Page 56 of Quiet Obsession
Evan’s crude words echo all around me. Every joke he made, every little thing he mocked, every comment I read under the videos... it all becomes fuel. I recall what it felt like to be seventeen, naked and hopeful, then ashamed and mockedeverywhere. Online, in the halls, on the streets.
I throw one hook after another, lost in rage but no longer drowning in it. The heavy weight sitting on my chest when I runfrom my past is still there, but it’s lighter, somehow. I’m facing the demons head-on, and it’s glorious. Pain no longer registers. Nothing registers save for the bag, and the purge it enables...
Until Creed’s hand returns, banding around my stomach once more, lifting me off the ground and away from the bag.
“Fuck, Millie. Snap out of it!”
He spins me to face him and I shove him back and charge at the bag, my fists flying, breath sawing in and out. The chain rattles with each hit but I barely land twopunches before Creed grabs me in half, dragging me away.
I look up at him, eyes ablaze and he fucking smirks.
“Beneath that pretty face and cute eyes,” he says, tightening his grip on my wrists. “You’re surprisingly violent, aren’t you?”
Apparently, I am.
Nothing’s ever felt as good as hitting that bag and I’mnot done, but Creed holds my hands in a firm grip, his hard stare burning into mine.
“You can’t zone out like that.” He lifts my hands higher, and I gasp at the blood staining the white wraps around my knuckles. “This is too much, Millie. You’re supposed to hurt whatever makes you feel so fucking defenseless, not yourself.”
Slowly, the vicious haze in my head clears. My breathing steadies as I anchor myself in Creed’s eyes and the silent satisfaction written all over his face.
“Sit,” he orders, jutting his chin at the wooden bench.
My muscles burn, sweat slicks the back of my neck, but I don’t feel any pain. Still, I hiss when Creed unwraps my knuckles and I see how bad they look. He lifts my hand to his lips, blowing gently over the torn, raw, bleeding skin.
“Next time, you’re wearing gloves,” he says, eyebrows drawn together as he peers up and finds me smiling. “You like it, huh?”
He pulls his gym bag closer, fishes out a first-aid kit and carefully disinfects and dresses my injuries.
“How about athank you, Creed?”
I smile, but if his expression is anything to go by, it’s not enough for him.
“Pretty, feral, and fucking stubborn.” He drops his palms to my knees and drags them up, fingers pressing bruises into my flesh. “Say something.”
I shake my head, a sick thrill rushing through me when frustration flickers across his face. I shouldn’t enjoy this so much, but I do. I love how his voice drops when he’s balancing on the edge between command and plea.
“Anything,” he continues. He fills his hands with my thighs, yanking me to the edge of the bench, his face inches from mine. “Stop fucking torturing me and say something.”
I part my lips, sucking in a shaky breath, eyes never leaving his. The air between us roars with electric tension.
“Millie,” he warns, inching closer, his hot, minty breath on my lips. “You’re being a bad girl, baby.”
My cheeks heat, pressure swelling between us, and just when I’m about to close the distance and find out how he tastes, Creed jerks back. He gets to his feet, jaw working in tight circles.
The loss of his touch hits harder than I anticipated. My skin burns where his hands were, but my blood temperature plummets, stealing the pinkness from my cheeks.
He’s annoyed. He’sleavingand my throat closes.
What now? Will he teach me more tomorrow or tell me to leave if I come back? Is he done with me? I don’t want that.
Or maybe I do.
I don’t know.
My head buzzes with contradicting thoughts I can’t keep up with. Things are easier with Noah. He lulls while Creed wakes me up. He’s chaos and I can’t understand why it’s so captivating.
He refuses to look at me as he drags on his t-shirt, then his hoodie and I move before I think, jumping to my feet. He shoulders his bag, facing the door, ready to walk out.
