Page 73 of Obsession
“Yes.” Her voice barely carried, and she struggled to look me in the eye. Maybe because I couldn’t take mine off her.
Her pulse fluttered in her neck, coaxing my attention to trail down the slender, pale curve. “He’s not an asshole,” she said, trying to defend him, but her voice lacked conviction.
I took a step forward, and she inched back, step by step, until her spine met the concrete wall behind her, eliciting a gasp from her lips.
“Robbie?” Her voice had taken on a new edge, laced with a hint of fear in response to the shadows gathering like a storm in my eyes. She wasn’t Samantha anymore. She was Mom.
“Why are you here?” I asked suspiciously, bringing my hand up to trail the backs of my fingers over her pulse point.
My heart beat harder in response to her sharp intake of breath. “You think I’m a freak, like the others. I can see it in your eyes. So why are you here?”
“I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
Caging her in with my hand braced on the wall, I wrapped my fingers around her throat and watched every flicker of emotion that crossed those beautiful, frightened eyes. I liked her fear. It thrilled something suppressed inside me. Something that shouldn’t be allowed to live. Something dark and dangerous.
But I was too far gone to fight anymore.
For once, it wasn’t me that was afraid. I held the power.
“Robbie?” Her voice was louder now, so I tightened my grip until all sounds ceased, and her eyes bulged. She clawed her pink, long nails down my arms.
“You’re fucking useless, Robbie. That’s why your father left. He couldn’t stand the sight of you either.”
“What a pathetic little shit you are. Stop being a baby and stand up; I didn’t hit you that hard.”
I squeezed tighter, blood rushing through my veins.
“Baby, yes, keep doing that. Harder.”
I was sick.
Sick, sick, sick.
Twisted. Evil!
Samantha’s struggle weakened, and capillaries burst in her eyes. I watched it all, listening to the demons in my mind.
“She doesn’t really care for you. No one does. She’ll tell her boyfriend how pathetic you are for running away. She’s a bitch. She deserves to die. It feels good, doesn’t it? To be the one who’s in control for once. I bet her pussy is warm and tight now.”
Leaning in, I buried my nose in her coconut-scented hair. I was hard. My fingers twitched on her neck. She’d stopped struggling.
“Fuck,” I rasped, breathing her in again, noting the scent of her sweet shampoo. Easing back, I studied her face and empty, bloodshot eyes. Her lips were blue and so fucking perfect that I almost leaned in and kissed her. I wanted to taste her in death. At least now, she couldn’t tell me what a freak I was. This way, I wouldn’t have to see the look of disgust in her eyes. How disappointed she was in me. Now she was mine.
Pressing my forehead to hers, I let my lips hover a hair’s breadth from hers. I stayed like this, with our noses brushing and my every breath gusting over her blue-tinted mouth.
I was just about to taste her when the sound of approaching footsteps drifted through the hallway. Laughter followed.
Spooked, I let go of her and stared in shock as she slid down the wall.
She was dead.
Dead...
What the fuck did I do?
Clawing at my hair, I freaked out.
I killed someone.
