Page 7 of Killer's Obsession
“I don’t know how to get out of this... this funk.” Tears well up in my eyes, and I hate myself for it. Hate that I can’t seem to… to… I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to do. How am I supposed to move past this? I hate that I’ve become this fragile, frightenedvictim.
And I hate that fucking word.Victim.But that’s what I am, right?
And that’s what he sees when he looks at me. Not the strong woman I once was, that he never knew, but this broken bird he feels obligated to save. A burden he’s now stuck with because no one else wants to deal with the damaged girl who jumps at shadows and can’t even leave his bedroom without feeling like she’s going to crawl out of her skin.
Pathetic. I don’t want his pity.
I want...
A growl rumbles up my chest, and I blink rapidly, forcing back the tears. I won’t cry again. Not tonight.
His large hand hovers near my face, hesitating before gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It takes time, Pet. You’ve been through hell.”
“But I don’t want it to take time,” I whisper around the sob that’s threatening to escape. “I want to be normal again. I want to be able to go outside without feeling like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces. I want...” I gesture toward the window, toward the people laughing and dancing on the beach. “I want that.”
Confusion creases his brow. “The beach?”
“No.Freedom.”
The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. “I used to dance. Did you know that? I loved feeling the music, letting it move through me.” I look down at my hands, at the charcoal smudges on my fingers. “Now I can’t even leave this room without you.”
“So what. You’re breathing. You’re fighting. Even if it doesn’t feel like you are.”
I look up.
“You made it out of that hell. They tried to break you, but they didn't, Pet. They fucking didn’t. You’re still getting up every day. That’s brave.” His eyes hold mine, deadly serious. “You want freedom? You gotta let yourself take it back. One step at a time. You take back your power.”
My fists clench helplessly at my sides. “Do you believe that?”
His lips twitch, the barest shadow of a smile. “Fuck yes, I do. And you won’t stop. You won’t let those bastards win.”
I can hardly breathe. Some small, wild spark flickers to life in my soul—desperate for something more than this tiny island of safety I’ve made for myself in this room.
He’s right. I can’t let those monsters win. If I want to live, I have to fight for it. I have to do the things that scare me.
Determination settles in my bones. It terrifies me, at the same time, filling me with hope.
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if he’s tired of me taking over his space, his bed. If his big speech is a hint to get my shit together so he can get back to his life.
“I’m sorry.” I tuck my legs beneath me, unable to look him in the eyes. “You’ve done so much for me, and I’m just?—”
“Stop.” His voice is firm. “You don’t owe me gratitude, Memphis. You don’t owe me anything.”
I bite my lip. “But I’ve taken over your room. Your bed. Your life.”
His hand comes to my chin and pulls gently so I’m facing him. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I see his lips turn up, showingoff his straight white teeth. “Trust me, Pet. I’m not complaining about having you in my bed.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks again. I know he’s just teasing, trying to lighten the mood, but there’s something in his eyes that makes my pulse race.
He points at the sketchbook in his hand.
“You’re good,” he says. “Really good.”
I shrug, embarrassed by the praise. “I used to be better. I’m out of practice.”
“Still better than most.” He shakes the book. “Mind if I look through the rest?”
I hesitate. The book is filled with my thoughts, my fears. It feels too raw, too personal. Too revealing.
