Page 57 of Deadly Obsession
It smells like Sage in here. Strawberries and vanilla.
I follow her scent to a room; one that’s on the opposite side of the house from her parents’ room.
I hope it’s the right room.
I send Sage a text.
Don’t scream
She answers almost immediately.
Reine
Are you drunk? What are you even talking about?
When I open the door—thank fuck it’s her bedroom—she does, in fact, scream.
I rush over to where she’s lying down on her bed, reading a book, and cover her mouth with my palm. Her eyes flare with fear before narrowing.
“What are you doing here?” she asks against my palm. Her nails dig into my arm. “Let me go, you dick.”
I smirk at her feistiness that I find way too cute.
“You won’t scream again?” I ask, my voice low. She shakes her head.
Not sure if I believe her, but I release her anyway. She stands hastily, glaring at me when she closes and locks her door.
The moment she turns to face me; a fist meets my right eye.
Okay, fine, I deserved that.
“Fuck,” she hisses, holding her hand against her chest. “Is your big head made of rocks or something?”
“You need ice for that,” I say and pivot towards the door.
“Stop,” she snarls. “Lord forbid my parents wake up and catch a massive dude in the kitchen.”
“You’re the one who screamed when I told you not to.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Elias. How the fuck did you find me?”
“Go get ice for your hand and we’ll talk.”
She gives an exasperated sigh, and I grin ear to ear. She rolls her eyes and leaves.
While she’s gone, I snoop.
Pictures are hung up around the room of a young Sage in high school. Her posing with a flute in a marching band uniform. Her on stage performing with that flute. Her with crossed eyes, sticking her tongue out. Her with a group of girls I assume to be her friends. Over the years, her style changed. So did her body. She gained some weight, her hips became more defined, rounder, her stomach softer.She went from dressing in baggy clothes to form-fitting ones to show off her new-found curves.
Her confidence... the way her eyes light up in photos after finding love for herself. Her smile became brighter.
I move on to photos of her traveling across the country: Chicago, St. Louis, Memphis, Austin, The Grand Canyon, Los Angeles, the Pacific Northwest.
Some photos have been torn in half—someone she ripped out of her life.
This awful ex, if I were to guess.
The rest of her room has been immortalized in nostalgia. Posters of rock bands and celebrities I couldn’t name. A few marching band trophies line her bookcase along with stacks of books—all romance from what I can tell.
