Page 95 of Distorted Obsession

Do I have a valid reason to want to destroy this girl?

No.

Do I care?Newsflash— the answer is also no.

I just don’t like Eva on principle. The fucking whiny bitch who has it all but has the nerve to play victim.

‘Mommy and Daddy love me and give me all the support I need.’—Boohoohoo.

‘Life has never been hard for me, but I still self-harm.’—Woe is me.

The attention-seeking cunt.

Rolling my eyes, I grab my nail file and head for my bean bag chair. These goddamn rich kids kill me. They have it all at their feet, and they either snort it up their nose or shoot it in their arms, polluting their system while crying about not being loved. Well, fuck them. I’ve had to claw my way to where I am now—not rich or poor enough—the middle class.The route to upward mobility is paved with the fear, rage, and frustration of the disgruntled.

Each and every brick of the yellow brick road is cemented in the lost dreams of those who believed if you just work hard enough—“Fucking bootstrap mentality,” I grumble, filing my nail.

The system creates monsters like me. We didn’t start this way—we had dreams. But my dreams destroyed my family. It took and took until there was only me left.

My phone rings, pulling me from the painful thought. I don’t look to see who’s calling. “Hello,” I gruff out.

“Trish.” My blood turns to ice. “Tricia, it’s me, Bobby.” The shaky timbre of my brother’s voice lets me know why he’s calling.

“I don’t have any money,” I spit out, anger and dread fighting for dominance in my soul.

There’s a moment of silence, and I can feel his brain working. He’s trying to figure out how to get my compliance through coaxing. “This will be the last time, Trishy. I promise.”

I snort, closing my eyes to ward off the memory of his endless promise of it being the last time. “Bobby,” I pause, heaving in a breath.You can do this, Tricia. You just need to tell him no.“That’s what you said the last five times.” An errant tear rolls down the side of my left cheek, and I don’t bother stopping it. There’s no use in trying.

“This time, I mean it. They promised to clear all my debts. This is it, baby sis,” Bobby stutters. “They just need you to?—”

“To what, donate a kidney? Sleep with some clients?” I snap, no longer willing to deal with his bullshit coy act. My brother doesn’t give two fucks about me. “I’m no longer for sale for the sake of your addictions, Bobby. I have nothing left to give.”

I hear his erratic breathing across the line. “Well, that’s just too fucking bad for you, you selfish bitch. You owe me.”

“Ahh, there he is. There’s the asshole who killed our family because he couldn’t fucking stop making poor decisions. He couldn’t walk away from the craps table in some seedy backroom gambling hall,” I snarl. “Here’s the excuse of a man who got Mom and Dad gutted on our living room floor as they watched me being raped as a warning to pay what you owe.”

“Oh, cut the pity party, Tricia. You sound like one of your self-righteous rich friends you’re always desperately trying to fit in with,” he barks down the line. “Where was this outrage when you asked me to get you those pictures of that Pierce bitch and her dead friend?” Something crashes in the background, and I know he’s smashing things. “So, spare me the faux angelic act. Your soul is as black as mine.”

I see red. I can’t even choke past the animosity squeezing my throat. “How fucking dare you,” I seethe. “How dare you equate what you did and what I asked for.”

“Tricia,” Bobby shouts. It’s almost pained, but that’s bullshit too. He’s changing tactics again, but he doesn’t get to feel remorse. Sighing, he continues, “Just go with them, and then I’ll get the help I need to be a better big brother.”

Well, that’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard in years.My mouth opens to tell him that when I lock onto the first part of that statement.Just go with them. The fucking asshole was stalling me, goading me into an argument to keep me preoccupied.

Springing from my seat, I scream, “What did you do, Bobby? Who’s them?”

My feet move before my brain can even give the direction. I scramble to grab my go-bag from my closet, dropping my cell on the floor and ignoring the shriek coming through the speaker. I don’t have time to pretend I’m not hauling ass.

Snatching my keys from the hook by the door, I burst through my front door and take the stairs three at a time, practically jumping down each flight until I’m outside in the dead of night.

I’m feet away from the student parking lot when three sets of headlights beam on my face. Dammit, I won’t make it to my car in time.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck,” I hiss as I whirl around, trying to figure out another plan.

My eyes land on the jogging trail. I know that leads to more than a few places I can hide until dawn.I know… I know, wood plus night equals death, but a bitch has no other options.

“She’s gonna run,” someone shouts, reminding me I need to haul ass.

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