Page 2 of Quiet Obsession
I won’t put it down just because it makes my brother or anyone else uncomfortable.
The road before us cuts between the towering pine trees of Washington State. We’ve been traveling by car, plane, and car again for seven hours. I’m thankful that he leaves his Cherokee in Seattle airport parking whenever he heads home to Alameda, California, instead of driving the distance.
I remember the day he left for his freshman year, his car filled to the brim. Back then, he said he’d drive home every holiday, but it never happened. Since starting Gravemont, Hyde only came home twice. Once to visit me at the hospital and once this summer just gone. He flew in both times.
I don’t blame him. The sixteen-hour car ride is my number one reason for not wanting to come here.
Washington’s weather is the second.
Imposing on Hyde’s turf is the third.
And yet, here I am, because my brother flipped from not caring to over-coddling, and he’s determined to coax me back to life. I don’t like being coaxed, but how would he know? Untilthe incident, we were basically strangers.
Now, he thinks Gravemont can end my silence.
“It’ll be good for you,”he said when he brought the wad of admission papers home. Normally, I’d have to apply long in advance, but Hyde pulled some strings, and I was accepted a few weeks ago.
I doubt he really thinks Gravemont’s a good fit for me. His guilty conscience simply wants me where he can see me. Close enough to ensure I eat, drink, and breathe.
He slows down as a blue sign appears through the mist:
Poulsbo—Exit 2 Miles.
Fuel • Food • Restrooms.
Five minutes later, we pull into town. It’s the kind of place that feels permanently damp. Fog clings to the rooftops, neon signs flicker against rain-streaked glass, and umbrellas hide pedestrians rushing along sidewalks.
The rain slows to a fine mist when Hyde stops at a gas station, cracking his neck left and right. I don’t move, staring out the window and ignoring my reflection staring right back.
I hate that I look sad, even though I’m not. I’m nothing, really. Not sad, not angry, not happy, just... empty. Blank.
“I’ll fuel up, you go grab us some food.” He pushes the door open but turns back my way before stepping out. “Realfood, Millie. Not a protein bar.”
Half the time, I want to snap at him, tell him I can take care of myself without his constant nagging. That I’m neither reckless, spiraling, nor suicidal. When I finished therapy last month, my psychiatrist had run every test and diagnosed me withnothing. My survival instincts are simply in overdrive.
It took them months to come to that conclusion.
I was fine when Hyde went back to college after I was discharged from the hospital, but now that he’s dragged me into his world, he can protect me like I’m his porcelain doll.
I hate that, too.
We exit the car, and I turn to go inside but stop andlook over my shoulder. “What do you want?”
Hyde smiles. He always smiles when I ask questions instead of merely answering his.
“Surprise me, but no tuna.”
The overdoor bell rings and a gush of warmth carrying a stench of old grease fans my face. Save for the cashier, the place is deserted. The fluorescent lights grind my nerves as I grab two water bottles and a few protein bars, then stop at the deli counter, eyeing the sandwiches.
Sad-looking tuna for me, drooping BLT for Hyde.
He joins me at the till and nudges me aside before I can whip out my credit card.
The rest of the drive flies by. I finish the sandwich, under Hyde’s scrutiny, and wash it down with half a bottle of water, then snack on a protein bar for good measure.
“We’re here,” he says as the narrow, woodland road reveals a high, iron-wrought gate.Gravemont College, Established 1869,the plaque reads. The letters are faded, the metal weathered to a dull brown, moss creeping over the corners.
Hyde rolls down his window, punches in a code, and the gate creaks open, revealing the campus beyond. My head spins left and right as Gothic arches and pointed roofs rise from the fog. Old stone buildings, trimmed hedges, lamps flickering in the low mist.
