Page 47 of Driving My Obsession

My fists unclench and I can’t breathe. She’s been given the perfect opportunity to cry for help, but she hasn’t. She’s...protecting me. She’s protecting her stalker, her future killer.

“Then whose car is in the driveway?” her mother continues. “I know you didn’t scrounge up enough for one while being a dirty little slut. How much do those men pay to look at your breasts? A dollar per nipple?”

“Mom!”

“Who is here? Tell me now, or I’m going to the police and have you charged with breaking and entering.”

Oaklyn pauses. I peer through the gauzy curtain beside the door and watch as she nibbles her lip, thinking. “A friend let me borrow their Jeep.”

“What friend? Did you trade your body for a ride? God, you disgust me. I never imagined my daughter would become a whore.”

Tears well in Oaklyn’s eyes, and her chin wobbles beneath her lips. When I call her a whore, it usually pisses her off—or turns her on—but when her mother says it, a knife sinks into her heart and twists.

I’ve seen enough. My hand shoots toward the doorknob, and I yank open the door. “I drove her here. I’m her fucking friend, and no, she didn’t trade her body for a ride.”

The breeze catches her mother’s short gray bob and sends strands into her gaping mouth. “Excuse me? You can’t talk to me that way on my property. Do you know who I am? I babysit the governor’s Shih Tzu!”

I clamp my teeth on my inner cheek to keep from laughing. “Even if you suck the governor’s dick every Sunday after tea, lady, I have no fucks to give. What I do give a fuck about is the way you’re speaking to her.” I point a finger toward Oaklyn.

“Do you know what she does for a living? You must not if you’re willing to shack up with her. You might want to get tested for STDs.” She turns up her pointy nose, and I clench my fists to quiet the growing need to punch it.

“I know exactly what the fuck she does,” I say through gritted teeth. “She dances.”

Oaklyn’s eyes widen. She stares at me as if my face has changed and she no longer recognizes the man in front of her. Fucking same. I no longer recognize myself. I never thought I’d defend her and her career choice, but I can’t stop myself. The look on her face when her mother berated her made me sick.

Her mother throws her hands into the air and starts toward the front of the house. She digs in her purse, then raises her phone in the air as she walks, growing more frustrated by the second when the signal bars don’t materialize. “You’re all crazy, and I’m driving to town so I can call the police. Dancing isn’t a profession. It’s a hobby! And taking off your clothes always makes you a whore. As her mother, I just wanted better for my daughter.” She tosses her phone back into her purse.

“You’re no mother,” I seethe.

She stops walking and turns to face me.

Before she can speak, I charge toward her and grip her arm. “You haven’t been a mother to that woman since you pushed her out of your life because she refused to liveyourdream. I may not know what a good mother looks like, but you sure as shit ain’t it.” I snatch the designer purse from her arm, find her flashy phone, and throw it to the ground. The heel of my shoe slams down on it, shattering the case and sending a spider web of colors across the screen.

“What are you doing?” she wails.

“Giving us a head start.” I toss the purse to her feet and turn to Oaklyn. “Get your shit and get to the Jeep. Our fun family vacay has come to an end.”

Oaklyn rushes inside without a glance behind her. I turn back to her piece of shit mother.

“If youevercontact Oaklyn again, I’ll smash more than just your phone. You have done more than enough damage to her, and I refuse to let you hurt her any more than you already have. As far as you are concerned, you have no daughter. Don’t even think about contacting the police, either,” I add. “If you bring any trouble to our fucking doorsteps, I’ll bring some to yours. Got it?”

She sucks in a breath to say something stupid, and my hand goes to my knife. Her eyes follow the movement, and she stops.

“Yeah, you got it. Have a nice trip home.” I turn and head toward the cabin before she can say anything else.

When I get inside, Oaklyn stands at the foot of the stairs with our bags in her hands. The neck of the vodka bottle peeks from the top of hers, meaning she even took the time to pack up the stuff I bought to make her favorite drink.

Tires rake across the gravel outside, and Oaklyn’s attention shifts to the front door. “Is she gone?” she asks.

I nod.

“We’d better hurry,” she says, rushing toward the door. “If she gets to town before we’re gone, she’ll send the cops for sure. She’ll—”

I grip her arm and stop her, looking down into her frantic face. “She won’t call the cops, tragedy.”

She struggles, trying to pull away. “You don’t know her. She will. We have to leave.”

“Come here.” I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her and keeping her still. The bags drop from her arms, and her heartbeat gallops against my skin. My hand goes to my knife, but I stop. I can’t kill her here. Not now. Not after her mother saw my face.

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