Page 42 of Obsession
The same song I would sing quietly in bed at night, underneath my quilt. Back then, it was the only thing that would soothe the spike of anxiety I felt every time the men’s rowdy laughter drifted through the door.
When the final note falls silent, I climb to my feet, brush off as much snow as I can, and make my way to the porch. I’m rooting through my pocket for my house keys when I look up and pause.
There, on the top step, like a pool of bright red blood against the white powdery snow, lies a single rose.
17
SAVANNAH
Ican barely hear the ticking of the clock behind me. Four weeks have passed. The days blend into one. I work tirelessly on my story, look after Dad, and visit Robbie. The man in question is still secretive, offering me only enough to keep me on the edge, tethered to everything he’s not saying. But the truth is that I still don’t have what James wants.
Robbie’s confession.
None of the details. Nothing.
We’re still focusing on his childhood, but I’m okay with that. I could listen to him talk about himself forever. Even if the details are hard to swallow. This latest revelation of the sexual abuse is hitting too close to home. But it’s also strangely comforting knowing the man in front of me, who holds my heart trapped with every spoon-fed revelation, shares some of my greatest horrors. We’re much more alike than I dare to admit to myself.
“How often would she call you into her bedroom?”
Robbie unfolds his arms and rubs his corded neck. His voice is deep and raspy, as though he saves his words for this one weekly hour we spend together when he lets those notes seduceevery nerve ending in my body. With a simple smile, he can send my heart skittering.
In fact, Robbie has become more generous with his smiles lately. Every time he aims one of those weapons at me, I willingly surrender to the sweet death he promises with the sparkle in his blue eyes. It’s hard sometimes to forget that he’s a predator in the night, who stalks women and lures them close to his vehicle before attacking and driving them away to their deaths.
I don’t think I would run from him.
Not anymore.
He drags his fingers over his mouth, seemingly deep in thought. “Only occasionally in the beginning, but when my dad finally left for good, I replaced that void in her life.”
I feel sick.
Digging my nails into my palms beneath the table, I fight to keep my voice level and professional. “Your father was always absent, so how did he fill thevoidwhen he was never home?”
His blue eyes clash with mine and hold. “He returned to the trailer to fuck, and then he was gone again. Let’s just say, he couldn’t stand being around my mom outside the bedroom.”
I’m unable to look him in the eye when they grow as cold as the Arctic, so I peer down at the table. The recorder.
“How did you survive?”
“I survived because I had to.”
I chance another look at him through my lashes. His words sink to the bottom of my stomach, churning uncomfortably. I had to survive too.
His chair creaks, and his scent of clean soap and something uniquely him swirls around me like the cigar smoke around my father’s circular table on poker night. He’s dangerously close again. The specks of hazel in his blue eyes swim before me. “You want the truth, Savannah? You want me to speak candidly.”
“Only if you want to. You don’t have to share.” My voice is barely audible. Shaky and weak. I don’t know if I want to hear what he’s about to say. No matter what flows from his beautiful lips next, it will resonate with the pain inside me. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be cut open like this. Unshed tears sting my eyes.
“My days are numbered, Savannah. Ninety-three, to be exact. The truth is all I have left.”
My throat jumps.
“I hated when my mother touched me. I felt sick to my core. But do you know what happens to a dog that’s been neglected and beaten its entire life? It still crawls back to its master, hoping and praying for acceptance. It just wants to be loved, no matter what. It just wants that one single, gentle stroke to its scruff.” He waits until I lift my gaze, and then he whispers, “I came to crave her calling my name at night. Because at least then, she’d hold me and praise me.”
I blink and my tears fall. I can’t stop them. I don’t even want to. I’m bleeding out with him. My own emotions flood to the surface to wrap their limbs around my throat.
“For one moment, her touch was soft instead of punishing.”
Unable to take it anymore, I close my eyes. I can’t listen to this.
