Page 12 of Driving My Obsession

The air shifts between us,seeming to grow hot and stale. I try to ignore the heaviness as I shift in my seat. Why would he offer a ride when he seems to hate me so much? I should have told him no thanks and called an Uber.

Ambrose pulls his Jeep to a stop in front of my house. He doesn’t even bother pulling into my driveway. He can’t wait to dump me onto the concrete.

“Get out,” he says. His taut muscles tense further as his fingers tighten around the steering wheel. The twist in his expression wraps a coil around my chest, squeezing until I can’t draw a breath. Sweat beads along my hairline.

“You don’t have to be a dick,” I say as I pull my bag against my chest.

He scoffs. “Yes I do. Go.”

Once I’m out of his Jeep, I slam the door behind me. Fuck him. I smack the passenger window as he slams on the gas and throws a thick spray of rainwater into my face.

“Dickhead,” I mutter under my breath.

This shouldn’t bother me. I deal with plenty of assholes when I’m at work, and my skin has thickened considerably because of it. But it does bother me.Hebothers me. Something brews within him, and I certainly don’t want to meet it head on. Even without adding his shit to the pile, I have enough darkness in my life.

Like the hands that explore my body despite the “no touch” rule. Or the boss that tries to assault me on a daily basis. Fucking Jake. Then there’s the overwhelming sense of failure every night when I come home, and it’s only made worse when I have to rely on the kindness of a man like Ambrose.

I won’t allow him to take me home again, even if he smiles and asks nicely,I tell myself.

It’s a lie. His obvious dislike for me grinds my gears, but I feel a weird pull toward him. Even with the scars on his face, I find him alluring and attractive. What the fuck is wrong with me?

When the spray of water settles, I peer into the darkness surrounding my trailer and throw my bag’s strap over my shoulder. Trees tower over either side of the quaint single-wide, illuminated only by my weak-ass porch light. There aren’t any streetlights out here. From the corner of my eye, a dark shadow stalks around the side of one of those trees. I’m probably imagining it—a fear unlocked after realizing some creep from the club is stalking me. Though I know it’s probably not real, I can’t stop the fear from climbing up my throat.

I rush toward my front porch and reach under the little decorative bench by the door, my fingers scrambling blindly for the key tucked beneath the seat cushion. Since I don’t have a car, I don’t see the need for a keyring. I also don’t take it with me because I worry about what would happen if a creep from the club found my house key. Namely Jake. I can’t imagine what that fucker would do if he could enter my house. Well, I can, but I don’t want to. The thought makes my whole body shiver. I unlock the door and tuck the key beneath the cushion before going inside.

My grandma’s small, manufactured home doesn’t offer me much, but it’s more than what I would have had if she hadn’t taken me in. My parents have a sprawling four-bedroom home on several acres, but they pushed me out of their oversized nest when I chose to chase my Broadway dreams and pursue what I loved. Dancing was bad enough, but dancing for men? Too far. They cut off all communication when I madethatchoice.

My grandma loved me, though. She was so proud when I told her I’d aced my audition shortly before my accident. She was my only form of support, but she loved so hard that it was all I ever needed. When I told her my parents wouldn’t help me after my accident because I’d chosen to dance at the club, she didn’t bat an eye. She just helped me bring my things inside and said she was proud I wanted to keep working after what I’d been through, no matter where I worked.

But now she’s gone, and I have no one.

I go to the bathroom, flick on the light, and wipe away the heavy mascara stains around my eyes. I never wear makeup like this because it shrinks my eyes and makes me look much older than I am. But “daddy” Jake wants us to wear our makeup a certain way. I’m his doll, and he wants to dress me up to his liking. It’s the last thing I want to be, but what choice do I have? My aspirations become unreachable if I don’t play along, and I refuse to give up. Buying a car is such a tiny goal, but it’s one that I need for my own sanity. To show myself that I can do it. That I don’t need to lie down for Jake to make it in this city.

I have other goals, but those are too lofty to reach for right now. They’re hidden deep within my heart, buried so that I can’t even see them. I know they’re there, but having them at the forefront of my mind would destroy me. Like putting a five-course meal in front of a starving woman, I’d lose my mind if I focused on what I’ll probably never have. But these dreams aren’t impossible. I’d just have to start over somewhere else.

But to do that, I need a fucking car.

ChapterEight

Ambrose

Isleep most of the next day and finally pull myself out of bed once the sun goes down. There aren’t any fights tonight, so I have nowhere to be. No purpose. What else is new? After scarfing down some leftover Thai food, I sit in front of my computer and turn it on. The screen sends a splash of blue light across my face, illuminating my skin in the darkness. I don’t fuck around on the computer often, but I have a very specific mission tonight.

To find out more about the girl from the club.

She made the mistake of giving me enough details to dig a little deeper into her background. While I don’t know what I’m looking for just yet, I’m sure I’ll figure it out as I go. And then I’ll decide how to use it against her. The acorns were just the first step in my rousing game of mental tennis. There are many more heats to go.

I type her first name and our city into the search bar, but I only get articles about how the trees do in our climate. Maybe she hasn’t been in this area long enough to draw any results. I’ll have to try something else.

Oaklyn dancer.

Results populate, but it’s nothing to do with the girl I’m looking for. I try again.

Oaklyn professional dance.

This search brings up a large, blue headline.

Professional Dancer’s Career-Ending Injury

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