Page 70 of Quiet Obsession
“I’m fine, Abby.”
“I just...” She hugs herself. “I don’t know what to think. You say you wanted this, but I don’t understand how you can want something that looks like this.”
Neither do I...
My memories shift under Abby’s words. What felt reverent, hungry, and electric a moment ago starts twisting into rough, brutal, and painful.
That’s not something I should enjoy... is it?
“Promise you won’t tell my brother, or anyone else,” I whisper, holding the towel like a shield.
She watches me for a long moment. The pity softening her features makes my insides knot and chest cinch with barbed wire.
How did I go from feeling invincible to feeling defeated?
“Alright,” she sighs. “I won’t tell, but you have to promise me something.” She steps closer, hesitant now. “I know we’ve been awkward lately, but if someone hurts you, if you ever feel unsafe, you come to me, okay?”
“I promise.” I force a smile, gesturing over myself. “This just got a little out of hand.”
“Yeah, clearly.” She wipes her face and pulls me into a hug, still shaky, her heart racing against mine. “I’m here, Millie.”
The second she leaves, the room tilts on me. I unwrap the towel, staring at my reflection. The purple and pink marks had meaning a moment ago. Endurance, strength, recovery.
Now I can’t unsee Abby’s perspective...
Every mark that made me smile now screamsthis is wrong. I run my hands over my ribs, pressing in to feel the pain. I liked that sex was hard, desperate, and raw. I wanted to be devoured. That’s wrong, right? Loving the way Creed handled me is wrong.
What the hell is my problem?
I should want slow and sweet. Candles, flowers, and whisperedI love youslike in Abby’s rom coms. That’s how my first time was supposed to look like. Fun, worshipful, and gentle.
But that’s not what I wanted. Not what Iwant. Thetruth is, given the chance, I wouldn’t change a thing.
You’re really messed up, baby, you know that?
23
Creed
My head screams with pain, burrowing into my skull as if it’s been cracked and someone’s actively trying to open it with bare hands. I groan, squinting at my surroundings. My cheek’s hugging leather and my body’s folded into a fetal position.
Something hums steadily just beneath the high-pitched ringing in my ears. I can’t tell whether it’s coming from inside or outside my skull. My brows furrow, that small expression sending pin-prickling pain through my eyeballs. Another wave slices through my side when I brace on one elbow. My vision’s blurry, but my surroundings start making sense.
I’m in a car.
More precisely, the back seat of Hyde’s moving car.
“Fuck,” I heave, the word coming out hoarse.
My best friend’s at the wheel, fingers gouging into the leather so hard I’m afraid he’ll snap them. I catch his stone-cold face in the rear-view mirror before I spot my own reflection.
It’s been almost a year since I was last slumped in Hyde’s Grand Cherokee, face bruised, pain screaming along every nerve ending. The scent of blood, air freshener, and leather blurs the timelines between now andthen.
I was in the same position that night...
Back then, streetlamps cut through the rain-streaked windows the same way they do now, casting shadows over my best friend’s pissed-off face.
Fuck, I must be concussed.
