Page 17 of Driving My Obsession

“What’s the matter?”I ask. Bright red patches paint her cheeks and chest, and she dry-heaves behind the hand pressed over her mouth. I pull to the side of the road. Not in my fucking car.

She just shakes her head, her hand glued to her face. The wheezy gasps through her nostrils slow, and she finally speaks. “I got a text from my mother, that’s all.”

My stomach tightens, and I swallow so hard that I can hear the click of my throat. No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way. “Is everything okay?” I ask.

I know it isn’t. Her world is a glass globe that has been flung from a skyscraper, and I’m here to witness the glorious destruction as it collides with the concrete and shatters at my feet. What are the chances her mother would respond to my email while she’s in the car with me? Probably about the same as the chances of a baby surviving the onslaught of a psychotic, knife-wielding mother, and I beat the fuck out of those odds. Maybe I’m lucky after all. I should go to goddamn Vegas after this.

Invisible steam rises from her palpable anger, and I take a deep breath and inhale it into my lungs. I would strip to nothing and bathe in her torment if I could, but then I’d never see her again. And I need to see her again. I have so much more planned for her.

She wipes away the tears that have slid down her cheeks and collected on her chin, and that’s such a waste. I want to drink them. “It’s this fucking asshole from work,” she says. “He’s doing crazy shit to me.”

Not many stalkers get to sit in the car with their stalkee and listen to them bitch about the stalking. They don’t get to hear the anger and disgust lacing every heated word. My cup runneth over. “Care to elaborate?” I prod.

I want to hear more.

I want to hear everything.

Give it to me, Oaklyn. Tell me how evil and horrendous I really am. Tell me how my actions made you feel.

She shakes her head. “No.”

Way to ruin the fun, tragedy.

She swallows. “I’m just going to go home and hate myself more than I already do.”

Do I want her to go home and hate herself for what I’ve done? Yes. Absolutely. I want her to eat, sleep, and breathe this feeling for the rest of her days. I only wish I could keep watching once she leaves my car. I’ll just have to log her look of despair for later.

A seedling of guilt struggles to spread its thready roots in the soil of my heart, but I crush it beneath my heel. Everything that’s happening to her isherfault. If she hadn’t chosen this disgusting profession—the same line of work my mother chose—this wouldn’t be happening. I wouldn’t be obsessed with a person I want to kill and fuck in equal measure.

Satisfied she won’t soil my interior with her puke, I pull away from the curb and continue toward her trailer. I don’t rush to get her home, though. I take my time. Every second she’s in my car is a second longer I can enjoy her pain.

I get an idea. I want more access to her, and I know how I might achieve that.

“Maybe I should give you my number,” I say. “It’s probably not a good idea for you to hang around outside that club at night while you wait for a ride. Anytime you need a lift, you can give me a call and I can come get you. Your stalker might think twice if they see a man picking you up. Kind of like how girls do at the club when they pretend they have a boyfriend to get the creeps at the bar to leave them alone.”

She nibbles at her bottom lip and stares at the phone in her hand, running her thumb along the screen. “Okay,” she finally says.

That was easy.I give her my number, and she punches it into her phone. I expect her to send a text so I have her number as well, but she doesn’t. That’s okay. The fish has nibbled the bait, and it’s only a matter of time before I sink the hook into her jaw.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. Her gaze shifts to the window, and I bask in the despondent way she peers into the darkness rushing by outside. Her sadness is like sunshine.

I’m miserable when I see her porch light break through the shadows in the distance. All good things must come to an end, but like a spoiled child who doesn’t want to wait in line for another turn on the slide, I’m annoyed. I want more. And I want it now.

As she climbs out of the car and trudges to her front door, I’m struck by another idea. It’s incredibly risky and could crash the plane before it even leaves the runway, but I’m on a hot streak. I peel away from her driveway, my courage building inside me at a rapid rate. My dark eyes narrow to slits, not seeing anything through the windshield as I turn the Jeep around. A sly smirk spreads on my face.

Yeah. I’ll take my chances.

ChapterEleven

Oaklyn

Igrab the key from beneath the bench cushion and step inside as he drives away. He’s such a confusing man. He didn’t berate me like he normally does, instead choosing to be almost...supportive? But I don’t have time to sit and wonder about the bipolar stranger who opted for kindness tonight. I’m still focused on the screenshot my mom sent me as I pull a bottle of vodka from the kitchen cabinet. The events of that lap dance rush through my mind with a clarity that turns my stomach. I know what she witnessed.

My actions.

My sounds.

His sounds.

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