Page 75 of Deadly Obsession
I’m also struggling to breathe.
“Oh, shit,” Sage says and rushes over to the table for the oxygen tank. It’s not a large one. I always keep small portable ones nearby whether it’s here at home or in the car.
She hands me the tank, and I sit on the edge of the couch to slip on the mask.
“Probably not the best idea to be dancing around after trying to kill you,” she says, rubbing my back while I breathe.
“You didn’t try to kill me.”
After a few minutes, the album Sage chose—which is a compilation of rock-n-roll hits from the fifties—changes songs toCan’t Help Falling in Loveby Elvis Presley.
I take off the oxygen mask and stand, holding out my hand. Sage shakes her head.
“Hand, woman!”
She scoffs but smiles and gives in.
“Slow dancing I can do,” I say, giving Sage a wink. “Rain check on the dance party for another night when I haven’t just had an allergic reaction?”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she says.
“I don’t doubt it.”
Sage sighs and lays her head on my chest while we turn in slow circles in the middle of my living room.
I don’t think I’ve ever slow danced in the middle of my living room. Or any living room, for that matter. It’s only something I’ve seen in cheesy rom-coms.
My life isn’t romantic.
But for Sage, I’d hold up a boombox outside her bedroom window while it playsIn Your Eyesby Peter Gabriel.
I’d pay a marching band to play in a stadium while I sang to her from the stands.
I’d buy a ukulele and play it on a plane while singing a song about growing old with her.
I knew since the night we met she was going to be different. Especially when she didn’t hesitate to choose death for the man who groped her. When she didn’t let my dark side scare her. When she showed me her compassion and empathy by kissing the tattoo on my wrist in tribute to my mother.
I might have jerked it away from her in that moment, but it’s only because I was confused. I wassurprised. I was also worried that if I told her what happened, she wouldn’t understand and leave.
The song comes to end, and Sage is the first to pull away.
I already miss her warmth.
We return to the kitchen, and Sage helps me assemble the pizza. She gasps whenUnchained Melodyby The Righteous Brothers comes on and we proceed to recreate the pottery scene fromGhostwith the pizza dough. Except a lot messier because the dough sticks to our fingers.
It is far from sexy.
My favorite part of playing house with Sage is finding out she can sing. She’s belting out words, hitting the notes, and outshining the artist.
“You’re a singer?” I ask when the song is over.
“I’m alright,” she says with a shrug. “I do love me some karaoke, though.”
“I’ve never been to karaoke.”
“What?”
“I never went to prom or been camping. Never went bowling or played laser tag. Never went to a haunted house—Mom wasn’t a fan of Halloween. The last time I played a board game, or a video game, I was just a kid.”
