Page 88 of Quiet Obsession
I need a break.
I run, upping the tempo every few minutes, “Now or Never” by Three Days Grace playing in my ears. I go for half an hour straight, my neck slick with sweat by the time I pull a towel from my bag. Tearing my headphones off, I grab a bottle of water, chugging half in one go.
“What are you running from today, Millie Baby?” Creed’s voice reaches my ears.
My thoughts slow, falling into place instead of spinning into knots despite how confusing he is. He wants me, then he doesn’t want me. He comes over then pushes me away. Now he’s here again and I’m already bracing for his swift exit.
I spin, finding him in the doorway, hip parked against the frame, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He’s in black sweats and a matching t-shirt, dark circles under his eyes, knuckles bruised worse than the last time I saw them.
Heat pools in my belly and I take a step toward him, drawn by an invisible rope, but I stop when he straightens as if bracing to push me away the second I try invading his space.
“Still not talking to me?” His eyes narrow.
He looks me up and down before moving toward the boxing bags. Pulling out his headphones, he covers his ears, dismissing me just likethat. I’m still by the treadmill, chest caving in, something ugly twisting my heart.
He’s mad at me.
I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else. I’veonly seen him twice this past week. My throat tightens and I swallow hard, turning away, my body crawling with tiny insects. I want to scream at him, but I don’t have the words.
I don’t know what I want to say.
I don’t know what he wants me to say.
Does he expect apologies?
Fuck apologies, I’m not sorry.
I climb back on the treadmill and pick a song before restarting the machine. “The Autopsy of You & Me” by VOILÁ makes me breathe easier. At least that’s what I try to believe while I’m overcome by overwhelming confusion.
Hyde’s words fill my mind one after the other, soft, careful, and relentless. Each makes me smaller, safer, but it’s a heavy kind of safety, like a weighted blanket I pulled too high.
When someone makes you uncomfortable, run, okay?
No, running doesn’t help.
You’re fragile, Millie.
I’m stronger than anyone gives me credit for.
I soaked up Hyde’s care and protectiveness for months, giddy that I finally had the older brother I dreamed of. I didn’t notice his concern becoming my cage. Or when hiding behind him turned into a habit because it was easier than facing the world.
Let me help.
Let me fight.
I don’t need help. I need freedom to do what I want without second-guessing my every move. Without worryingabout what people will say, think, or if I’ll disappoint someone.
I want Creed’s hands on me. I want his lips, but I don’t trust him with my words. Just my body.
Another lie.
I trust him too much with everything. With the parts of me that stop splintering when he’s close. With the parts that don’t feel fragile under his hands, no matter how hard he grips, no matter how far he pushes me. He makes me feel like there’s nothing in this world that could break me.
I run for another twenty minutes, my chest heaving, muscles burning, thoughts still tangled beyond recognition. The pounding of my feet against the treadmill drowns out everything else, at least I pretend it does.
Creed doesn’t stop throwing punches. His knuckles bleed, bare back glistens with sweat, and his tattoos shift beautifully over his biceps. I watch him the whole time and he... he doesn’t look at me once.
I step off the treadmill and walk toward the exit, each breath shallow, uneven. I make it through the door, into the hallway, the cool air hitting my flushed skin.
