance in Hell than you worming your way out of going to this party,” Cammy retorts, strolling into the bathroom holding my thin-strapped, khaki-colored dress with cutout sides. “You’ll wear this.”

Spinning, I snatch the dress from her hands and storm toward the shower. I turn on the faucet, ignoring their gloating, and undress while I wait for the water to be scalding before stepping inside.

My mind begins to wander, the same images assaulting me.

Farrah laughing so hard that soda flies out of her nose.

We were people-watching at the diner in town when Wes waltzed in, deliberately letting the door smack his shadow in the face. Samantha’s nasally voice is one of the many reasons I don’t miss Edgewood.

Farrah screaming at the top of her lungs, cheering me on at my first volleyball game in high school.

I made the varsity starting lineup as a ninth grader. I was so nervous that I dug my nails into my arms until they bled.

A crater-sized ball forms in my throat, restricting my ability to breathe. But instead of fighting for precious air, I sink into the silence of my mind. It’s always the quietest when I’m closer to death.

“Hey. Time to go,” Jade’s voice booms, shocking me from my sliver of peace. “Long showers also won’t get you off the hook.”

Sighing, I turn off the shower and wring out the excess water from my hair before I grab a towel to wrap it up.

I wait until the door closes, listening and peeking out to make sure I’m truly alone. Shame fills me with the realization of why I haven’t been completely naked in front of anyone.

My shoulders sag in relief as I peer down at thin, darkened lines along my pubic bone before feeling for the ones hidden under the curve of my breasts.

Sliding my feet into my slippers, I walk toward the door, clicking the lock closed before standing in front of the mirror.

“Are you almost ready, or do I need to send in search and rescue?” Cammy jokes as she raps on the door.

“Yeah. I’ll be out in like fifteen minutes,” I reply, scooping up some of my Tahitian vanilla body butter to slather on my skin. Then, I reach for my foundation and meticulously cover each cut, blending it to match my reddish-brown complexion.

I’m nearly done when I glimpse the only line not hidden. It’s a little over five inches long, beginning at my hip and extending halfway across my pelvis.

Dabbing my beauty blender into my foundation, I quickly cover the mark on my hip bone, pushing away the memory of what caused my drastic need for escape. Each scar coverederects a wall around the pain, allowing my mask to fall into place.

“Eva Rose?” Jade calls, the undertone of worry evident in her tone.

I apply the last touch, my armor fully in place, before answering her. “Just putting on my makeup, and then we can get out of here.” I infuse excitement in my response, hoping it’ll manifest.

Fuck! I really am melodramatic.

I pull my dress over my head, checking the revealing areas to ensure they don’t need any further cover-up. Satisfied, I settle on a tinted gloss and decide to keep my diamond studs in before I enter the living room.

“It’s about time, prima donna,” Cammy jokes, and I manage a genuine smile.

Bumping her shoulder, I retort, “You can’t rush beauty.”

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