Page 11 of Obsession
I snort, shaking my head. “You’re a serial killer, Robbie. Of course, I don’t trust you.”
Easing back in his creaky seat, he folds his big arms across his muscled chest, mirroring me. “Convince me you’re not drowning and that the look in your eyes is not one of despair.”
I feel a crease line my forehead as I study him. My thoughts swirl a million miles a minute while I try to figure him out. “We’re not here to talk about me.” I check the time on my phone. We’ve been here for almost thirty minutes, and not a single question has been about Robbie. It’s partly my own fault because my mind is fractured after the incident with Elliot. I can’t focus.
“I’ll answer any question you want if you answer mine.”
I sink my teeth into the inside of my lip and allow the sharp bite of pain to ground me while I rake my eyes over every detail of his face. His beard is longer today, and his blue eyes seem darker than usual. As if he can tell I’m folding, the left side of his mouth quirks.
Robbie is playing games.
“Fine,” I reply with a tired sigh as I place my phone back on the table. “I have a colleague, Elliot. Let’s just say, he’s not happy I have been assigned this story.”
He quirks a brow, but stays silent, waiting me out.
My teeth drag over my lip, and I let it loose, shoulders sagging. “He cornered me in my cubicle today and told me you imagine killing me during these…sessions.”
The intense way he holds my attention never wavers. Not a single emotion flickers across his face. “Did he touch you at all?”
My brow knits together, and I cast a glance at the guard before clearing my throat. “Not really. He pulled my hair.”
Robbie remains silent as a muscle works his jaw. Then he looks away and drags his tattooed fingers through his beard, the scratchy rasp settling between my thighs like the sparks of a dying bonfire.
Fidgeting, I imagine blood coating those hands, smearing his chin as he lets his darkening eyes become the last thing I see.
5
ROBBIE, AGE 10
The door to the trailer creaked open, and Mom stepped inside, bringing the cold wind with her. Winter was fast approaching. “Robbie, baby, Mom has a surprise for you.”
I looked up from the tattered math book in front of me, and my eyes widened at the sight of the furry little kitten in her hands, which squirmed in her tight grip.
“Aren’t you going to say hi?”
My heart swelled with something foreign as I jumped up from my chair and rushed over. Mom never did anything nice for me. I didn’t know how to handle this situation.
She thrust the cat at me, as though it disgusted her. “Take it.”
I gingerly picked it out of her hands and cradled it to my chest, the rumble in my stomach long forgotten. I hadn’t eaten a thing in two days because Mom was angry that my teacher, Mr. Jones, had raised concerns about my well-being. She’d kept me out of school as punishment.
“Aren’t you going to name him?” Mom walked past me in a cloud of alcohol and cheap perfume.
With my nose buried deep in the kitten’s fur, I watched Mom pull open a drawer. She turned, looking at me expectantly, and I raked my brain for an answer.
“Whiskers.”
Her eyes rolled. “How original.” She went back to digging through the kitchen drawers as I took a seat at the table with the kitten, stroking my fingers through its matted, mud-streaked fur.
“Where did you find it?” I asked, eyes burning with tears.
Happiness felt scarier than the fear I’d become numb to. This feeling that swirled through my veins felt too big to be contained, as though it could drown me at a moment’s notice. I quickly blinked, erasing the signs of my weakness. Mom hated it when I cried.
She hatedme.
“It’s a stray,” Mom said, slamming the drawer shut. “It’s been hanging around for weeks, rooting through our garbage and pissing on the side of the trailer.”
When I glanced at the large knife in Mom’s hand, my fingers paused stroking the kitten’s neck. Fear gripped me by the neck and squeezed. Of course happiness wasn’t allowed in our home. This was hell.
