Page 143 of Quiet Obsession
Besides, headphones are the best deterrent for unwanted conversations. I see people watching me, even Jasper’s rocking on his shoes like he’s trying to decide whether to approach, but he doesn’t. No one does.
I grab a cup of coffee and tuck myself in the corner, far from the guys’ usual table. Head down, eyes on the first page of a textbook, I don’t notice my brother until he’s pulling out a chair beside me.
A tray brimming with healthy choices lands on the table.
He places a salad before me, then adds a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice, and I hate how much that small gesture makes my heart ache.
I hate that despite him proving, time and time again, that there’s no room in his life for me, I still wish there was.
Setting my cup down, I gather my things and walkaway. It hurts. It goes against what I’ve wanted my whole life—an older brother who gives a damn, but. I.Leave.
I’m done being a rainy-day toy, tossed in the corner when the sun comes out.
Hyde grabs my wrist before I take two steps and snatches off my headphones. “Don’t go. I want to talk.”
“I don’t.”
He huffs an exasperated breath. “I know I fucked up, okay? I’m sorry, Millie. I got scared and I lashed out. I didn’t mean—”
“Youdid.” I snatch my hand out of his grip. “You’re just scared I’ll pop a bunch of pills again.” I stand, shouldering my bag. “I’m not suicidal. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now.”
Dash’s bright persona shifts through the background like he’s been spotlighted. People stare at him, grin, and stick their hands out for a high-five. He catches my eye and smiles, putting his hand up in a wave.
A knot forms beneath my ribs and I snatch my headphones back from Hyde. “Your friend is coming. I better go.”
He turns with a frown, probably checking which one’s approaching, and when he spins back, I’m gone, moving toward the nearest exit. I don’t dare look over my shoulder as I push the swinging double doors open. It’s barely past seven in the morning, but I head into class, picking a spot high up and far left, so I’m tucked out of sight.
My phone pings with a text just as I pull out my notebook.
Dash: Ghosting me, Mini Ward? What did I do?
My fingers hover over the screen, but I don’t reply, leaving him on read and when he texts again half an hour later, I don’t read it, hoping he’ll get the message, but he doesn’t.
He texts me all day long, my phone pinging during classes and late into the afternoon. He stops around the time I hit the treadmills. If I can’t come to the gym in the mornings anymore, I’ll take late afternoons.
Once I make it back to my room, it’s almost seven p.m. and Dash sits on my bed. Abby’s around, too, the atmosphere between them much lighter now than it was pre-Thomas.
“There she is,” Dash says, grinning. “I was about to organize a search and rescue party.”
Abby rolls her eyes from where she’s applying makeup at her desk. “I told him your gym bag was missing so that’s probably where you went.”
Dash ignores her. “Why haven’t you replied? I have delicate feelings, Mini Ward.”
“I doubt that.”
He leans back on my pillows, arms braced behind him, face turning serious. “Hyde told you to stay away from us, didn’t he?”
I don’t say anything, but Dash reads the answer from the way my shoulders slump, or maybe the way my face falls or the sound my bag makes as I drop it.
“Unbelievable,” he says, dragging a hand down his face. “That emotionally constipated control freak.”
Abby chuckles, applying blush to her cheeks. “He’s not wrong, you know? Hyde’s been on my case since day one.” She waves her lipstick about. “Don’t be nosy, Abby. Don’t force Millie to talk but ask questions. Be kind. Don’t hover but keep an eye on her. Call me if something feels wrong. Call me if she stops eating. Call me if you see any pills,” she lists, badly imitating my brother’s baritone.
Dash just shakes his head. “Told you. Control freak.”
He holds his hand out, wiggling his fingers and glaring until I take it. He pulls me onto the bed, scooting over to make room, and a second later, I’m cuddling into his side, his arm wrapped around my back.
“Hyde can say whatever he wants, but that doesn’t mean you have to listen,” he tells me, tapping his fingertips over my ribs. “We’re friends, Mini.”
